#this particular watch is dragging on way too slow and if I didn’t have my partner along for the ride it would go so much faster 😭

[peachviz]

Tom and B’Elanna were fun for like two seconds then it’s just boring

Are they gonna fight? Are they gonna fuck? Idc, but someone is always too close to going to jail

[wildemaven]

1000 kisses to you and here's my 2 prompt picks for the drabble thingie: 4 and 15 with Javier

Can't wait to see what it leads to 😘

call me javi | javier peña

pairing: javier peña x reader word count: 651 content warning: mentions of alcohol and cigarettes, dancing, fluff, javier being protective and sweet, I don’t think there’s anything else note: sorry it took me so long to get to this!! I hope this works okay 💕 thanks for sending in your ask and for you support

“You're not as bad as everyone says you are.” You say loudly rather close to his ear, hoping he can hear over the booming music and crowded bar. 

It was a slow week at the embassy, which meant the DEA’s finest had a chance to let loose and enjoy themselves for once. 

Drinks flowing. Bodies grinding in tune with each song the DJ throws out, keeping the energy circulating throughout the small bar you all frequent regularly. 

Tonight would be like any other Friday with your fellow Agents, except this evening you find yourself drawn to one Agent in particular. 

His body has been firmly against yours for the better part of the evening, front and back. Hands holding you close no matter the pace of the song, selfishly worried you might drift away or find yourself in the arms of someone else. 

You lost count at the amount of times his lips brushed over your own ears. His constant need to check in with you had your chest tight and stomach full of fluttering desire. 

There was a small part of you that was feeling he might even like you. More than just a crush born from an evening of close proximity. There was never a thought that he would be, not with all the beautiful women constantly in his arms in all the years you’ve known him. 

With the way his warm brown eyes are so fixated on you says otherwise. His expression exchanged for something a little less brooding and a little more alluring. Hands still finding purchase by any means as you lean against the wall while his body shields you from onlookers. The dimly lit hallway near the back of the bar adds another layer of privacy. 

“Who’s everyone?” Javier’s voice is laced with a nervousness you’ve never heard before. The stoic demeanor he wears regularly now hangs up alongside his worn-in leather jacket. 

There’s a raspiness brought on by the pack of cigarettes he most likely blew through leading up to showing up here, even though he said he had other plans.

“Who do you think?” You smirk playfully at him, your fingers playing with the damp curls at the base of his neck. 

“Steve?” There was no need to even ask, he already knew how protective Steve was, rightfully so. Didn’t mean he still didn’t find his overbearing partner to be a pain in his ass, especially when it came to you. 

You nod in agreement, desperately trying to contain the laughter bubbling up as he huffs out  dramatically, shaking his head. The annoyance doesn’t last long though. The corners of his mouth lifting, revealing one of his best features. His smile makes you instantly weak and it has you prematurely looking forward to being on the receiving end of it forever. 

“Are you going to kiss me, Javier?” The prospect of his lips on you, in any capacity, had been overwhelming your every thought since he saddled up next to you at the beginning of the night.

Watching the way his lips formed every word he spoke. Cradling the edge of his glass on his plush lower lip as he sipped on his dry whiskey. Contorting in such a delicate way with each drag he pulled from his cigarette. 

They’re the softest lips you’ve ever had the pleasure of kissing. Excruciatingly blissful, deliberately encompassing your own, as your brain silently screams for more. 

“Javi.” Javi. It rolls off his tongue like a sweet springtime honey. Each letter electric as he says it, leaving your mouth tingling as it brands itself to your soul. 

“Hmm?” Too consumed by him to form words. 

“You can call me Javi from now on.” There’s a permanence in the way he says it, something you both have to discuss once the hangovers have worn off tomorrow. 

“Kiss me again— Javi.” And he does well into the next morning. 

[blouisparadise]

Today we have a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Louis and/or Harry have popular jobs such as firefighter, flight attendance, florist, and mechanic. Since we get requests for rec lists with these particular jobs often, we decided to compile them into one list. We're marked each fic according to which job it features. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog the post to help spread the word. Happy reading!

1) December | Not Rated | 1,924 words | 💐

Magic happens here, in December.

2) Pilot | Teen & Up | 5,279 words | ✈️

“We have fifteen minutes.” Harry glanced down at the watch on his wrist. “How fast do you think my tongue can make you come?” Still against the wall, Louis felt a shiver run from the back of his neck down his spine. In three years walking on moving planes, he’d never had such zero control over his legs. At least not until now.

3) Your Apathy’s Like A Wound In Salt | Explicit | 5,312 words | 🛠️

“What a fucking ass!” Louis shifts his body so he’s completely facing away from the scene. “I asked him last night to fix my car and he said he would accept a payment in the form of me sucking his dick. I guess he’s really desperate, I can’t believe him.” Louis rolls his eyes, finishing off his drink in one go. Niall shakes his head and shrugs, “I told you to ask any other mechanic in town but you didn’t listen to me.” “Well, I didn’t think he would fucking say that now did I, Niall?” “Louis,” Paige rests a manicured hand on his shoulder, “So, you’re saying you still wouldn’t hit it?” “My ex?” She nods. “Yeah, I’d still hit that. Except this time it would be with a car or a baseball bat.” Suddenly, Niall spits out his beer all over the table as Paige bursts out laughing. “Fucking ruthless, you are.” Niall runs a hand through his styled hair.

4) Oil and Lube | Explicit | 5,552 words | 🛠️

The one where Harry's a car mechanic and Louis' engine can't seem to stop revving around him.

5) A Place To Call Home | Mature | 8,113 words | 💐

The thing is, he’s pretty sure he’s found home in a person in his life, someone who’s been essential in everything he’s done since he was seven years old. Through every broken bone, through every breakup, through every failure; through every triumph, personal and professional, and every goal he has scored in his time in Man U, there’s been someone there for it all.  That’s his best mate. Harry. A twenty-two year old with the kindest heart known to man, a slow drawl that is entirely too endearing, with the dreams to open up his own flower shop. A quiet and earnest boy with those he doesn’t know, and open and honest and absolutely lovely with those he loves.  It all hits him, really, the night of their final game of the Premier League. Again, timing is not his forté. They’re gearing up, ready to hit the field for the second half against Liverpool that determines their ranking in the League, when his brain decides to come online (after seventeen years, apparently), and conveniently supply him with the revelation that oh yeah, you’re kind of in love with your best friend.

6) If This Room Was Burning | Explicit | 8,629 words | 🔥

Where Louis’ cat gets stuck on the roof and Harry is the firefighter who ends up saving her.

7) Decorated Emergency | Not Rated | 10,359 words | 🔥

So what if they kissed once. It was the end of a shift that had seemed to drag on for twelve days instead of twelve hours. Their doctor was slow and felt the need to transfer every single patient, putting more work on every member of staff. Harry was stressed. Louis was the one who crowded him up against the door in the break room. It was Louis' fault, he was always pulling shit.

8) Taking The Long Way Home | Mature | 12,499 words | 🛠️

Coming home from the beach, Louis' car breaks down and he has to call mechanic Harry.

9) Bloom | Explicit | 24,887 words | 💐

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

Harry tucks the flower into the top pocket of Louis’ jacket, patting over his heart just once. “What is it?” Louis asks, eyeing the sunny little yellow flower, a bit like a buttercup, “It’s lovely.” Harry pushes a piece of hair behind his ear and smiles, “It’s a primrose. I got them in this morning, reminded me of you.”

10) A Trail Of Honey Through It All | Explicit | 27,083 words | 🛠️

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

11) A Hungry Heart | Explicit | 27,601 words | 💐

Harry Styles, florist and Great British Bake Off contestant, loves many things. He loves his flower shop, he loves baking, and there’s also that little crush he has on pop star Louis Tomlinson. But when Louis arrives on set as the surprise guest judge, Harry’s worlds collide. Throw in a cup of cuteness, a teaspoon of teasing, and a pinch of pining, and there’s all the ingredients for an epic love story, or absolute chaos.

12) Tangled Up And Blue | Explicit | 30,159 words | 🛠️

Kai just shakes his head, making his way down the small batch of stairs with a hop in his step. “Have fun on your weird adult date.” Harry sighs. “It’s not a date.” “Dad, you already have him in your bed most nights,” Kai sings, walking backwards towards Louis’ car with an insufferable smirk on his face. “It’s not looking too good for you,” he shrugs, hands curled around the straps of his backpack.

13) You Wish I Was Yours And I Hope That You’re Mine | Not Rated | 31,259 words | 💐

“What did you wish for?” Harry blushes, “If I tell you it won’t come true…” Louis sits straight again, a cute little determined look forming on his face, “I wished that a certain curly ‘aired boy would take me on more dates because I ‘ad such a good time on this one. And that’s going to come true, isn’t it?” “Of course,” Harry nearly splutters. “Yeah, yeah definitely.” “See?” Louis grins smugly. “Now I told you mine and it’s still going to come true, so will you tell me yours?” Their wishes were different though, because whereas Louis’ wish was cute and endearing, Harry found his own wish rather embarrassing. But he can’t lie to Louis, nor can he say no to Louis, so he sucks in a shaky breath of air before he speaks softly, “I wished that I was brave enough to kiss you…”

14) Stay Until Tomorrow | Explicit | 36,766 words | 🛠️

There’s a dull ache seeping through Louis’ body as he wakes up; a mild headache from last night’s alcohol intake, a cramp in his right arm from sleeping on it weird and a familiar soreness between his arse cheeks that Louis fully blames on his lousy one night stand.

15) One Heart Broke, Four Hands Bloody | Explicit | 47,429 words | 💐

Louis’ life is really fucking dull until one day he happens upon the scene of a crime, as said crime is happening. A murderer with big hands and a charming smile somehow manages to change his life for the better.

16) Once Burnt, Twice Shy | Explicit | 52,644 words | 🔥

Louis and Harry are polar opposites in every way. Where Louis is a bestselling author from the city, Harry is a small-town firefighter who’s never left his home. Where Louis is spontaneous and spirited, Harry is introverted and calm, never straying from routine. When an ill-fated accident and an exceptionally intelligent tabby bring them together, they are forced to confront their pasts and forge a better beginning for themselves. Will sparks fly, or will it all go up in flames?

17) No Going Back | Explicit | 56,102 words | 🛠️

Sales reps Harry and Louis are bored with their jobs and their lives. After meeting at a conference in Cardiff they hook up, have a few too many drinks, and jokingly apply to become remote lighthouse keepers. Six months, just the two of them, looking after the southernmost lighthouse off the bottom of Australia. It’s not like their applications will be accepted. Right? This is the story of how one choice - a left instead of a right, a go instead of a stop, a yes instead of a no - can change the future forever and that sometimes, taking that leap of faith, is worth the risk.

18) Between The Sand and Stars | Explicit | 63,128 words | ✈️

When an earthquake strands flight attendant Louis Tomlinson on a tropical island, he’s got paradise at his fingertips - miles of sunny beaches, immersion in vibrant culture, and a beautiful seaside mansion to enjoy. Unfortunately, it belongs to the egotistical musician Harry Styles, whose incorrigible management can do little to hinder his playboy complex. Despite Louis and Harry’s abhorrent first impression, contrasting backgrounds, and tendency to bicker every time they speak, who says opposites can’t attract? Them, of course, because they hate each other … right?

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[wrathofrats]

Thinking about Aether and Phantom quintosis lesson. It's all going well and all, Aether's letting Phant explore his head on his own a little because he's actually really talented y'know! And then he hits a particular spot and Aether goes brainless, practically drooling on spot if yk what I'm onto...

Everyone always comes to Aeth to shut their thoughts up, but now he's on the receiving end for the first time in a whiiiile and he's just gone.

Just a big brainless quint :)

Shakes you violently because I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw it

(Warning that this is a little dubious but consent is implied and implied to have been discussed prior, just didn’t want it to come out of nowhere in case someone isn’t up for that 🫶

Also I made it weird bc confident phantom has been on my brain recently)

Aether talks him through it. Takes phantoms hands and places them on either side of his head, covering them with his own.

He trusts him under his own supervision, able to step in if something were to go wrong.

It’s easy, to aethers surprise. Phantom being able to pick at different memories, emotions, doesn’t take long for phantom to start trying to control his limbs.

“Am I doing that?” Phantoms eyes light up when aether hand moves slowly to the side.

“You are bug, good job”

Aether thinks it’s cute watching him get so excited over his powers.

Different tour memories flash in and out as phantom practically rummages through his brain like a storage bin. His face muscles twitch while phantom drags over certain nerves. Quintessence can be a dangerous game in the wrong hands, the power to as you please to someone only to be trusted in the right hands.

A particular wave of fuzz washes over aether as phantom gets a little more confident with the electricity he has wrapped around his mind. He feels cloudy, it’s not unfamiliar but he knows exactly what phantom is doing considering he’s done it to the other ghouls countless times before.

“Bug…..” aether warns taking a deep breath. He feels like there’s cotton behind his eyes, his breathing becoming deep and more manual.

Phantom prods again. A sharp buzz in the base of his skull and it’s hard for aether to get out the words to warn him again.

Phantom understands what he’s doing, especially considering this form of mind control has been done to him before. it’s the only reason aether hasn’t removed him yet but it’s a helpless and almost calming sort of feeling, looking up to see phantom smiling at him with his magic completely taking over his senses.

“Please let me take care of you?” Phantom tips aethers chin up to look at him, the other hand caressing his cheek. Aether can feel just a bit more quintessence slip in as he nods.

He’s completely brainless, barely a thought besides what’s directly in front of him and a small attempt to keep his breathing normal. It’s all he can do to keep his vision straight, mind full of static and he can’t help but smile at phantom, giggling slightly. A comfortable mindless state of pleasure.

“Never been able to have you all stupid for me have I aeth?” Phantom teases. It’s light hearted in nature but god it does something to aether. He could practically drool if he really wanted to, phantoms light teasing enough to have him salivating. Something so delicious about being able to have your thoughts shut up and being taken care of, aethers been craving it for a while.

A delicate hand pushes its way under aethers shirt. Phantom looks for any sign of protest before lifting it off of his body and discarding it on the floor beside them. Aethers immediately handsy, giggly and trying whatever he can to get phantom back on him. His limbs feel like they’re full of concrete as he tries to reach up to pull him closer. Time moves slow, almost too slow for him with the idea phantoms put into his head of him doing whatever he wants to him.

Phantom makes quick work of his own clothes while aether chews his lip, small moans escaping as phantom strips in his lap. He’s easy like this, hard and stupid and just desperate for anything from phantom he can get.

“You’re needy when you’re like this” phantom teases, reaching for the buttons on aethers pants. “Big and stupid like a whore should be”

Phantom grabs aethers hand, pulling it around his waist to finger himself with it, “your fingers are thicker than mine, gotta stretch myself out to take you baby” phantom gasps as he pushes aethers fingers into himself

It’s a tight stretch, phantom working himself with two of aethers fingers guided by his own, if he’s not careful he could probably just use aether like this and cum in his lap but oh, he wants to see how bad aeth can get when he sits on his cock.

Aethers streams out incoherent pleas and curses as phantom finally pulls him out, stroking him a couple times just to hear him whimper

“Fuck you’re much better like this, dumb and useful, just a dildo for me to use right?”

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - I Gave a 10/10 to a BL... me!

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Nov 2023 Wk 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) ep 4 of 8 - I love this show. I adore Tew's the simple backstory. No frills. No fuss. He got dragged in the way many do and he can kill so they kept him. They aren’t trying to make it needlessly complicated (which is rare for Thailand). That said, the pacing is way tf off, the emotional arc is rushed and then sappy out of absolutely nowhere. Before you ask, the kiss is not at issue, we halfway through they should be kissing, but the romantic life changes - too soon. But I don’t care. Finally, they left us this ep reminded of 2 v important things,

this pair kisses beautifully

in BL all mafia be gay

Fun fun!

Last Twilight (Fri YT) ep 2 of 12 - It's official, I love this. It’s a classic caregiver/bodyguard trope where one of them is opening the other one up to the world, but sweetly. I’m enjoying the softness of JimmySea's take and I hope GMM TV takes its cues from the success of My School President and doesn’t push this particular show into rough or edgy territory. Stay on target GMMTV. Don't mess with my bias again!

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 3 of 10 - Finally, our adorable side couple has emerged! This show remains engaging without losing pace (despite the main couple being slow burn), which is all I want from a Thai pulp, and more I could ask for currently from a sports BL. 

(Note: when I dictate the computer always puts "Thai pope" instead of Thai pulp - this is hilarious to me.)

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 1 of 14 - I guess they didn’t strip the omegaverse out of this. Unfortunately, I’m not an omegaverse fan, so I find its presence extremely off putting. (But it’s kind of amazing that somebody finally put one on our screen.) Unsurprisingly, it’s a lot of alpha posturing and hyper masculinity, because that’s what this kind of worldbuilding is an excuse for (lazy writing and lazier characterization). This means I don’t like Babe AT ALL except that he’s smell orientated and a bit verse. Way is lovely tho, because Nut is a great soft screen presence amongst the testosterone haze. 

Middleman’s Love (Fri YT & iQIYI ep 2 of 8 - I’m not gonna lie (when have I ever bothered to lie to you all?) I’m struggling with this show. The sound effects are getting worse. That is not allowed. Still I found this installment slightly more bearable than the last last, probably because there was more of the cast in play and less of Jade being too cringe to live. 

Absolute Zero (Weds iQIYI) ep 8 of 12 - AKA temporal paradox of pain.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Friends Forever ep 13 of 24 - Ooo it’s a bit of a teacher/student (coach/player) thing. Linguistic negotiation and kinkification of phi. Also actually kinky. But not consensually. Gonna get dark. Bummer. 

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 1 of 14(!) eps - Whines. Must I? Gaga doesn’t have a skip ahead button. Sad sack main characters really do not work for me. But this was better than I expected. I wasn’t expecting much. 

Look: This is helmed by Cheewin (shudder) with screenplay by Den (Only Friends - shudder the second) under Copy A Bangkok (they deserve not my shuddders). It's gonna be a shizz show people. It's Thai dark War of Y style - my least favorites. Apparently, there is meant to be a "plot" but when has Cheewin ever bothered with plot?

On a completely different note does the blond look like that Korean actor/idol from At a Distance Spring is Green & Wanna One to anyone else? Or is it just me? (Park Ji Hoon)

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

A Breeze of Love (Korea iQIYI) eps 3-4 of 8 - I like it a lot. Dongwook is so obtuse and socially awkward and reserved and needy and Dohyun is so gay over and simultaneously wildly confused by this behavior. Fantastic. A bit stiff, even for Korea, btu I'm okay with it since everything else I'm watching right now is decidedly NOT stiff.

I finished it!

Let's Eat Together Aki and Haru AKA Aki wa Haru to Gohan wo - Japan BL movie 1.5 hr

Best friends life together during university - cheerful sunshine loves to cook, grumpy tsundere loves to eat. Aki is a bit manic pixie dream boy for me (not my favorite archetype) but they’re cute and it’s one of those Japanese slice of life pieces like Our Dining Table that isn’t really a romance in fact it’s barely a drama. This isn’t friends to lovers because they’re basically already in a relationship (which everyone around them knows) they just aren’t fucking. I did spend a lot of time worrying that they weren’t eating any green things whatsoever. In the end this isn’t my thing when there’s no kissing at all, and this was a bit too dull even for JBL. Sorry Japan, one cannot trade on cute and cheese alone. I know, you want to. But that's not a BL or a personality. 6/10 

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan, maybe coming to Netflix) 8 eps - This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen. Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way. This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen.

I LOVE LOVE LOVED THIS. IT'S SO GOOD.

10/10

Let me be perfectly clear: I have watched 646 BLs and only handed out nine 10/10s.

I talk more about why this one made the cut, here.

It's Airing But...

One Room Angel (Japan Gaga) 6 eps - adaptation of Harada’s manga (which I did not like) about a clerk who's stabbed, nearly dies, and returns home to find an angel waiting for him. With only 5 eps and a good chance this won’t end happy, I'm gonna wait and let you tell me how it goes.

SHADOW (Thai Gaga) 14 eps - I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all) even one featuring Singto and Fluke. I'm holding off on this one and if told it's good I'll binge later.

Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) 8 eps - House of Stars meets Boyband. I was NOT impressed. Waiting to be told if I should bother.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until it completes its run.

Next Week Looks Like This

STARTING

11/20 Bake Me Please (Mon Gaga) ep 1 of 6 - trailer here, stars Ohm (of OhmFluke) opposite Guide (bestie from IFYLITA). This looks like an actually gay version of Antique Bakery (play it again, BL). I'm intrigued, it looks HELLA pretty.

11/22 7 Days Before Valentine (Weds ????) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk. Adapted from y-novel of the same name, directed by Tu (180 Degree) stars Jet (Why You… Y Me?). When you want your old love again, but fate sends you a reaper instead. All he can do for you is kill people. I'll likely give this a pass and wait to binge if safe.

11/24 VIP Only (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - Screenplay by Lin Pei Yu (WBL) about a chef who courts a shy writer with spicy beef noodles.

11/25 The Sign (Sat ????) ep 1 of 10 - trailer here, horror-esk, but with a suspense and adult characters. Special investigators who loved each other in previous lives reunite in new bodies. Stars Billy Patchanon (BillySeng) & Babe Tanatat (new). Includes other SCOY favorites as a special investigation team. I may give this a try (depending on distribution) because I'm into the non-horror bits.

11/26 The Whisperer (Sun ????) 1 of 10 - trailer here. Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). He has dimples (My Ride) but I don't think even that gives me the will. You can tell me how this goes.

11/26 Cooking Crush (Sun YT) 1 of 12 - OffGun are back, trailer here. Adapted from the novel “Love Course! เสื้อกาวน์รุกเสื้อกุ๊กรับ” by iJune4S this is about Prem who runs a not-so-popular restaurant with 2 friends. About to go on a cooking competition with a huge reward, Prem gets involved with Ten, a stressed-out med student who wants Prem to teach him to cook.

Still Coming November BL

11/30 For Him (Thurs ????) ep 1 of 10 - high heat trailer, I suspect iQIYI will scoop this one up. From the people who brought us Unforgotten Night (please no) based on a y-novel, man nursing a heartbreak has a one-night stand, but the other boy didn't want it to end. It looks terribly trashy so I'm in! Maybe I'll do a trash watch?

Nov 2023 line up with screen caps here. Not kept updated.

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

To be fair this was last week but I did get the screen shot until now. (You are Mine)

I Cannot Reach You serving all Japan's favorite tropes plus some very un-Japan decent kisses.

(Last week)

[aquagirl1978]

Could I ask for Theo from Ikemen Vampire with “melody” if that’s okay?

-🤺

Of course - it's more than okay 🤺anon!

theo x reader | prompt: melody | word count: 838 | tags: fluff, theo pov

The sky had already darkened by the time I returned to the mansion. It was a long, hard day spent preparing for an upcoming gallery show, and all I wanted to do was find you and relax for the remainder of the evening.

I walked towards the parlor, hoping to find you or someone who knew your whereabouts, when I heard a familiar tune being played on the piano. Naturally, I had assumed it was Leonardo playing, and was surprised to run into him in the hallway.

“If you’re out here, who’s in there playing?” I asked.

Leonardo let out a hearty laugh. “That’s cara mia. She asked me to teach her how to play. It’s funny, though,…” he added, “she only wanted to learn how to play this one piece.”

Of course, I thought to myself, though I’d never admit to Leonardo the meaning behind this particular piece.

Leonardo shrugged as he searched his pockets for a cigarillo. “Oh well, I ‘spose it holds some significance to cara mia. Maybe it’s from one of those…what does she call them…moving pictures?” He lit the cigarillo in his mouth and took a long drag; the sweet smell of tobacco that I had long since equated with the genius himself soon filled the hallway. 

“Hurry, she’s almost done playing. It’s something you don’t want to miss.” Leonardo turned and waved, cigarillo in hand, a cloud of smoke billowing behind as he walked away.

I tilted my head towards the parlor, the music stirring strong memories.

It was an unseasonably warm evening, not too long after you made the decision to stay with me. After a quiet dinner out at your favorite restaurant, we decided to skip the carriage and walk home, hand in hand.

On our way, we heard music coming from an open window; you stopped me as soon as you heard it.

You had turned to me and said with a smile, “They’re playing our song. Can we stay here for a minute and listen to it?”

You knew even then that I could never say no to you.

I took you in my arms, your back resting against my chest, as we stood soaking in the sweet melodies. As the tempo of the music slowed, I pulled you closer to me, and rested my head against yours. 

I was so unbelievably happy at that moment, so happy that you had entered my life, so happy that you decided to stay by my side, that I completely lost track of time. I think you did, too. 

Reluctant to let go, I eventually withdrew my arms from your waist. I took your hand in mine, and tugged you close to me. 

“I love you,” I whispered as I brushed a kiss against your lips. I could feel your smile as you kissed me back.

“I love you, too,” you whispered to me. 

Many years have passed since that day – the memory of it likely dulled for you over time, the edges of it fading over time. But for me, that memory was still sharp and sweet, like it only happened yesterday.

I didn’t want to disturb you – at least not yet – so I stood by the doorway, quietly watching you play. Leonardo taught you well; to me, you played better than Mozart. 

When you were close to the end, I pushed away from the wall and made my way to the piano. When I drew near, you tilted your face ever so slightly, spoiling my surprise. 

My body sank onto the bench next to you; with my back to the piano, I turned my head and watched your fingers dance across the black and white keys.

I was enthralled watching you play, much like I am when I have watched Vincent paint. To witness someone create something so exquisite with just their hands was a true pleasure. 

It wasn't until you stopped playing that I realized I had been holding my breath. You cleared your throat, breaking me of my reverie.

My gaze shifted to you; in that moment, after having poured your all into playing, you looked positively radiant and rendered me speechless.

“Do you remember what you said the first time we heard this piece together?”

I smiled and felt my face warm; I’d never forget that day. “Of course I remember,” I replied, cupping your cheek in my palm. “We were walking the streets of Paris, hand in hand. We passed a theatre and heard this very song playing. It must have been the third time we had heard it play during our not so many dates. I said this must be our song now. And I told you I loved you…”

You nodded and pressed a kiss on my hand. 

“Just as I have done every time I hear this song.”

I leaned closer to you, my hand moving, cradling the back of your head as I guided your lips to meet mine. 

“I love you, hondje,” I whispered before kissing you. “I love you.”

Tagging: @redheadkittys @chaosangel767 @ikehoe @kpop-and-otome

@lucyw260 @queengiuliettafirstlady @kisara-16 @lordsisterxotome @umi-adxhira

@crypticbibliophile @tele86 @nightfoxqueen @wendolrea @randonauticrap

@judejazza @maries-gallery @xbalayage @xenokiryu @nightghoul381

@alydra @ranhanabi777 @silver-dahlia @fang-and-feather @lunaaka

@ikesenwritings @natimiles @valkyyriia     @justpeachyteastea @kalims-pessimist-bestie  

@shadowylakes   @writingwhimsey   @candiedcoffeedrops @kookie-my-little-sunshine

[drivinmeinsane]

Colt is going to be the love of my life and I don't think you should be writing about him so soon. YOU DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HIM. You're probably just projecting harmful thoughts onto MY BABY like you do with Ken. Cut! It! Out! ✂️💥

The wonderful thing about liking characters that are in the public eye, everyone will have differing thoughts on those characters and the ways they wish to interact with their source material. I appreciate the message, it inspired me to assume even more things about Colt Seavers. <3

{ masterlist }

※ Summary: It's golden hour at the beach. You and Colt have some waves to catch.

※ Rating: T for suggestive remarks.

※ Word count: 609

“I can carry my own board,” you protest as you watch your companion begin sliding the epoxied piece of polyurethane from the bed of his lifted truck. Colt pauses to look at you, an easy smile on his face. The sand is cool under your feet. The entire beach is awash in a golden hour glow. It was bordering on being too cold to be riding waves, but that wasn’t enough to make the stuntman hesitate. He lived for pushing the limits.  “I’ll be all weirdly lopsided if I don’t,” he jokes, dramatically tipping to the side under the weight of his surfboard that he’s already tucked underneath one arm.   You roll your eyes at him, but drop it. He’s too stubborn to argue with when he gets it in his head that he wants to do something nice for you. You latch the truck’s tailgate for him once he has both boards in his possession. The two of you start off towards the lapping ocean. This section of the beach is deserted, it’s only you and Colt out here. Even the gulls were absent, off harassing visitors on the more populated stretches of sand. “You think we’ll be lucky enough to see Bruce this time?” He asks over his shoulder. He turns just enough that you can see the laughter lines crinkle around his eyes at his own commentary. “Only you would be excited by the idea of getting eaten by an oversized fish.”  “I mean... whose idea of a good time doesn’t involve someone getting eaten?” He quips in response, tone flirty. You know that if the two of you were facing each other, he would have dragged his graze slowly up your body to further the remark. Torn between embarrassed and exasperated, you briefly cover your face with your hands. They do absolutely nothing to muffle your groan. You hear Colt chuckle when he sees your reaction out of the corner of his eye. He really could be the most insufferable person alive, but damn, if you didn’t love him all the same.  The water is cold as the waves push over your feet. You hiss at the sensation, but take your surfboard from Colt all the same. You both lean down to secure your ankle tethers. Upon straightening back up, Colt squeezes your shoulder. His hand is hot on your bare skin and you lean into his touch, chasing the warmth. “Ready?” You ask him. “I was born ready,” and with that, you’re both plunging into the water.  You shout encouragements at each other as you attempt to maneuver through the ocean. During one particular effort to crest a wave, Colt wipes out spectacularly. He somersaults through the air with a shrill shriek before he hits the water. You laugh so hard about it that you lose balance and pitch headfirst into the waves yourself. He’s right there when you resurface, hair plastered to his forehead and sitting on his surfboard with a sheepish grin spread across his face. He watches while you pull yourself back onto your own board. He paddles closer, until your knees are brushing. “Hey,” he says, leaning in.  “Hey yourself,” you answer, closing the distance.  He cradles the side of your face with one large hand. His thumb makes slow passes over your cheekbone, caressing. You allow yourself to get lost in the firm press of his mouth against yours, the taste of salt on his lips, and the warmth of his body. If Colt’s favorite fictional shark were to pull you down underneath the water right now, you think you would die happy having been loved by this man.

[cows-wearing-my-sweater]

"this is why if you want to kiss you should kiss."

word count: 2354 warnings: brief mentions of alcohol + smoking notes: my first time posting my writing to tumblr so i hope you enjoy this!! i dont write very frequently, but i hope it's a nice read regardless <3

You sit on the old and broken couch, holding a red cup that’s half-filled with something you don’t plan on drinking. It’s dark. Someone brought a strobe light that barely functions; it’s something out of a bad high school party. You watch the party in slow flashes of blue, green, orange. A guy in the other room is pouring beer on himself. A girl you vaguely recognise from your hometown is plastered. She’ll probably be passed out on the shag carpet in a matter of minutes. Someone is playing too-loud house music through busted speakers. At the other end of the couch, someone else is straddling their boyfriend’s lap. None of their kisses meet the guy’s lips, but they don’t care. 

In the midst of the bleak scene, there’s you.

After about thirty minutes of the party, you had become unsure of why you were even there. Something about a new friend dragging you along, something about needing to meet new people. You know it’s certainly true, but a voice in the back of your head nags at you, saying that this feels more pathetic than if you had just stayed home tonight. 

You look around the room for nothing in particular, even though your eyes are analysing every detail they fall on. Maybe you’re praying for just one familiar face. The friend who had dragged you along is long gone, and the longer you think about it, the more you begin to panic. You take a sip of your drink out of desperation; it’s sickly warm and unpleasant going down, but something’s got to calm the nerves. 

You finally get to your feet, deciding to abandon the couple next to you before they go all the way. You walk around the house aimlessly, trying not to bump into the warm bodies all around you. People are dancing like there’s nowhere else they’d rather be. They don’t seem to notice how bad the music is, or the sickening combined smell of weed and vomit that seems to hang in every room. You envy this carelessness, the ability to let go of cynicism for a night. 

Miraculously, you manage to push yourself to the front door, letting out a sigh of relief as it swings open and you step out onto the concrete steps. The February air bites you, but you relish the sting of the cold against your ears and nose, letting it seep into the rest of your body. Few people are out here; one person is lying facedown on the grass, passed out. You spot a group of friends walking home, stumbling a little but laughing loudly. What really catches your eye, though, are the faint wisps of cigarette smoke drifting through the air. It’s coming from around the side of the house. You walk towards it, listening to the somewhat foolish hope in your mind that maybe this person is just as miserable as you.

He’s standing there and he’s beautiful. You can’t make out the details of his features in the darkness, but you feel your breathing hitch. Suddenly you’re an idiot for approaching him, because he’s staring at you expectantly and you have nothing to say. His eyebrows are raised as he withdraws the cigarette from his lips. When you take too long to search for words, he spares you further embarrassment and takes the lead. “Party ended up a bit rubbish, didn’t it?”

This seems to pull you out of your stupor. You silently curse yourself before responding, unable to figure why your brain had short-circuited at the sight of the stranger. “Yeah… you know it’s bad when it looks like a 17 year old’s idea of a rager.”

He laughs at this, gracing you with a kind smile. Without a word, he reaches into his pocket and offers you a cigarette.

A smoke suddenly sounds like the most wonderful thing in the world.

You’re about to ask for a lighter when he says, “Here, I’ll do it.” You hold the cigarette to your lips while he pulls the lighter out of the same pocket. He holds your wrist to steady your hand, which is shaking slightly from the cold. Your eyes dart away, not wanting to make eye contact while his skin is on yours. It feels so childish to be acting like this around a mystery guy you’ve spoken to for about thirty seconds, but you can’t help it.

The two of you stand there together for the next minute, inhaling and exhaling in unison. It’s dead quiet, and it’s freezing, but it’s cathartic. 

You don’t notice him stealing glances at you, trying to catch every detail in the minimal light. He comes to the conclusion that you seem well worth a night of adventure, which is when he asks, “D’you want to get out of here?”

You look up at him, a little taken aback. “I don’t even know your name…?”

“Matty.”

You pause to think, but then quickly decide against thinking. “I’d love to ditch with you, Matty.”

You’re shocked by your own answer, yet pleasantly surprised. You don’t know what’s made you drop your senses, forget about going home, but you’re a little proud. This is what you had been aching over just earlier tonight. So, as Matty snuffs out his cigarette and you follow suit, you force back the creeping doubt that’s coming through. This is fine. You have your wits about you. You figure anywhere is better than here, anyway.

Matty leads the both of you back around to the front of the house, cautiously stepping around the passed out body on the lawn. He pauses by the front steps. “Anyone you need to let know you’re leaving?”

It’s reassuring that he asks this, but you shrug in a noncommittal manner. “I suppose not, no.” You think back to the girl that had convinced you to come here. She’s sweet to have attempted to take you under her wing, but her attempt was fruitless. You doubt your absence will be noticed, but you take no issue with this. “What about you? Who’re you leaving behind?” you question, suddenly wondering why Matty had been so eager to escape with you – aside from the fact that the party was very clearly only going to get bleaker. He’s charismatic, he’s sweet, he’s much more attractive than you like to admit. It’s a wonder that he isn’t back inside, thriving in the center of everything, everyone.

Matty simply mimics your shrug, but a sly smile is spread across his face. “Ah, they can live without me for a night. Doubt my friends are sticking around much longer, they probably hate it here too.”

You accept his answer. Part of you wants to smile to yourself at this feeling of being at least somewhat desired, being chosen. Especially by Matty, a person who is now consistently piquing your interest. The feeling is new, but it warms you. But maybe the warmth you feel is because Matty has now taken your hand in his, leading you off the lawn and into the street.

“God, you’re freezing,” he mumbles, furrowing his brow as you continue walking together.

You laugh a little at this. “Matty, it’s gotta be subzero right now, of course I’m freezing.”

Matty just hums at this. Without a word, he pulls you much closer to his side. You’re met with the smell of cologne, cigarettes, and what you pick out to be the faintest trace of weed. On most people, this would be repulsive, but there’s something strangely comforting about the scent of Matty, and suddenly you realise you don’t want to be pulled away from his side like this.

Apprehension must be showing on your face, though, because Matty breaks the silence by saying, “I don’t bite, you know. If you’re feeling anxious we can go back, love.”

You look up at him, still somewhat pressed to his side. “No, no,” you say hurriedly, “I actually quite like this.”

This brings a true smile to Matty’s face, and you almost think that’s enough to warm your entire body. It’s a wide smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle up just a bit, and the grip of his arm around you tightens almost imperceptibly. “I think I quite like you.”

“Oh, come on now,” you say behind your own smile. “You haven’t asked my name yet, you know.”

Matty stops in his tracks at this, causing you to come to a halt as well. “God, I haven’t!” he exclaims. “I’m so sorry, er… what’s your name, darling?”

You give an exaggerated roll of your eyes and sigh, “I suppose I can tell you it’s [Y/N] now that you’ve finally been a gentleman to me.”

“That’s enough,” he groans. “I swear, I only forgot because I’ve been so enamored with you.”

You can’t quite tell if he’s being serious here, but something in his voice suggests genuineness. At least, that’s what you hope it is. “Enamored, huh?” you ask, trying to prod more out of him.

Matty pretends not to hear you, though, and you decide that’s your cue to move on from the moment. As you walk toward whatever Matty’s destination is, you fill the time with questions about each other. You start with small-talk questions (“What music are you into?” “What brings you to this town?” “Do you have a girlfriend?”), but Matty is more interested in big-talk. He’s very much so determined to open you up, to get inside your head and never leave. It doesn’t even take long before he becomes more and more successful in this venture. You find yourself speaking easily, passionately, with Matty. His conversations aren’t self-serving – they don’t exist for him to be pretentious or for him to talk himself up. His conversations exist because he wants to listen.  He hangs on to every word you say like a lifeline, and you can feel this. You feel his deep, gentle eyes trained on you as you pick the right words to answer his question with.

You’re not even particularly aware anymore of the fact that his arm is still wrapped around you, or that your walk with Matty has diverged from the road and instead led you to a park with winding tree-lined paths. When there’s a lull in the conversation, Matty quickly tells you, “I promise I’m not taking us anywhere dodgy.”

For the first time during this whole adventure, you pull away from him, eyebrows raised. “You know that sounds extremely dodgy, don’t you?”

Matty cocks his head to the side, as if pondering your question. “You’ll just have to trust me then, huh?”

You shove Matty lightly. “I’ve given you the gift of my absolute blind trust this whole night, don’t make me regret it just when I’m starting to have fun.”

Another wide grin spreads across his face. “We’re almost where I wanted to take you, anyway.”

He leads you, hand in hand, through one of the wooded paths. It slowly rises upward on an incline, and you start silently praying that the ground levels out before you break into a sweat, even in the frigid air.

Then, before you even realise, the ground actually has leveled out and you’re at the top of a hill. The pathway Matty led you through has faded into the grass here, and all that lays before you is a grassy field and an inky sky, each stretching into nothingness. Stars speckle the sky and a half moon accompanies them, and it’s all too beautiful.

Matty is watching you, waiting for a reaction. “I think it’s quite spectacular here,” he starts. “It’s all quite plain and mundane – just grass and all that. But that’s sort of spectacular, d’you know what I mean?”

You nod in agreement, turning to look at Matty. He looks like he belongs in this scene, a very small and quiet smile adorning his face. A thin beam of moonlight has fallen across him, and this is the moment you take in every visible detail of him. He could’ve been sculpted by the gods, the way each feature compliments one another so perfectly. You wonder how his curls would feel between your fingers or against your cheek. You wonder if his lips fit with yours.

He’s staring back at you now but neither of you seem to care. Time has frozen still and you both know something will happen, but for this moment neither of you wish to speak it into existence. Every detail of this needs to be memorised.

“Would it be too forward to ask to kiss you?” Matty asks softly.

An hour or two ago you would have left right there and gone home. You think about how pathetic you felt in that living room on the beer-soaked couch. You think about Matty listening so carefully to every word you speak, about how gorgeous he is, about how badly you simply want to kiss him. And you decide that’s enough. Against any reasoning that would’ve told you off for kissing a stranger, you shake your head and let Matty’s lips meet yours. The taste of his cigarette still lingers there, and you savor it. Your lips melt into his, seeking the warmth he provides against the cold night. It's magic; you feel as though you're falling into him. His fingers brush against your cheek, which gives you the courage to raise your own hand to meet his hair, twirling a loose curl around your finger. 

Matty is the first to break the kiss, and when he does, you don’t know where to look. He notices this very quickly and uses his index finger to tilt your head back to face him again. “I’m glad we did that.”

You’re glad too. Something has been planted inside you. It tells you to kiss Matty all over again because maybe all that matters right now is the fact that he is looking at you like an angel has just graced his lips. He is looking at you like you’re the very stars hanging above. And you have never felt something more right than letting yourself kiss him.

“Could we do it again?”

[misscorn]

Day 1 Blossom/Reunion

Oh my god im freaking out @takaritsuweek day 0 is almost freaking here and I can't handle it. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself. Enjoy some sadness LAKSJLKAJ

_________________

Masamune’s eyes had become much more sensitive (and required an even stronger prescription) in his old age, causing him to slowly wake at the first hint of sunlight. Usually he would grumble and throw his blanket over his head - much too tired to be dragging himself out of bed to adjust the curtains - but today he would utilize every waking moment. 

Today was special, after all. 

He slowly sat up, more bones protesting than he would have liked as his feet touched the cool floor. His movement disturbed the big fluff ball that had been laying beside him, making her stand and stretch at her own sluggish pace. She padded across the mattress to bump her head against Masamune’s arm. 

“Being nice today, Sakura?” He asked, scratching her between her white ears. “Or are you just hungry?”

She meowed, making her way into Masamune’s lap and plopping down. She was an old cat now - sixteen years old give or take - and the name had been Masamune’s idea after he and Ritsu found her frightened and hungry on the street. Ritsu treated the name suggestion like a bad joke, but it just ended up sticking. 

Sakura head butted Masamune’s hand as he pet her, quietly purring. 

“Ah, are you maybe worried about me? Do you remember what today is?” He asked. “Come on, get up.” He gently nudged her, Sakura not typically enjoying being picked up and manhandled. With enough encouragement, Sakura hopped down from the bed, much more agile than Masamune despite her own elderly status. She took a few steps forward toward the bedroom door before looking behind her shoulder to make sure Masamune was following. 

“I’m slow, but I’m coming, don’t rush an old man.” He said with a chuckle, making his way to the small kitchen. He made himself a cup of coffee and got Sakura her food. He didn’t have much of an appetite himself, sipping his hot drink slowly as he watched Sakura eat greedily. 

“Now, don’t start expecting me to always wake up this early to give you your food.” Masamune warned and Sakura made some noise that couldn’t quite be classified as a meow with all her chewing mixed in with it. Masamune smiled a bit to himself in amusement, finishing his coffee. 

“I’ve got something for you.” He said, opening a specific cabinet that made Sakura’s pupils go wide and her ears stand up straight as her brain alerted her that this was the one that held the treats. She jumped up onto the counter, meowing loudly, making Masamune shush and shoo her. “Have some manners, Sakura.” He scolded playfully, getting out a treat for her as well as a little toy he’d stowed away. He set the treat down first, chuckling as she devoured it. “You’re going to choke.” He warned, but she didn’t pay him any mind.

She licked her lips once she was finished then looked up at Masamune expectantly, waiting to see if she was lucky enough for more. 

“Here, since you destroyed your last one.” He said as he gently tossed a small fish shaped toy to her. Sakura latched on to it immediately, biting and kicking with her back legs. She preferred toys she could grab rather than little balls to chase - that took too much energy. Masamune watched her ‘attack’ with affection. 

“Happy birthday, Sakura.” He said. Now, he and Ritsu didn’t know if today was actually her birthday - it was unlikely - but today was the day that the two had found her, so it seemed appropriate enough. 

With Sakura taken care of, Masamune began to walk out of the kitchen. First he went to a rather expansive bookshelf, very carefully scanning the titles that he and Ritsu had collected over the years for one book in particular and pulling it out once he located it. He then shuffled to stand in front of a simple and private shrine, tending to some of the cherry blossom branches on display he’d gotten the previous day. Sakura followed after a few moments, the fish toy in her mouth as if it were prey she had caught. 

“Today isn’t just your birthday, Sakura.” Masamune said, looking down at her when he heard the tinkling of the bell on her collar. She let out a muffled meow around the toy as she looked up toward the flowers and the picture front and center. She knew from past experience that if she tried to jump up there she’d get grabbed, so she stayed put. 

Masamune lit a candle, refraining from burning incense as he knew it wasn’t good for his feline friend. 

“Happy birthday, Ritsu.” He said, soon kneeling on a cushion, planning on being here for quite a while. Sakura watched him for a few moments before ultimately deciding to curl up next to him, gently dropping her toy between her own front paws. 

“I bought a small cake for later. And I have your favorite book here. I thought I’d read it to you. Sakura’s here too, to say happy birthday. She’s more clingy today. I think she’s worried I’m sad.” Masamune scratched her under her chin, Sakura leaning into the touch. “Well, she’s not wrong. I miss you.” Masamune took in a shaking breath, his already terrible vision becoming even more blurry with tears. “I can’t cry and read, though. You’d be mad if I got your favorite book all wet.” He said with a bittersweet laugh, pulling his hand away from Sakura to push his glasses out of the way and rub his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you so much, you know that? Otherwise I’d be royally pissed off that you left me again even though you promised you wouldn’t.” He continued. “I mean, I am pissed off, don’t get me wrong, but I’ll forgive you if you give me the thousands of kisses I’m owed triple fold when we meet again.” He said, sounding entirely too serious about his terms.

The photo of Ritsu just smiled wordlessly, an eternal flush to his cheeks, forever immortalized as a bashful, nervous, but excited groom on his wedding day.

Masamune took another deep breath, realizing he’d just been staring for a few minutes. “Sorry. Don’t mean to be giving you a hard time on your birthday of all days.” He smiled a bit. “I guess I should be giving you thousands of kisses, huh?” He chuckled. “Shouldn’t I, Sakura?” He asked. 

Sakura meowed in response, but stayed curled up.

“See, she agrees.” He said, trying to ignore the way his heart grew heavier at the lack of indignant protests and embarrassed denials. “You probably want me to get on with the reading already, huh? It’s not as fun to tease you without you here to yell at me, anyway. One would think you would have mellowed out, but I swear you got worse.” He joked, chuckling softly to himself, his laughter petering out into a sigh. “I’d give anything to hear you call me an idiot again, though.” A brief silence fell over Masamune before he smiled slowly. “Or a pervert.” His laughter returned. “How’d I get so lucky, marrying the cutest man in the world?”

Still no answer, not that Masamune was expecting one. Masamune sighed once more, admiring his husband’s features. “When did we get so old?” He complained. Although many things began to deteriorate the older he got - his eyesight, his strength, his energy - the memories of their youth were still bold in his mind. His heart so clearly recalled the feeling of falling love for the first time - how frightening, unexpected, exciting, and overwhelmingly warm it was. Although their separation had left a deep wound, it healed with time and the scar faded with the many wonderful years he and Ritsu were able to spend together after their reunion. 

Now, all that was left was the love that was so haphazardly but sincerely and passionately tended to and grew into something beyond what Masamune ever could have hoped for. Only, the person that love was for was no longer here to share it. 

“Mreow?” 

Masamune blinked, realizing his tears had overwhelmed him this time and began to fall down his face. 

“Sorry, girl. I don’t mean to worry you.” Masamune stroked her back reassuringly. “You miss him too, don’t you?” He added with a sad smile. 

It took at least a year for Sakura to stop looking for Ritsu after his passing. Sakura had always preferred Ritsu over Masamune, not that Masamune minded - nor could he blame her. Ritsu was great, after all. She’d get on Ritsu’s side of the bed, sniffing his pillow and laying down, meowing loudly to demand nightly cuddles - a ritual that she and Ritsu became quite settled in after years of companionship (And Ritsu finally learning how to handle and read the body language of a cat). However, her meows were left unanswered. She would look behind Masamune after he’d come home from running errands to see if Ritsu would be following, but he never was. She’d even sit and wait at the front door, meowing over and over again as if her voice could lead Ritsu back home.

Masamune’s grief had been volatile for a long time, even more so during the first year. Sometimes when he saw Sakura sitting and waiting he had to sit himself down on the couch as he became overwhelmed with body jerking sobs, unable to compose himself for hours. Other times he’d snap and tell her to shut up and that Ritsu wasn’t ever coming back. Much more rarely he would sit beside her and pet her head, watching the door with her. 

“I think that’s why we get along pretty well.” Masamune said to the cat. “Cause we both love Ritsu.”

“Mreow.”

“Only idiots wouldn’t love him.” 

Sakura started to purr and Masamune took that as agreement. He calmed down his tears and straightened out his glasses before he finally opened up the book to start reading out loud. Sakura’s purring quieted down before ceasing all together, her breathing calm and steady as she fell asleep to the sound of his voice. 

Masamune continued to read, letting himself get lost enough in the book that he could pretend there was another person leaning against his shoulder and following along with the words.

[beyondxmeasure]

My collection of fics written for the One Direction fandom, most recent listed first. Subscribe here for new fic & chapter updates!

✨ Thanks for reading! ✨

♾️ Near You Now

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Explicit | 8K | Larry | Strangers to Lovers | Neighbors | PWP | Grindr AU

When a leaky bathroom sink turns into a minor flood, Harry has to act fast. So, he thinks of the closest (and most unlikely) way to find home repair help… Grindr. The last thing he expects from this quick fix is to find anything long term.

Or... A Grindr AU inspired by this very real DM exchange as seen in this tumblr post.

♾️ Paint a Rainbow Inside My Heart

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Teen+ | 22K | Larry | 5+1 Things | Queer Coding | Sexual Identity | Coming Out

A story about hiding in plain sight and the journey to revealing your truth, told in six acts. Or, the five times Harry queer coded with actions, behaviors or clothing and the one time he was too proud to hide it anymore.

🏳️‍🌈 Written for the @1dpridefest

♾️ The Habit I Can't Break

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Explicit | 63K | Larry | Strangers to Lovers | Fitness Instructor Harry | Mild Kink (discovery)

While searching for a healthy alternative to fill the void that one habit left, Louis gets hooked on something and someone totally different. This new experience pushes him way out of his comfort zone, making Louis realize he’s capable of so much more than he could’ve ever imagined.

Or… The one where Louis quits smoking and tries to get healthy, and Harry is the fitness instructor who helps him achieve those goals while making him sweat in and out of the gym. In which Harry and Louis still meet at bootcamp, just not the one you’re thinking of.

Featuring Lottie as the supportive sister who drags her brother to bootcamp class, Louis as the grumpy (and very recently) ex-smoker, and Harry as the instructor with exhausting amounts of enthusiasm and one obnoxious pair of yellow trainers.

♾️ Forget About the World Outside, Because It's Just Me and You Tonight

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Explicit | 4K | Larry | Post-Brit Awards Smut

Harry’s swept the Brits, bringing home four awards. He couldn’t be prouder and can’t wait to share his excitement with his favorite person, who he knows is waiting for him in the limo to take him home. He can’t help it if his mind starts to wander while the press snaps photos of him with his statuettes. All he can think about is the warm welcome he knows he’s bound to receive.

But first, Harry will have some repenting to do for a particular comment he made to the world about one, Stanley Tucci.

Or... The one where Louis didn’t care much for Harry’s acceptance speech for the Album of the Year award and needs to remind him that it’s Louis (not some bald American twat) who Harry loves more than anyone else in the world.

♾️ Let Your Heart Be Light

Fic Post

Teen+ | 77K| Larry + Ziam + Nashe | Enemies to Lovers | Advent Fic | Christmas Fluff | Slow Burn

Louis Tomlinson, a self-proclaimed holiday-hater, loses his job two weeks before Christmas. Broke and desperate to see his family back home in England, he takes the only job left at the mall as one of Santa’s helpers. Harry is an unconventional mall Santa, the youngest one they’ve had in years, but with as much holiday spirit as any other seasoned Saint Nick. He’s determined to un-Grinch the new guy in Santa’s Village if it takes until Christmas, then he finds out the devastating reason Louis has lost his Christmas cheer. Will Harry be just the thing Louis needs to help him get his sparkle back?

Featuring Liam as the manager at Santa's Village, Niall as an easy-going Irish elf and Harry's best friend, grumpy Grinch Louis and his best friend Zayn and one matchmaking Mrs. Claus.

♾️ Lazy Days and Pancakes for Two

Fic Post

Teen+ | 4K | Larry | Established Relationship | Domestic Fluff

They haven't seen each other in eighteen days. What better way to spend a much-needed tour break than having a lazy day watching shit TV and having breakfast in bed with your husband.

♾️ I Gave Up Hope and Found You Instead

Fic Post

Teen+ | 14K | Larry | Strangers to Lovers | Pirate AU | Fisherman Louis | Fluff/Angst/Hurt/Comfort

The entire village warned him not to go. Still, the peculiar boy from Eroda set sail on an odd-numbered day and, without knowing it, headed straight into the Our Flag Means Death universe. While being held captive aboard the pirate ship Revenge, the boy meets a fisherman named Louis.

Tasked by the captain to teach the reluctant boy to fish, Louis struggles to hide his frustration and hold his tongue. As difficult as it was to deal with this clumsy stranger, the skilled fisherman had worse assignments and more unpleasant partners, but none of them with a smile as bright as this peculiar boy had. A moment of unexpected distress catches them off guard, and both soon find out it’s much easier to catch feelings than fish.

Or, Where the "Adore You" music video ends and the Our Flag Means Death canon begins.

🐟 Written for @erodaficfest

♾️ I Was Born like This, Don't Even Gotta Try

Fic Post

Explicit | 2K | Larry | 2015 Era | Canon Reimagined | Fluff & Smut

A Gucci suit to get on your knees for… Louis and Harry return home after a long day of promo events and cocktail parties. They’re both exhausted, but that doesn’t stop Louis from keeping a promise he made to Harry in the limo earlier that night.

A certain geometric Gucci suit might have played a part in helping Louis’ keep that promise.

♾️ A Simple Twisted Fate

Fic Post

Explicit | 18K | Larry | Strangers to Lovers | Tattoo Artist Louis | Rock Star Harry | Kink Exploration

Global rock star Harry Styles has some time to kill between tour dates and stumbles into a Doncaster tattoo shop with a desire for some new ink. He has a few other desires as well, but those he must keep to himself.

Louis Tomlinson, owner of Twisted Fate Tattoos, has seen enough of the tabloids and thinks he knows everything there is to know about this world-famous rock star, and he’s not impressed.

Harry may be one of the world's biggest stars known for a lavish lifestyle, crazy parties and entourages of women wherever he goes, but he’s more than just what his image and wild reputation suggests.

Things take an interesting turn when Louis finds out he’s been helping satisfy Harry’s voracious pain kink. Bet he'd love to know that not only is Louis a gifted tattoo artist, but an experienced Dom as well. Perhaps they both have something to learn from each other, if only Louis would give Harry a chance. Maybe their paths crossing was more than just a twist of fate, but the universe’s plan all along.

Written for @subharryficfest

⚓ Update (11.1.22): New installment in the ‘Twisted’ universe coming soon!

♾️ Just a Little Taste Before I Go

Fic Post

Explicit | 4K | Larry | OTRA Tour | Kink Exploration

Just before showtime, Harry has a bit of nervous energy and needs help to settle himself before he and the boys hit the stage in Milwaukee. Louis knows just the place.

Or… The one where Harry and Louis just need to... ahem, blow off some steam in a storage closet and wind up dabbling in some unplanned kink exploration—and we find out what really happened before they took the stage that night of OTRA tour… you know the one.

Written for @subharryficfest

♾️ Climbing the Swells

Fic Post

Explicit | 6K | Larry | Enemies to Lovers | Surfer AU | Smut

One surfer out of his depth amongst some territorial locals makes a bold move and a very unwelcome entrance. After things go wrong, another surfer reluctantly takes mercy on him, offering some first-aid and unexpected hospitality aboard his Airstream. A couple dimples and a few wayward curls go a long way to soften one surly local, and what started out as a rough morning becomes a very sunny spot to the day.

Or… The one where a clumsy Harry and a stubborn Louis reconcile their grievances on the beach, with a heartfelt apology from Louis on his knees without saying a word.

🏖️ Written for @hlsummerfest2021

♾️ I Know You Rider (Gonna Miss Me when I’m Gone)

Fic Post

Teen+ | 9K | Larry | Strangers to Lovers | 1990s AU | Single-Rider Line AU

Waiting in line at the Big Dipper, one angsty skater punk gets paired with a chilled out hippy boy, by way of a single-rider line. Together, they ride one of Cypress Gardens’ oldest wooden roller coasters. Will this easy-going stranger in tie-dye make Louis forget his fear of heights, or turn their rickety ramble into a nightmare on steel wheels? Either way, it will be a ride Louis won’t soon forget.

Or… The one where Louis hates hippies and roller coasters and Harry tries to fix that with lots of fun facts, terrible puns and perhaps one very life-changing moment in a dark tunnel.

🏖️ Written for @hlsummerfest2021

🍋 Part 1 of Arcades & Lemonade. Part 2 coming soon-ish!

♾️ Freedom Always Comes with a Price

Fic Post

Explicit | 101K | Larry | Lovers to Friends to Lovers | Memory Loss | Non-Linear Narrative | Angst, Fluff & Smut

A shared dream brings them together onto the X-factor stage, but one decision changes Harry and Louis’ lives overnight. Thrust into a world of instant stardom, they're forced to live a lie to sustain their dreams, but years of living in the shadows and under strict management take its toll.

With the band's impending hiatus, there’s no better time for change, so they think.

Desperate for a solution, they turn to an unlikely source with a radical plan. An unfortunate accident sets everything in motion, but not how they intended, leaving Louis’ memories altered, Harry broken-hearted and full of regret.

Can Harry figure out a way to fix everything? Will he even want to once he sees how Louis moved on after the hiatus? Will Louis ever find out the truth of their past, and can he forgive Harry after all this time?

In the end, two friends find out that memories are elusive, trust is everything and love is the only antidote.

💥 Written for @onedirectionbigbang

♾️ Longing like a Searchlight

Fic Post

Explicit | 27K | Larry | 5+1 Things | Roommates to Lovers | Road Trips | Mutual Pining | Angst and Smut

Louis moves in with his friend Harry and soon thoughts of his new flatmate are anything but innocent. When it comes to acting on those urges while he’s alone, Louis has no control, and it doesn’t take long for his primal impulses to turn into deep, urgent longing the more time they spend together.

An unexpected family event takes Harry home for the weekend. Will it be the catalyst that finally brings them together, or what tears them apart when Louis overhears what Harry reveals to his mother about his true feelings?

Or... The Five times Louis almost gets caught during a salacious moment of self-care and the one time he did... a roommates-to-lovers fic with lots of feels.

Written for @1d5xfest

[kinetic-elaboration]

September 29: The Conjuring 2

I first tried watching The Conjuring 2 years ago, after seeing the original for the first time, but I couldn’t finish it. I don’t even think I got very far; it just didn’t catch my attention in any way. But I thought maybe that was a me problem, that I wasn’t paying attention enough or giving it enough of a chance. So I tried it again.

I feel like I was right the first time, honestly. It was… fine. I guess. I have no desire to ever watch it again. I don’t always know with horror when I am not paying enough attention and that’s on me, because so much of it is really dependent on immersive atmosphere and just… getting into it, feeling like you’re in it—and when the movie itself isn’t grabbing me enough, isn’t bringing me to that immersive place and that’s a fault of the film.

This one’s biggest sin is being too long. WAY too long. Horror over 2 hours better damn well earn it and this did NOT need to top 90 minutes. It did not. For much of it, I felt like I would cut the nun stuff—then that turned out to be important but in a way that was imo pretty unbelievably coincidental. So she’s been having visions of this particular demon that lives in a house on an entirely different continent for like 10 years just so they can happen to encounter it now? I mean I guess the point is that it’s not a coincidence, but it seems pretty coincidental to me, something that only make sense for movie-plot purposes and nothing else. Also there was no nun in the Amityville house. Also that nun design is not at all frightening, it’s not doing anything for me at all.

So, I don’t know, maybe I would cut it because it really did feel like something that belonged in a totally different movie for most of the movie, and even at the end, its inclusion mostly felt like a very strange coincidence.

I would also just straight up shorten most of the scenes. Everything dragged. Everything dragged even though there were also fairly significant time jumps in the movie, which I did like—the sense that everything has gotten exponentially worse off screen. And I would cut the more… cute stuff, I guess? Like the movie was too self-indulgent. The Conjuring was good but it wasn’t SO good that I need to see Ed Warren singing like Elvis to a bunch of kids, or two slow stories about their individual backgrounds with ghosts, or a scene of them dancing at the end. I think the movie assumed I cared way more about them than I do.

This is something a bit frustrating with both Conjurings honestly: you can just SEE all the strings forming this franchise together; the franchise-machinations are so clear. ‘Here we are placing in elements that will later get their own movies. Aren’t you looking forward to a whole movie about the nun???’ (No.)

I would also cut or otherwise totally redo all the 'is this a hoax' stuff. Because I didn't believe for one second it was a hoax lmfao. So I would either really play into that from the get, with it being way more ambiguous, or I would just do the scares in earnest. The first might be more interesting, but also perhaps hard to pull off given what franchise we're in. But the second is fine too if it means trimming more of this excessive fat.

I found most of the scares a little… obvious, too. The first movie had a great atmosphere. This one… it’s so hard to explain because they’re really quite similar movies, which is perhaps also the downfall of 2. Like, if I wanted to watch this film I would just watch the first one. Initially, it’s captivating and interesting. The second time, it’s rote and paint-by-numbers. Some of the bigger apparitions, like the crooked man for example, were almost clown-like to me. It’s too much. It’s unbelievable.

You know what’s scary: the voice that doesn’t get picked up on the tape; the knocking on the door in the middle of the night; the swing set in the mist and fog. The end credits were legit the spookiest thing to me, with their disturbing jump-cuts inter-spliced with more normal scenes.

I still want to see Annabelle. I’ll make sure I have some sewing for that too—hopefully sewing that goes better than today’s did, as I suspect I’ll be pulling all of this out…

[geminiamethyst]

Skyline Gang: Sky Crystal. Chapter 4: Minor Suspicions

Prologue: click HERE

Chapter 3: click HERE

Chapter 5: click HERE

Kind of a shortish chapter but I hope you all like it.

Also I'll be back at uni next week so updates are going to be few and far between.

“What in the world is going on?”

Watching that particular spot on the crystal became a little intense. When everyone else started to get curious as to what he was looking at, Bud tried his best to point it out. The anomaly that he was seeing started to become more obvious within the next five seconds. It had changed shades in accordance to the colour that the crystal changed to. Just as everyone started to watch it, the surface on that particular area rippled. The air felt like this energy was dancing around, making the underground hideaway hot and cold at the same time. Suddenly, someone flew right out of that spot. They landed on the ground with a loud thud, bouncing off of the ground a little. Rainbow let out a yelp in surprise at this, causing Bud to flinch at the sudden noise. For a moment, the person didn’t move. Then the next, they turned onto their back, hand drifting to their side.

“Dude!” Candi exclaimed, recognising the face as it displayed pain.

“Ow! My hip!” Dude groaned, trying to sit up as slow and as carefully as he could.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Pip shouted down to him.

“I’m alright.” Dude continued to groan. A few bruises that he knows will show up in the morning and a minor headache but nothing that was too serious. He also realised that his clothes were changed back to his night attire and hoodie with the slip on trainers. Well at least he doesn’t need to get changed again and wash off his make up. That would’ve been tedious. After climbing to his shaky feet, he spied around the area. “There’s some stairs over there. I’ll make my way to you.”

Caught up in their panic and awe, no one had noticed the spiral staircase. It’s funny how limited sight can be when high emotions are involved. As Dude ascended the stairs, he kept his eyes on the Sky Crystal, almost as if he was expecting to be dragged right in again. The Crystal continued to shine brightly as it did before. He didn’t notice it before, but the Sky Crystal was the only light source in this secret cave. No need for electricity of any kind. Could this be the power source of the whole Skyline maybe? It would explain why the electricity bills were unusually not as expensive as it would be for an establishment like this. What else has this mystical, enigmatic gem be behind? Along with the man residing within it. He wondered what more hadn’t been told to him during that time he spent with Conjurer.

Once Dude got back up to the others, Candi suddenly launched at him with a hug. He gratefully hugged back. He knew that the others must have worried about him disappearing like that. Just giving something as simple as a hug was more than enough to communicate that he was okay. The relief was so overwhelming that everyone felt like falling asleep right then and there. However, there was too much that still needed to be done and said before anyone could retire to the land of sleep tonight.

“Who knew there was such a fabulous crystal here under the Skyline.” Mimi commented, her eyes shining as she glanced down at the crystal again.

“It’s more than that.” Dude muttered, breaking away from the hug gently. He looked over the railing again, wanting to keep an eye on the Sky Crystal himself again. “Technically it’s alive. Or has someone alive in there.”

“You saw them?” Misty asked, her eyes a little wide in surprise from Dude’s words.

“You could say that.” Dude sighed, still trying to wrap his head around about what he had seen and experienced. Rainbow nudged his side, earring some pets that reassured him. As he made a small fuss of Rainbow, Dude happened to glance down at his sleeve. From where Rainbow had held onto it, it should’ve been torn. Instead it was perfectly fine, as if there was no damage done to it at all. That was actually quite nice of the magic to repair his clothes. He looked back down and noticed something with the Sky Crystal that he didn’t the first time. Was that crack always there? Maybe that was normal. Catching the others looking at him, Dude decided to not linger down here. There was still a lot that he needed to explain. It was best to get it done as fast as possible so then everyone can get back to sleep. “I’ll explain at the house. I don’t want anymore surprises in this place.”

———————————————————————————

“Mr Conjurer?” Those two words were echoed back from almost everyone as Dude got to the tale end of his story. The whole Gang was back at the house, exhausted and on the verge of going back to sleep. However, as Dude explained, they felt more awake with each syllable that he uttered.

“Yeah. He’s some kind of magician or something like that.” Dude sighed tiredly, recalling how eccentric the man dressed inside the Sky Crystal. Such a strange man in a strange crystal surrounded by magic.

“Did he pull a rabbit out of his hat?” Misty teased with a smirk.

“He’s the reason why we were brought here.” Dude ignored Misty’s question. He’s been asked enough questions and stalled more than he felt like was necessary to get into more details. “He pretty much confessed that all to me.”

“So, he can get us home?” Candi asked with her eyes shining with hope. Home. That word seemed almost foreign by now. Everyone had been living in the Skyline for so long and adjusted to their new lives so well, that this was their second home. Just as they were homesick for their families, they knew that they would be just as bad when it was time to leave the Skyline for good.

“I don’t think that he can. At least not now.” Dude confessed, wishing that he had a better answer. Despair filled Candi’s eyes and washed over everyone else too. A couple of them looked like they were about to storm the Sky Crystal and demand answers from Mr Conjurer. Better maintain damage control before it gets out of hand. “The last minute I spent with him, he looked very sick. He even told me that he didn’t have the strength to get you all to go there.”

“Is he on our side?” Bud finally asked. He didn’t doubt anyone’s judgement, especially Dude’s considering the situation. However, he didn’t want to jump to conclusions on anything right now. And considering everything else that happened up to this point, any speculation was warranted.

“I think so. I didn’t sense anything dangerous from him.” Dude said, easing as many doubts as he could.

“Well, that’s a positive.” Pip yawned, her energy depleting fast again. She set off a chain reaction. One by one, everyone else let out their own yawns, with Rainbow letting out a small whine as he let out his own. No use in staying awake any longer for anyone right now.

“We’ll work this out more in the morning. Bed, all of you.” Dude resolved, standing up from his spot. No protests, only another couple of yawns from everyone. Rainbow slumped down on his bed, curling up into a loose ball and his eyes slowly fluttering shut. Misty was keen enough to follow his example. She took the lead in going upstairs with Pip trailing behind her sluggishly.

“Glad you’re okay.” Mimi whispered to Dude as she went past him.

“Thanks, Mi.” Dude responded with a tired smile, watching her for a bit as she started to head to the staircase. Sprout, Candi and Bud followed, but only Bud remained downstairs. He listened out as best he could.

“Do you think this Conjurer fellow could teach me some magic?” Sprout’s voice grinned from upstairs. “Imagine the possibilities! Sprout the Supermo in action for real!” While Candi appeared to respond with positive reinforcement, Misty could be heard grumbling a little. Doors quietly closed after a few more goodnights were exchanged. Good, some privacy. Bud glanced back into the den, seeing that Dude was the last one to head to bed. He was clearly thinking things over. Bud honestly couldn’t say that he blamed him. After all, it has been one bombshell after another tonight for him. He just needed time to process it a little more before the dawn came. However, he also looked conflicted.

“What else is bothering you?” Bud asked, heading back over to Dude. The only piece of information that Dude decided to withhold. Not because he was distrusting, but because he needed more evidence for it. But it might feel good to talk about it with someone. It might help him sleep better.

“Try to keep it between us?” Dude asked, keeping his voice low. Rainbow seemed to have forgotten about trying to sleep. He raised his head, keenly tuning in.

“You know that I don’t like keeping secrets.” Bud reminded, his fingers picking at the sleeve of his pyjama shirt. He hates lies and keeping secrets. Honestly, Dude was the last person on the planet that would ask if he could keep something a secret from the others.

“Well this one I need you to keep because it’s really bugging me. And until I know more, I don’t want to look like an idiot.” Dude insisted, desperately hoping that Bud would lend him an ear. He had no concrete evidence of the matter and other than Rainbow, who was now sitting up properly, he wanted someone to hear him out.

“Very well then.” Bud sighed in defeat. Better get it out now. If the others wake up and start asking, it’ll just cause everyone else to have less sleep. Just get it done quickly.

“Conjurer told me that he lived in the crystal alone.” Dude started explaining after checking to make sure if someone was eavesdropping or not. “But there was a moment where I felt like someone was watching us. I’m pretty sure that I saw them too. They even called attention to him, but he shouted at them “not now”. He’s hiding something and I don’t like it.”

“Maybe it’s a family member or someone that he’s trying to protect.” Bud suggested, hoping to quell a few doubts that started to arise again.

“Then why lie to me?” Dude fired back as gently as he could. That seemed to cause Bud to think a little more on that. Rainbow grumbled slightly as he tried to think too.

“You’re saying that we shouldn’t trust him.” Bud accused, wondering where Dude was starting to draw a line in the sand and for what reason.

“I didn’t say that.” Dude sighed, exhaustion coming back with a vengeance. He can’t think right now. It had just been too much for tonight. Rainbow suddenly flopped down on his bed and Bud started to let out a yawn. “Like I said, let’s try to work out more in the morning. I’m too tired to think right now.”

“I concur.” Bud yawned again. He quickly bid Dude and Rainbow goodnight before he retires to his room for good this time. At least Dude felt a little better from telling the last of his story and the cause of his worry. As he switched off the light, he happened to glance in the direction of the pavilion, now a dark shape with no light and locked up tight. The Skyline allowed its biggest secret to be shared. However, there were still more questions to ask. Where did this Sky Crystal come from? Why was Mr Conjurer inside it in the first place? Was he created by the Crystal itself? Or was it the other way around? Either way, there were many more mysteries to uncover. Hopefully, more answers will present themselves soon.

[thepiratemistress]

Chapter 5 - After the Show

[All the warnings - its filthy smut]

As the boys were playing the end of the show, you made sure backstage was ready for them. You usually had cold water bottles waiting for them as soon as they descended the steps of the stage, and you were always ready to catch and hold any outfit pieces they stripped off as they walked by. You usually waited just out of sight from the crowd, but close enough to the stage you could see the boys.

On this particular night you happened to reach your spot right about the time Jake lifted the guitar and turned around to continue playing it behind his head. The moment he turned he saw you standing there. You couldn’t look away. You watched shamelessly as he arched his back and moved his hips along with the music, his eyes locked on you. The way his jacket was lifted exposed his entire torso and you absentmindedly licked your lips as you took in the sight of his sweaty chest and stomach. You wanted to lick the sweat from his body. In that moment you thought about what hot sweaty sex with him would be like. Your heart beat faster, and you felt it in other parts of your body too. God, he was the literal definition of sexy, and he knew it.

The boys finished the last of their songs and stood at the back of the stage to bid farewell to their adoring fans. Jake was antsy and rushed through their usual antics. He was the first off of the stage and when he reached you, without slowing down, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you along with him. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Richard take notice, and no doubt at least one of the boys saw Jake dragging you down the hall.

When he reached one of the changing rooms/bathrooms reserved for band and staff he shoved the door open and pulled you inside. He didn’t even wait for the door to finish closing before he pushed you against the wall and started kissing you. It was frantic and needy and sloppy. He pressed his body against yours and you felt the hardness of his dick through his pants. You moaned into his mouth as his hands tugged at your clothes in an attempt to get them off of you. You managed to pull your mouth from his to breathe out a warning,

“Jake.” You said as he tossed his jacket aside and went to work unbuttoning your jeans. He’d been in too big of a hurry to bother locking the door. You thought about how anyone could walk in at any time, and you started to warn him, but you suddenly realized the riskiness of it made the encounter so much hotter. You licked at his neck, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. Let them walk in on you. You didn’t even care anymore. All you cared about was having this man’s body in your mouth. Jakes voice interrupted your thoughts.

“You’re about to pay for that text earlier today. I’ve spent all afternoon and evening with my balls begging for mercy thanks to you and then seeing you backstage watching me like that, my dick is going to explode if I don’t get it inside of you right now.” He barked, his voice thick and heavy with desire and need.

He yanked your pants down and then shoved your shirt up. He roughly palmed one of your breasts before pulling your bra down to expose one. He bent his head and brought his mouth to the skin beside your nipple. There was no gentleness to his movements as he bit the soft skin, making you yelp. You grabbed at his hair as he caught your nipple in his mouth and sucked hard. Your back arched from the pleasure. The scent of him, his sweaty body and hair mixed with his cologne was intoxicating as he overwhelmed all your senses. Your mind pushed out any thoughts other than thoughts of him. His body, the way he was touching you and the incredible sensations he was eliciting from your body were all you cared about in that moment.

Just then Jake sank his teeth into your nipple, sending a jolt through your body. He bit hard enough to hurt, but you liked the aggression, aroused by his display of dominance. You whimpered. Without warning he spun you around and lifted your hands above your head. He held them against the wall with one hand while he freed his cock to rub it through your wetness with the other. You twisted your head as far as you could to catch a glimpse of him. His brow was furrowed and his lips pulled up into the sexiest snarl you’d ever seen. His face held the look of frustration, determination and arousal as he rubbed himself against you, pressing deeper with each pass.

“Jake. I want you to fuck me.” You whined, pushing your ass back against him. The crack of his hand against your skin made you jump and yelp.

“I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready to fuck you.” He growled.

Frustrated, bossy Jake was hot and your nipples hardened to the point of discomfort. You whimpered and moaned as your clit screamed to be touched. You attempted to pull one of your hands free to give it the attention it needed but Jake’s firm grip held them right where they were as he continued to tease and torture you with his cock, stopping just shy of the spot you needed it the most. It was agony.

“What’s the matter, doll? Not getting what you want?” He spoke close to your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Please Jake. Please touch my clit. I need it. I need relief.” You begged.

“Poor thing.” He mumbled against your neck just behind your ear.

Just when you thought you couldn’t stand it any longer he shoved himself into you. You gasped at the suddenness of being filled with his hard cock. He hesitated there for a moment, moaning as your body contracted around his length deep inside of you. He slid his free arm around your hip and pulled you tight against him as he began thrusting in and out. His movements were hard and desperate.

“Holy shit, Jake!” You exclaimed as you adjusted your feet to brace yourself. You arched your back to angle your ass so he could continue fucking into you at the same pace and intensity. It felt so good. Jake panted behind you while you encouraged him with moans and whimpers, breathing out his name in desperate pleas for more.

Suddenly Jake pulled himself from you and turned you back around to face him. He slid one hand around your throat as he demanded,

“Get on your knees and suck on my cock.”

You obeyed without hesitation. You dropped to your knees and grabbed him in one hand, sliding your other hand up the side of his thigh. You licked across the tip of his dick before taking it into your mouth. You hummed your appreciation for it while you swirled your tongue around. You looked up at him through your lashes; he was watching you intently while he stroked your hair.

“Mmmm. Good girl.” He said, his voice low and raspy. “Do you taste yourself on my cock?”

You pulled him from your mouth and nodded, rubbing and twisting your fist around him while you did. His mouth formed a deliciously sinful smile as he pressed at the back of your head, signaling you to put him back in your mouth. You did as he wanted and wrapped your lips around him. You sucked and licked and took him into your mouth until he touched the back of your throat. His hand fisted in your hair and he rocked his hips against you. You relaxed your jaw and let him pump into you. He pulled out briefly to let you catch your breath but before entering your mouth again he pushed you back until your head touched the wall behind you. He fisted his cock and teased you with it, rubbing it across your face and tapping it against your lips and tongue. You licked at him, pleading with your eyes until he slid back into your mouth, pushing until you’d taken all of him.

“That’s it. Good girl. Take all of my cock.” he hummed, gently thrusting his hips against you, his cock pressing into your throat. He rocked back and forth into your mouth and the sounds coming from you were obscene. Jake breathed out a string of filthy vulgar things in appreciation. You held his thighs tight as he began pumping harder. You focused on breathing through your nose as your body contracted and you gagged on his thick cock. Your eyes watered and you looked up at him, giving him a view of the mess he was making of you. He held your head with one hand and reached down with the other to wipe some of the tears from your cheek. He pulled out and gave you the chance to catch your breath, stroking your cheek with his thumb before he fucked into your throat once more. He fucked it hard but you didn’t care one bit. You liked it and you’d happily take his dick in your throat any and every chance you got. You were a whore for it and he knew it. He thrust into you over and over until his orgasm threatened to overtake him.

“Are you going to let me cum in your throat pretty girl? Are you going to swallow it like a good little slut?” He panted as he pulled out of your mouth, stroking himself hard and fast while you caught your breath.

You were a mess of tears and saliva but you nodded and opened up again for him. He still held your head, his fingers tightening around your hair, and he braced his other hand against the wall while he throat fucked you hard and fast til he came; throbbing in your throat while you swallowed every drop of his release. He groaned and grunted as the orgasm rolled through his body.

When he pulled out of your mouth and released his grip on your hair, you fell forward panting and gasping for air. If this was the price to pay for teasing him earlier, than you sure as hell would be doing it again. You’d let him fuck your face until you couldn’t breathe. It was the hottest thing you’d ever experienced. Your body was humming with arousal and need but you knew Jake had no intention of giving you any release. He’d brought you in here for his own pleasure and as payback for teasing him earlier. You wanted to beg him to make you come, to give you what you so desperately wanted. But something about him leaving you so needy was a turn on.

Jake offered you his hand and pulled you up.

“Did you learn your lesson little girl?” He asked, running his thumb across your lips, a wicked smile on his face.

You smiled and nodded.

“Good.” He mused before he bent to pull up his pants.

You reached for your own. It was quiet for a moment while you both re-dressed and made yourselves look presentable.

“So you know you weren’t the least bit subtle about dragging me in here, right?” You said, breaking the silence, watching him zip and button the black pants he wore every night on stage.

“Yeah, not my smartest move, but whatever. I’ll deal with it.” He replied.

You looked at him, unsure of how exactly he’d deal with it, but trusting that he’d have your back. Having you at his disposal when he needed to get off was something he wouldn’t want to mess up anytime soon. You knew he’d do whatever he could to play it off as nothing, to keep your dirty little secret between the two of you for as long as he could.

You watched him compose himself as you smoothed your hair, wiped your face and adjusted your clothes, hoping to appear as though nothing had just happened.

Before he reached for the door, he took a step towards you and leaned in to kiss you. Despite aggressively fucking your mouth just minutes before, it was a sweet kiss, his lips soft against yours. When he pulled back he smiled before turning to open the door.

Jake swung the door open and walked out into the hall. There was the usual hustle and bustle of crew as they worked to dismantle the stage and load up. Jake headed towards the room where the rest of the band and team would be. You followed, hoping he’d have a good excuse for dragging you off the way he did. As you approached the doorway to the room, you heard the voices of the other guys.

“Jake! We wondered where you rushed off to in such a hurry!” yelled Josh as Jake strode into the room, heading straight for the bottles of wine waiting for him on the table.

“Yeah, it seemed urgent! Need to piss that bad?” teased Sam, playing with his dog on the floor.

You slipped into the room and headed towards an available seat towards the corner.

“Couldn’t have been that, he drug y/n with him like there was a fire.” Laughed Josh.

Richard gave you a look, which you did your best to ignore.

“Fuck off.” Said Jake. “Something was wrong with my jacket and I felt like I was being stabbed for the last 3 songs. I needed someone to fix it so I wouldn’t be impaled again tomorrow night. She was the only one there so she got stuck with the job.” He shrugged, grabbing a bottle and heading for the couch. His answer seemed to suffice as the conversation quickly moved on. You did your best to act normal the rest of the night, as if nothing had transpired, but you caught Jake looking at you a few times, no doubt remembering the way he fucked your face earlier.

[buff-muffin]

“HEHAHAHAHA!” Luffy’s laugh filled the streets as the zoomed down the hill in the middle of the road, it had been a miracle there were no cars or surly they would be dead. “USE THE BREAKS!! USE THE BREAKS!!!” Nami screamed in Zoro’s ears, her voice pitching in a way that leaned closer to a horror movie squeal. One of her hands attached to the carrier behind her so she wouldn’t fall off and the other in a death grip holding Zoro’s shoulders clearly painful though she had no care for the brute in this particular moment

“DONT SLOW DOWN! DONT SLOW DOWN!!” Luffy chanted over and over in reply, kicking his feet and shaking the balance of the bike, each wobble feeling as threatening as the last  as the swerved dangerously close to flipping. It took one screech of a threat from Nami to get him to stop. Zoro didn’t listen either, despite the loud and threatening protests in his shoulder and ear. “We’re running late, this is the only way we will make it on time. Sides it’s fine I got this.”

“WE WOULDN’T BE LATE IF YOU HAD TURNED WHEN I TOLD YOU TOO!!” As if to prove her point, she pinched Zoro’s ear, making the poor man howl and Luffy laugh all over again. Finally steep hill began to settle and the school was in the distance. Students running in last minute just like themselves.

They could almost relax with the knowledge they had made it. It was now a smooth cruise to the gates. Luffy’s laugh still filling the air and Zoro’s view he looked back to the ginger behind him with a smirk “See, witch? I told you it would be fine-”

“CAR!!!!”

Without looking, Zoro slammed the breaks in an instant. The smell of burnt rubber following them as the tires dragged on the asphalt. Using all the strength he had, he even managed to turn the bike, but speed is a funny thing, and quickly all three of them were sent flying to the ground in different directions with a crash.

“ow…. Owowowow!” Nami groaned holding shoulder. “THIS IS WHY I TOLD YOU TO SLOW DOWN! THE CAR WASNT EVEN MOVING.” It was true. The car in question was parked on the side of the road, it was a teacher’s car too that luckily survived the one sided crash.

“ITS NOT MY FAULT LUFFY’S FAT ASS WAS IN THE WAY!!” Zoro snapped back, his hands horribly grazed and pooled with blood. “He was in the front! He should be watching where were going." Both of them turned to the boy in question, who laid bleeding in the middle of the road bursting out in laughter. His bloody hands clapping and his legs kicking about. "WE WERE GOING SO FAST I DIDN’T NOTICE!! MAN THAT WAS SO FUN!"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DIDN’T NOTCE!?" The both of them screamed together but any fighting between them was cut off by a sweet and daunting sound. The chime of the school bell. They were officially late.

“SHIT!!!” All of them screamed. Zoro picking up the poor banged up bike, the biggest victim of them all in the third crash this week, and all of them bolted to the closing school gate, praying that it was Mr Boodle on duty and he would have the mercy to let them in.

Just had the mental image of modern AU Romance Dawn trio where Nami was the only one who had a bike and so they would constantly use her to get around town. Luffy either sat on the handle bars or more funnily, the basket and Zoro sat on the back but Nami got sick of peddling them around so she switched with Zoro. Problem was, Zoro had no idea where they were going all of the time. So instead of sitting back to back she had to turn around and give directions. And if Zoro didn’t listen, she would reach forward and YANK the handle to where they needed to turn. Luffy has fallen off multiple times through this and laughs every single time finding it hilarious.

[unnursvanablog]

The books I read in 2023 / part 1

and what I thought of them...

Lady Susan – Jane Austen: ☆☆☆

An audiobook read; which is actually my favorite way to consume Jane Austen's books. And this book has pretty much everything you'd expect from an Austen book; Ingenious characters and interesting reflections of the society in which the characters live. Austin does a pretty good job at being funny and very concise with her stories, but I still find it more fun to watch than to read her books.

The Priory of the Orange Tree – Samantha Shannon: ☆☆☆☆

A re-read that actually went better than my first readthrough. I actually enjoyed it a lot more this time around. I took my time with it, didn't put any pressure on myself and although Shannon's flowery writing style is not exactly for me, the characters are very interesting and since this is basically a slow character story that's the most important aspect of the book. The twists in the narrative are expertly woven and the worldbuilding is deep and rich so the story stays with me long after reading it.

Dauðaleit – Emil Hjörvar Petersen: ☆☆☆

A fun little mystery/horror, although I personally expected more darkness and gloom from the narrative. I felt that the characters just a bit too much typical Icelandic crime story characters and would have really liked if the author had played a bit more with that format when he mixed the horror with the standard crime story. The story was very fast paced and I would have liked if it stopped a bit more to let the story breath a bit more.

Can't Spell Treason Without Tea, A Pirate's Life for Tea - Rebecca Thorne: ☆☆☆☆, ☆☆☆

If there was a book that bridged the gap between cozy fantasy and more traditional fantasy, it would be this. It’s not necessarily low-stakes enough to be a true cozy read where nothing really bad happens and everyone’s just friends, but it’s also not that action-packed as you might expect from a full-scale fantasy novel. There is a very good balance between the coziness of a good tea and a book and character stories and the action and adventure of traditional fantasy and the characters and the romance are cute.

The second book doesn't quite achieve that balance and there's too much going on so the plot doesn't allow the story to breathe properly for a book of this scale. Everything was a bit rushed and it lacked the build up to many of those character moments and romance that the previous book managed to do so well. An enjoyable read, but nothing more than that.

Legends & Lattes - Travis Baldree: ☆☆☆☆

A very slow character-driven story that focuses primarily on the characters desire to find their place in the world, and manages to answer fantasy readers' question of; 'what happens to my fantasy characters after all their adventures are over'. But despite the low stakes the story is never boring. The world building of the story is a bit lacking and I would have liked more from the world like information about how the magic worked. But still it's not really what this story is about and has no particular effect on the narrative so it's understandable in a sense. There is a comfortable, easy-to-read style to the writing which adds to the cozyness as well.

As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow - Zoulfa Katouh: ☆☆☆

A very grim reality but a hopeful story based on the war in Syria. I found it very difficult to get through this story but I also don’t think it is a story that is supposed to be a pleasant read. I thought it was really beautiful how much hope there was in this story despite the cruelty surrounding the characters without the story becoming to gritty and difficult. But it’s the romance and the prose that drag it down for me. It felt a bit too repetitive.

Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries - Heather Fawcett: ☆☆☆

A cute little story, but I had a really hard time getting into it. This story is very much inspired by Icelandic or nordic folklore about the hidden people, and although I could clearly see that she had immersed herself in the subject to a great extent all these names and place names that were basically just Icelandic without á and ö and did throw me off. It certainly promoted mystique within the story and sounds cool and charming to non-speakers but it took me out of the story personally. Everything else about it was just fine to me but nothing more. Just a fun, cozy read.

The Adventures of Amina al-Sirafi - Shannon Chakraborty: ☆☆☆☆

It was such an adventure! This story was so much fun and basically had everything I want in a weird mix of fantasy, historical tales about pirates. There was a good balance between the characters, the darkness of the pirate world and the action and I just flew through it. The story loses steam from time to time because there are a lot of twists going on, but the author always gets the story going again pretty quickly. Chakraborty's style is playful and the historical atmosphere was charming and gently immerses you in the story. The characters were really interesting and nothing came too easily for them, which I enjoyed.

A Magic Steeped in Poison, A Venom Dark and Sweet - Judy I. Lin: ☆☆☆, ☆☆☆

The idea behind these stories is really fascinating but the story never really lived up to it. Everything about them just fell like the same typical YA fantasy I've read before despite it's fun and lavish setting - which I thoroughly enjoyed - but I wanted something a little more. A magic system that revolves around tea? really cool idea, but that's also the coolest thing about this story. Everything else was just fine and a bit predictable.

Dawnshard - Brandon Sanderson: ☆☆

I'm really not that fond of this series by Sanderson. It just doesn't hook me. I feel like the worldbuilding is a little too expansive or excessive at times and Sanderson wants to put too much of it in so it becomes a little too heavy and drags the story down. It overshadows the plot and Sanderson isn't the best at political intrigue in my opinion. And I'm not really attached to these characters despite having read four big books featuring them.

Arch-Conspirator - Veronica Roth: ☆☆☆

A small and light sci-fi novel based on a Greek tragedy. So short that even I could read it in one day, despite how much of a slow a reader I am. This story falls a bit into the same trap as most of Roth's other books I've read do: an interesting idea, but an underdeveloped plot, worldbuilding and narrative that never really manages to shape the story's themes well enough or get much across what Roth really wants to say.

We Hunt the Flame - Hafsah Faizal: ☆☆☆

I have to say I was expecting more after all the praise I've read and heard about the book. It was really a bit too standard or traditional YA fantasy with overly familiar characters and plot. The setting was interesting and fresh, which was inspired by old stories from Arabia, and truly the most interesting part of the story but I wanted the author to use it a bit more to play with the YA format.

The Diary of a Bookseller - Shaun Bythell: ☆☆☆

Books about books are great for any bookworm to read and this one is a really humorous and thoughtful story about what it's like to work in a bookstore. But although the narrative style here is really sarcastic and funny I found the subject of the story a bit too repetitive and few of the characters manage to stand out to me.

[writefightandflightclub]

Six ways to Sunday (PART TWO OF TWO): Marc Spector x fem!reader🌙

PART ONE IS HERE

Summary: It was only ever meant to be a one time thing. Just a one night stand. A casual Tinder hook-up with no strings and even fewer feelings. Clearly, you had both decided that once wouldn’t be enough; but you’re still not sure you’re on the same page about what qualifies as too much.

Rating: EXPLICIT. This is 18+ ONLY. Minors DNI. By clicking to read more, you’re agreeing you’re over the age of 18, have read the warnings, and you’re prepared to read adult themes.

Genre: hurt/comfort, smut, light angst, some fluff and silliness.

Characters: Marc focussed, cameos from Steven, fem!reader.

Word count: 12k. I know, I’m a mess, okay?

Author’s note: I’ll keep this brief (unlike the fic), and say two things. 1) I wrote 21k for something I intended to be a one-shot. No, I don’t know why I’m like this. But I needed it out of my brain so here we are. 2) I didn’t mean for the smut to go in that direction, but the thigh was right there, so if anything it was a purely logistical decision, don’t look at me. If anyone makes it through this, thank you, and I hope you enjoy it 🧡

Warnings: explicit smut (eventually), masturbation, porn watching, dick pics, blow job, handjob, thigh-riding, cum swallow, cum play / kink, daddy kink (brief) / bratty reader; pain kink if you squint; p in v mentions, oral mentions, fingering mentions. Hook-up / casual sex partner situation. Marc being emotionally witholding and keeping secrets. Injuries and blood (not graphic), wound care. Alcohol consumption.

GIF by the wonderful @damerondjarin 🧡

How do you get yourself into these situations? You have to wonder, as you watch the dark streets of London slipping by the window of your Uber.

The contrasts and subtleties of your urban playground are extreme. The shadows shift along with each neighbourhood you pass, stark variations in architecture, vibe, affluence. Each building and each street a pleasingly different character. You love that about London - always have. How it always felt to you like a series of different identities, coalescing into one huge, vibrant city system.

You sigh out a terse breath as you take in the different facades and faces of the buildings which sluice by the rain-mottled glass pane. Lit windows with a glow of home, and sketchy, hidden corners alike - all bandaged up safely in the dark.

The city looks safe while it sleeps, but you know there are an array of secrets hiding in the shadows. You can’t help but see the mirror to your own situation. Indeed, the shadows are the only place you ever meet Marc, and you know not whether it is his comfort or cover. Your security, or your threat. You know not whether his eyes could ever be lit for you; with a bright glow of home. Or, instead, whether his shadows will be your downfall, secreting you away from streets you know and taking you into unfamiliar territory. Making you feel so entirely lost.

You clench your fists, nails digging crescents into your palm. A sea of nausea rolls in the pit of you as the car slows to a drag, along one street in particular.

“Is it roundabout here somewhere, or what, sweetheart?”

Maybe. You consult your phone. “Yeah. Anywhere here will be fine.”

Will it? Will it all be fine?

The car jolts to a stop, and as soon as you have thanked the driver and stepped out, he is gone.

The street is dark and deserted. Nothing much to report aside from an urban fox digging through a tipped over bin. It’s all battened-down shop shutters and closed curtains. You look for signs of life, and you see an attic room at the top of the tall, narrow building directly before you. It is lit with an oranged light, cutting through the night sky and towering above you like the beacon of a lighthouse.

What danger lies ahead that it warns you of, you wonder? Is it the glow of a safe harbour, or are you about to be dashed upon the rocks?  

There’s no way of knowing.

How do you get yourself into these situations?

You take a deep, lung-expanding breath - for courage - and you push on the front door to the building, finding it already ajar. Your instincts scream at you to turn around. Now. Your head tells you to… but your heart? Well, your heart is undecided.

All you know -all you’ve been told- is that Marc needs you. Not someone. Not something. He needs you.

Something’s wrong, and, if that’s the case, you don’t intend to let him down. Even if you can’t be sure whether he would do the same for you.

Twenty minutes earlier

Blissfully, you have the evening all to yourself. Your roommate has been spending an increasing amount of time over at her boyfriend’s, and tonight is one such occasion. And so, to celebrate your solitude, you’ve poured yourself a nice glass of red wine. You’ve ordered in from your most beloved local eatery. For now, you have your favourite trashy show on the big TV in the living room, and for later, a very steamy date planned. With your vibrator, that is.

That’s right. No sign of Marc. Not for weeks now.

You try desperately not to contrast your situation with your roommate’s, as she spends time with her hunk of a man, and you binge watch a whole series of The Ultimatum. You try not to think about the fact you are nothing more than a booty call for a man who is – to say the least - giving you seriously dodgy vibes. You wonder idly, how do you get yourself into these situations? And, importantly, should you give more thought towards how to get yourself out of them, instead of stubbornly doubling down?

Of course, you mean Marc. Your latest bad decision.

However, you very quickly toss that thought. You’re getting plenty of orgasms out of your latest bad decision, so, on balance, you consider that things could be a lot worse, actually.

Still, just as you tried to block out thoughts of your roommate and her altogether smug coupling, you try desperately not to think of Marc. Unfortunately though, before you’re even halfway through your takeaway you already have your hand down your pyjama bottoms and his name on the tip of your tongue, so that ambitions not going super well. You even open up your browser, about to search for some variation on alleyway porn – so help you - hoping to relieve the desperate ache between your legs.

Maybe you’ll even send him a picture. Maybe he’ll like that. Or, maybe, as is often the case, he won’t reply to you for weeks and you’ll be both pissed off and disheartened, dealing once again with your rather pronounced post-dick-haze.

Anyway, you digress. Basically, you’re thinking about Marc. Marc and his strong hands and his… oh god, all of him. All of him in you and on you and around you. All of him, and your fingers are massaging your clit and the porn you found is shitty but you think you can get there anyway and unnngggg, maybe you should send him a picture, because you’re getting wet and you know how much he’d like that. Sure - sometimes he doesn’t reply for days or even weeks at a time; but other times? Well, at other times, he doesn’t seem able to resist you.

God, you think as you idly glide a finger through your folds, trying not to focus on the fact you’re not able to pleasure yourself half as well as he does. You really don’t want to be this hung up on him, based on little more than the power of his dick.

And yet…

You slip a finger inside of yourself.

You’ve Googled all of his potential sins to see if you can find something to pin on him and you can’t find him guilty of anything. Shocking as it is for someone who has been known to (consensually) spit in your mouth and has a list of secrets as long as his (rather sizeable) dick, there are surprisingly few red flags. He told you plainly, upfront, this would be a no strings situation, and that’s exactly what it has proven to be. If anything, instead of feeling resentful towards him, you should be lauding him - for managing to consistently tell you the truth and get you off with equal fervour. In fact, the more you think about it, he’s quite the catch, actually.

Though – and there’s the rub - that’s the problem, isn’t it?

You can’t quite “catch” him.

Oh well. You pick up the pace and pressure of your ministrations below your waistband, trying to forget him and focus on the task, quite literally, at hand. However, you do a terrible job of trying to forget him, apparently, as - in the very next moment - you are opening up your message chain with the man, scrolling and perusing for your favourite, magnanimously-gifted dick pic.

Okay. So you had told him you wouldn’t be waiting by the phone for him… but what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him. Right?  

You pause your scrolling abruptly, practically drooling as you land on an especially veiny, throbbing rendition of his dick, his head flushed a deep, ruddy colour and weeping from the tip. You commit it to memory before you clamp your eyes shut and focus on the memory of it, buried up inside of you. At least – you try. Try to focus on that and only that. The hardness of him, to keep the hints of softness away. You try to push aside the thoughts of his long lashes fanning shut in ecstasy. Of the little blessed smirk he does - on the rare occasion when you actually make him laugh. Of the soft brush of his lips up your neck and the reassuring rasp of his hand against your skin and the subtle contours of the veins in his forearm and the way you want him to be your boyfriend and that even the moon reminds you of him now.

Wait, what?

You want him to be your what, now?

You peel your eyes open, staring down at his dick pic in horror now, as though it is some cursed object; for how else could he have such power over you? How else could this hard man make you soft for him without cause or reason? How else, unless his dick was quite literally charmed?

Fortunately, you don’t have time to complete that thought, but unfortunately, you are unable to launch yourself to completion either, as the phone you are staring at indignantly rings brightly, mocking you without care by playing Debussy’s clair de lune - your assigned ringtone for Marc before you’d lost your sense of humour about such things.

Shit yes. It’s Marc. Calling you. Miracles are real, Gods do exist, and everything will be okay.

Your wank will be okay, as Marc can most definitely help you to… completion.

“Marc?” You answer so quickly it is probably embarrassing, your heart hammering and your hand continuing to play with your slick folds. After all, there’s only one reason he ever calls you. Sometimes, you resent that; but right now, you view it as rather fortuitous indeed.

“You have to come,” the voice says.

“Mmm. Ok, Marc,” you purr. “I think I can manage that. I’m already halfway there.”

“No. Um. God. Excuse me. Sorry. You have to come and help, yeah?”

You freeze. That’s not Marc.

“There’s an awful lot of blood, right, and I don’t know wot I’m doing and he’s too bloody stubborn for his own good…”

You sit bolt upright on the sofa, adrenalin piping instantly into your bloodstream, your heart beginning to hammer. When you speak again, there is no soft docile purr left in your voice any longer. You are no kitten, but all of a sudden a cat with claws. “Who is this?”

“Steven Gr– look, it doesn’t matter. A friend, innit?”

Your thoughts swirl. “Marc, this isn’t funny.”

“I agree, and believe me I’ve had words.” This voice. Another man. A British accent, in a roundabout way. Reminiscent of Marc, but not quite close enough. “But he needs you. Please.” You feel charged, but you don’t know what to do with all of this adrenalin, exactly, struggling with the shift in gears. Did this guy say something about blood? Is Marc hurt? You try to glean what you can from the few words spoken so far as you formulate your questions. Steven – is that his name? – sounds shaken. Panicked. Maybe even a little bit teary. “Ow! Oh, bloody hell that stuff stings!” You think that the voice turns his head away from the receiver. “What the hell did you tell me to do that for?” Who is he talking to? Is it Marc? You strain to hear. “Well, obviously I don’t know what I’m doing. I can tell you when antiseptic was invented but I don’t think that’s going to help us. What a monumental eff up this was.” The voice becomes clearer again as you blink uselessly in confusion – tips back towards the receiver. “Look. Sorry about all this. Can you just please come? Marc – he’s gonna be fine and dandy, nuffin’ to worry about, I promise – but he needs you, yeah?”

Something is resoundingly off, and that statement, is perhaps the most glaring red flag of all. “I doubt that Marc needs me for anything.” After all, he’s been consistently clear about that.  

“He does. He does, trust me.”

Your eyes narrow with scepticism. “I barely trust Marc. Why on earth should I trust you, Steven?”

Steven’s voice becomes small. A little sad. “Well. Because we don’t have anybody else.”

Your mouth forms a taut line, but this guy’s seeming distress is tugging on your heartstrings. Maybe that fact will reveal you as a fool. After all, you’ve listened to your heart and not your head overmuch lately.

“Please,” Steven implores one more time, still sounding frenzied, but gathering himself for his final plea. “If I text you an address, can you come?”

You fully stand now, urged on by the jitters sparking through your body. A series of alarms are blaring in your head, and this whole thing sounds shady as fuck. Has someone taken Marc’s phone? If so, have they hurt him, or worse? Have they somehow seen the saucy pictures you’ve shared with Marc and now they’re trying to entice you over? Will they hurt you too? It seems there are a million banal or nightmarish things that could be going on here, but only the one outside chance that what Steven said is true. That Marc really does need you.

“Can I talk to him?” you ask firmly, wanting to verify even a slice of this directly. “Put Marc on the phone, Steven.”  

“He can’t come to the phone right now, yeah? Can I give him a message?”

“Fuck.” You comb your hand over your hair in distress, trying to figure out what your next move should be. But already, in your heart of hearts, you know exactly what you’re going to do. After all, Marc drags you to him, like the moon drags the tide, doesn’t he? And so, if there’s even an outside chance that it’s true? That he needs you? You’re going to be there for him – even if you doubt that he would do the same for you.

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose between your fingers. There’s so much of this which doesn’t add up -not at all. You feel like this is about to be a really bad decision; but you already know you’re going to make it. You’ve been doing that an awful lot lately. “Fuck. Steven? Don’t worry. Tell Marc… Tell him I’ll be right there.”

Twenty Five Minutes Later

This is a bad idea. You know it’s got to be a bad idea. At least, if this all turns out terribly, it’s not going to blindside you, right? That’s something? That at least you saw the horrors coming?

Indeed, as you make your way up the winding stairs in the building, ears straining for any sounds which may signal danger, footfalls as stealthy as you can make them, you let every possible scenario play out in your head. You’re barely prepared for a single one of them, so it doesn’t help much, but you don’t have much else to go on, do you - besides having dropped your location in the group chat and googled “how to stop blood loss” in the Uber over here.

As one last ditch attempt you search “best self-defence strategy”, hurriedly scrolling through the results. Unfortunately, you are already failing to heed the best self-defence strategy of “running”, your feet carrying you ever closer to the threshold of -what you believe is- Marc’s place.

When you arrive at the top landing, you see a cracked open front door, fuzzy light pooling from around the edges of the frame. No signs of forced entry. (Isn’t that the first thing they always check for in crime shows before they jaunt inside? You forget.)

First, you tug in a deep breath, in through the nose and out through the mouth, just like in yoga class, in an attempt to steel yourself. Then, as quietly and as nimbly as you can, you push the door open wider, hoping to avoid any kind of ambush. To give yourself an advantage against any danger which may well befall you on the other side. The door inching open has no effect, besides a grating squeak, and so, with equal caution you suck it up and enter, still keeping a watchful eye.

Seeing no-one and nothing of suspicion so far you press onward, eyes hurriedly scanning the interior of the flat for information and clues. Your eye is drawn up toward the staggering eaves and the dark, aged wood. To the piles upon piles of dusty books, and to the illuminated fish tank smack bang in the middle of the room. Bile leaps up into your mouth as you venture forwards a little more, but finally, upon seeing that no trap has been sprung, you dare to call out his name. The sound comes out strangled and afraid at first, and then, as you take a few further steps, you muster greater courage from somewhere in your gut, protecting your voice deeper into the space.

“Marc?”

No response.

Something is wrong, you think.

Something is very wrong, and a hard gulp lodges in your throat and it’s too hot in here. Too hot and the air is thick with the scent of copper coins and it makes you feel sick and all you can think of is counting pennies with your Nana way back when. Counting pennies and the metallic tang rubbing off on your fingers and maybe your brain is trying to take you back to a happier place where the present moment can’t hurt you. Taking you away from here since you’re shaking like a leaf. Shaking, because you’re afraid; but, even so, you know you have to face your fears. Know you have to do it; for him, because something is wrong.

“I’m here.”

Your head whips in the direction of the flattened voice, and then finally you see Marc’s form. See him tucked behind a thick wooden pillar and laid out on the floor, his tan-brown skin on show as he languishes in black boxers. You see him now, his back propped against the long edge of the bed, one smooth, muscled leg stretched out before him. The other leg, bent at the knee, the tender sole of his foot curling towards his inner thigh.

He's hunched, posture dejected. Breathing laboured and light pooling across the contours of his body, shadows gathering in the recesses. He grips the neck of a bottle in the circle of his hand and his torso sways a little, a sharp, cutting breath sucked into his lungs as he swivels his head towards you, wincing and grabbing his left shoulder as he does so. You note now how his skin is marked with a pattern of deep reds and blooming violets, a particularly angry congregation of colour over the meat of his shoulder from blade to collarbone, and trailing down his bicep.

As you crane a little closer again, that is the moment you see the blood-stained cotton balls littering the floor. It is also the moment you feel your heart liquefying in your chest out of sheer concern.

“Marc!” you sound out – a round note which punctures the brooding, eerie calm of his shadowed cave, your body barrelling towards panic as you make haste towards him.

Your eyes flit over his form and around the room as you prepare to hunker down before him. “Are you alone?” you ask urgently as you scan over the wounds on his body, in case whomever inflicted such injuries might still be lingering – or might return.

He blinks an affirmative, as though nodding might be too much effort, his mouth slanted down at the corners, and his eyes gathering dark beneath the thick set of his brows. “As alone as I’m gonna get,” he offers defeatedly. You’re not sure whether that is a dig at you showing up, or what, but it’s not crucial enough of a detail to chase – for now.

“Steven?” you inquire, with a disobedient tremor in your voice, hurriedly setting down your handbag and shrugging off your coat, discarding them on the floor.

“Steven’s…. uh.” Marc manages to look sheepish.

“Let me guess. He can’t come to the phone right now? Jesus, why in the hell would he leave you like this?” You voice is too high of a register, and you are well aware of it, your words coming too fast. Your face is contorting in panic and your hands are shaking. Skimming over Marc’s body like bird’s wings, urgent and fluttering, hovering over him as you assess his injuries.

Your interactions are typically hard and rough and reckless, when it comes to this man -just the way he likes it - but you are trying your utmost now to be gentle. You can be gentle with him, if he needs it, and he evidently does in this moment. “Marc?” you question urgently, eyes widening and voice infused with yet more panic as your gaze licks across the skin he has exposed to you. You are searching keenly for clues and explanation, reassurance and solutions all at once; but you don’t find a single one of those things. Not until you meet Marc’s gaze. When you do, you find his stare steady and calm. Alarmingly calm, even, given the circumstances. Deceptively calm, perhaps. He even extends the hand of his good arm out towards your own, ever so slowly, squeezing your shoulder as though to reassure you.

Shit, this is all wrong. You should be helping him, and so, you make a more concerted effort to quell your spiking alarm.

“I asked Steven to go,” Marc says smoothly, a slow, unhurried tone you guarantee is meant to bolster you. You don’t know him well, by any means, but you know him well enough to know when he’s placating you. This? This is screaming if from the rooftops. “Before you got here, I asked him to go.” You blink at him, taking all of this in, your mouth still as dry as cotton-wool. Your eyes full with shivering tears. “Look, I’m sorry that he dragged you into this,” Marc forces a thin, contrite smile, but you can see through that too. Can see the truth of things. For the first time, in your experience, Marc is shaken. “He’s a bit of a panicker,” Marc stresses. “He overreacted.” Another, all too deliberate squeeze of your shoulder.

No.

No, you’re not falling for it.

“Bullshit,” your eyes sweep his body once more, making a more thorough catalogue of his injuries this time. “I’m with Steven G on this one. I think you’re under-reacting.” Marc winces, as your fingers gently crook under his chin, surveying him for any gashes and scrapes across his face. Your gentle, careful hands turn over his palms, your study sweeping up and down his arms. You have him obediently hunch forward so you can inspect his bare, muscled back – after a bit of a telling off, anyway.

From the way Marc moves -or doesn’t- you estimate he may have a cracked rib, or at least heavy bruising. A shiner or two which may develop on his face overnight, but judging by the bowl of melting ice packs on the bedside table, you can deduce he has already iced those. The main concern, and the culprit for the field of blood-red cotton balls littered like a garden of roses around his reclining form, are the puncture marks across his shoulder. A series of small, jagged gashes extending over his shoulder from collarbone to blade in the shape of a crescent.

The wound leaves him hunched and stony, weeping red ichor as though he is a fallen angel who has been torn from his wings. Conscientiously, you trace the shape and patterns of these strange wounds. And, if you didn’t know better, you’d conclude that they looked like bite marks. What on earth could have been so large as to have taken a chunk out of him like that? What on earth could be the culprit? Dog would be the most obvious choice; but you’re quite sure you’ve never seen a dog with a maw as big as that.

“Marc. What the fuck happened to you?”

There is a familiar beat as he looks at you -maybe he’s always just trying to buy himself some time - and then, he shakes his head softly from side to side. “I was jumped.”

“By who, Marc?” you say incredulously. “Tony the fucking tiger?”

Another beat, and he evidently opts to plead the 5th.

Wow. He’s not going to tell you then? At least, not everything there is to know, and not anything at all of use?

It makes you a little peeved, if you’re honest. He might not have wanted to drag you into this, but you have been, and he’s not even going to do you the dignity of trying to explain it? Still, you know better than to kick a man while he’s down, and by the look of him, he hasn’t had the best day, has he?

Marc nods promptly, down to your side where your handbag languishes next to you. “What were you planning to do with the 12-inch kitchen knife in your purse, sweetheart?”

Hmm, you snort. Nice try, but he’s not deflecting that easily. “I improvised. Just in case.” You catch the glint of the blade in your bag, but then you stare him down with just as much steel. “If you won’t tell me anything, fine. But, you need do need to go to the hospital. Like, now, Marc.”

“I’m fine, alright? I’m a fast healer.” He looks cagey, but glosses over it expertly. “I just need a little, uh, divine inspiration is all, and I’ll be right as rain by morning.” He looks up at the ceiling then, as if to summon it, but nothing seems to come to him.

You exhale a long sigh, chewing on your lower lip. He must be in pain, you venture, but he’s barely showing it. A valiant effort, sure, but you can read his body better than that, can’t you? Have learned how to interpret every twitch of muscle and slip of tendon. Every flicker and contortion of his face. You see that fixed set of his jaw, muscles writhing over bone. The veins standing out in relief; roping through his forearms. The terse breaths rising and falling in his chest and the tell-tale wince on the flare of his rib cage.

You know. You can see that he’s hurting; and therefore, maybe Steven was right. If he’s too stubborn to go to a hospital, maybe Marc does need you tonight.

You look at him. Making every effort to look into him and see past what he presents at face value. And, if on your first pass your eyes saw little, cloaked with frenzy and panic… If on your second you were able to assess and catalogue his injuries, it is on your third pass that you see him. Not a body. Not someone. Not just anyone. Not his deflections. You see Marc.

You see that glint in his eyes - which drives you to distraction - perfectly exhibiting his stubborness. You see the way a hard swallow dips in his neck when he falters briefly under your study, showing you he can be vulnerable after all. You see the tangle of his curls cascading over his sweat-dampened brow, showing a rare crack in his cool, controlled façade. You observe the tension in his arm as he coils his hands more tightly around the neck of his bottle; perhaps the biggest giveaway of all. The sign that he wants some relief, in one form or another.

So, later, you may care that he did not tell you what happened. Later, you may question your choices – chalk this up to bad decisions. But, for now, you resolve that you will give him relief in any way you can. You will give him care because he needs it, and regardless of who he is and all the things you do not know about him, you know who he is to you.

“Does it hurt?” you soothe, your voice gathering weight. Becoming less flighty and panicked. Becoming cool and calm for him, because he needs this, you think.  

You continue to look into him, and Marc is the first to drop your gaze; in itself a rare thing. His mouth and brow become stern, straight lines, everything drawing down. He squirms in position, his muscles rippling and the motion causing him to suck air through his teeth. His silence is enough of an answer this time.

Yep. It hurts.

You reach your hand out toward him, and for a moment Marc draws back from you as though your touch might hurt him too – though whether he fears cruelty or kindness, you are not sure. Cautiously, more slowly this time, you try again, reaching -with a soft sigh of air- to gingerly comb his coiled hair back from his forehead. For a moment, Marc’s face weighs heavier, brow burdened - almost with contempt that you would dare to be so tender with him. But, after only a few moments of you drawing his curls back with the slow rake of your fingers, Marc’s eyes close, lashes fanning out over his cheek. His lower lip quivering for a moment, as though this kind touch has moved him with a far greater force than that with which it was dealt.

His lips part as though to speak. His eyes busy all too suddenly with schemes, no doubt plotting to take back some power. To regain some control. To direct how this is going to go… But you decide no. Not this time. This time, for once, you resolve that he is going to relinquish just a little bit of control to you.

“Shhhh. Shushhh,” you soothe, voice as level and pacifying and calm as you can make it. “It’s alright. You’re alright. I’m gonna help you, Marc. Just tell me. Tell me how to help you.” You shift your hand to cup his cheek, and for a blessed moment, Marc leans into it, subtle tears pooling in the corners of his deep, umber eyes. For a moment, you see more than a sliver of him. More than the face he shows you; but, he quickly shrouds it again. He allows his relief to last for only a moment, before he remembers himself - and in the next, he is clasping his hand firmly around your wrist, drawing your touch away from him as though it is a cruelty.

“First aid kit. Bathroom cabinet,” he says brusquely, plenty of heft to his voice now. Almost as though he’s overcompensating for the cracks you seem to have found in him, sealing them over. He nods over in the direction of the bathroom. “I wouldda had this taken care of by now. Steven was being a wuss about the whole thing. Poor fella nearly passed out from the blood.”

Ah, yes. The mysterious Steven. A mystery within a mystery. More and more, you are coming to the conclusion that you must understand Steven in order to understand Marc.

You whisper that you’ll be right back and you venture through the space, cutting towards the sink. The basin is coated with splatters of red already, the first aid kit opened and resting out on the slimline shelf, some of the materials spilled out and on to the floor - as though the panic you had heard through the phone had transpired as chaotically as it sounded it had.

With another deep breath to steady your nerves, you gather up the more obvious supplies from around the place, tracking back to Marc. You can’t help but skim your eyes around the place - over his desk and shelves as you walk - drinking in the titles from the spines of the towering piles of books and mentally cataloguing his possessions. Looking for any clues you can find to aid you in solving the mystery of him.

Puzzles? Poetry? Egyptology? Far from answering your questions, the rabbit warren only deepens. Complicates. Your theories fracture and branch into yet more questions.

A divot carves itself into your brow. This… This can’t be what he was keeping from you, can it? The reason he never has you over here? A deathly secret penchant for ancient history and Rubik’s cubes? It doesn’t add up, but you can’t help but trying to do the sums regardless.

When you kneel back down, close to Marc’s half-reclined body, no doubt he can see such questions in your eyes - especially since you do little to mask them. After all, you’re not quite as comfortable with secrets as he evidently is. Still, you rationalise. It has to count for something, that he’s honest about the fact he’s holding things back, doesn’t it? You softly shake your head, and, casting your mental abacus aside, you turn your attention to the task at hand, preparing to patch his wounds.

He takes a swig of the whisky. “Anaesthetic,” he deadpans.

You are not amused. In fact, you feel taut with worry, and you avoid meeting Marc’s gaze, even as he studies you intently.

You can feel his eyes follow you, soft and hazy and slow blinking as you tend to him. Cleansing the gashes. Wiping up the inky red tendrils. Gently dressing his wounds. It must hurt, but he barely so much as winces – only the occasional ripple of his dense muscles. A shock undulating down his abs to the dense trail of hair sneaking below his boxers. A clench darting down his bare, muscled thigh as one application of antiseptic particularly smarts. It draws your eye, his body. Stretched out before him all sculptural; but still, you remain focussed. You make sure that your hands remain slow and careful. As tender as you have ever touched him.

You can’t bear to look him in the eye as you care for him like this, your hard, strong man all weakened, but you find you can still read him all the same. Can hear his breathing slow and soften under your care. Can see some of the tension fall from his packed shoulders.  

After a while of being weighed by Marc’s intent study, the attention begins to burn you. And so, you can’t help but reach for a distraction – whether for him, or for you, you’re not sure. “You know. You should take me out to dinner.” You look at him then, eyes glancing off one another’s as sharp and strong as two blades colliding - but you do not linger long enough for him to cut you. Only long enough to enjoy him flailing for a moment, and so you can’t resist a delicious smirk to rival his best. “That’s how you stop the bleeding isn’t it? Apply pressure?”

You bite back a tentative grin, but you swell a little with pride as your joke earns a lazy, involuntary flash of teeth from Marc.

“Clever girl. You made a joke,” he interprets coolly. In a mildly patronising tone, no less, which you know you shouldn’t enjoy half as much as you do. And yet, when you look up at him, searching out the rare warmth of his smile, creases radiating out from his umber eyes, you have to look away all over again. He looks at you with such a delicate, complex heat brewing there that it floors you.

“I Googled ‘stopping blood loss’ in the car over,” you chat idly, reaching to deflect. Finally admitting to yourself that perhaps you do wear some masks around him after all. That you do have some secrets; you don’t wish him to know quite how much he destabilises you, for one thing. Leaves you reeling. “Clocked some baller self-defence moves too.” A bright but subdued grin lights your features, as you continue to tape down gauze and apply dressings. “So don’t you dare mess, Marc. I’m hard now.”

You sit up taller, with a little, definitive nod of your head. You have concluded your efforts. You resist the urge to dip and plant a kiss to his collarbone to mark it. There, I’ll kiss you all better.

You shiver, when Marc’s warm palm curls around your upper arm, smoothing over your skin at a few centimetres per second. “Baller moves huh?” he asks, a shroud of desire falling over his voice as his touch traverses your smooth, forgiving skin. “What did you find?”

Ironic, sort of. Self-defence, as a topic of conversation with Marc? It’s laughable. Useless, really. As of lately, your self-preservation instincts are all off-kilter. You have no defences against him, and he knows it too, from the look hiding beneath his hooded gaze. His hand sneaks up, smoothing beneath the sleeve of your pyjama tee and cupping your shoulder, the rough pad of his thumb drawing circles – little orbiting moons.

“Top strategy was running,” you intone, voice faltering, eyes fighting the urge to close as he smooths you, and tongue almost slack in your mouth.

“You should have,” he says plainly, and you don’t doubt it. Not for one second.

A gulp dives down your throat. “Guess I’m not very good at knowing when to quit.”

He dips his perfect chin down, briefly, to his meticulously patched shoulder. “Guess I should thank you for it.”

You search his face inquiringly. You are a ball of questions, looking for answers, yet finding his eyes as impenetrable as the engulfing black, swallowing up his burnt umber irises.

What are you into, Marc? Funny, that the first DM you’d sent him would be your prevailing question even now.

He has a past. You know it. You can taste it on him. Taste it on his tongue when he fucks it up into you, all reckless abandon like he’s been parched of anything good for longer than he would care to tell. Can feel it on his hands when he applies them with lethal precision to make you fall apart – skilled and trained and dangerous and relentless. Can see it in his want-tortured face when he looks at you like he doesn’t deserve a damn thing that’s his in this world. You know now, you think, that he doesn’t keep you in the dark because of anything you lack. Instead, it’s simply that he’s lived there for so long, that he must have forgotten what the light feels like. Must believe that he is only loveable in pieces. In shadowed fragments. Pieces of the moon – that whole celestial body - slipped to you in crescents like illicit little trinkets you gather and guard like you could piece him together if only you had the key.

His hands, you can guess, moving over you now with an aching, slow pace, have done things you might not want to know about, and maybe you should run. But you feel too the regret pouring off of him. He’s cool and calm but that is chaotic. It’s messy and brutal and unforgiving, just like the way he takes you, as if you and his pain have become one and the same. As if he fills you with it for even one moment of respite.

“Marc,” you say plainly, cracks in your voice like fractures in old walls of stone as you settle your hand over the top of his. “You know. I’m not asking. But if you ever do want to tell someone?” A lump bobs down his neck. “You know you can tell me.”

He knits his brows, shadow pooling more densely in the hollows of his face. He tugs in a slow gust of air, as if to launch some words of confession here and now. Of explanation. However, you know better than to expect that from him. How could it be that easy, when he’s been holding back for so long?

“Marc?” you launch on a taut line of breath, knowing that there is at least one question you have to ask, this hole in your knowledge far too glaring. “Who the fuck is Steven?”

Marc grows uncomfortable, squirming in place. Hunching his dense shoulders closer towards his ears. Swapping the position of his bent and elongated legs around and back again. All that, but when he starts talking about Steven, his face is as open as you’ve ever seen it. Lit with an affection that, quite frankly, you did not know he was capable of.

You feel words writhing under his skin. On the tip of his tongue, and so, you begin to gather up the soiled medical supplies from around Marc, hoping that dividing your focus will allow him a little more room to open up, should he want to.

“We’re… roommates. Sometimes he lives here, sometimes I do. Sometimes we’re both around.” A lazy flash of teeth glints from beneath his curled lips, and, when you glance at him fleetingly, it might be the most unweighted you’ve seen Marc’s face since you met him. “Sweet fella. Quite the nerd. Talks like a goddamn Victorian chimney sweep.” A small smile bursts on to your face and Marc checks himself, becoming more serious. “Our, uh, schedules were never supposed to intersect. Did everything I could to keep things separate. But he… Uh.” Marc nods slowly, bringing his palm up, sawing the pads of his fingers back and forth along his lower lip, mouth downturned and his eyes shifting from side to side. It looks like there is more to say. Much more to say. Like he reins something in, before speaking with finality. “He’s a good buddy. He, uh, got me out of some sticky fixes.”

You are wordless as you process this. At first, you had wondered whether the connection with Steven might have been romantic, or sexual, but after hearing Marc, you’re no longer convinced of that. He speaks about him in almost a brotherly way. Like he recognises a part of himself in the dude, on some level; however different they may be.

Still, you arc your eyebrow in Marc’s direction, looking at the one bed, pointedly. You’re not exactly lapping his whole story up about “roommates” without question, but there’s something which rings somewhat true in his words and his tone and in the set of his face. And so, even if you give this subtle nod to the fact you aren’t entirely placated, you opt not to challenge him any further on his business. “Well.” You pump your eyebrows. “Rent’s a bitch in central London, I suppose.”

Marc’s eyes glow at you then like lit moons, with gentle admiration, his lips curling with a small smile. You finish gathering up the supplies and hint that you’ll be right back, discarding the bloodied scraps into the bathroom bin and tucking the first aid kit back behind the mirrored cabinets. Then, you take a deep breath and cross to Marc once more. He’s still laid out where you’d found him, and it can’t be all that comfortable. Still, he appears to be enjoying gazing out of the window, where it frames the night sky. “Do you want some help getting up onto the bed?”

“Nah. Come sit with me for a mo’, will you?”

You stand before him, looking doubtfully down at the floor for a moment. Contemplating whether this may turn out to be another bad decision as you feel Marc’s heating gaze dragging over you. You reciprocate, looking at him all stretched out below you - looking delicious despite having been almost eaten alive – and it is only then that you have the wherewithal to consider your own appearance for the first time since arriving.

The verdict?

Mild horror ensues.

Shit.

Given the urgency, of course, you’d rushed over here without giving much thought to your aesthetic, shoving a coat and pair of boots on top of what you were already wearing. Usually, when you meet up with Marc, you are dressed to kill, aiming to provoke all of his senses and sensibilities towards one, very specific end. Him fucking you. In fact, you have your bratty, come get me, not as innocent as I look, eat your heart out then eat my pussy, succubus-chic aesthetic down to a fine art, even if you do say so yourself. However, right now is a different story, and you are serving rather… different vibes. Vibes which, to your disdain, now have Marc’s lips tipping up into an infuriating smirk. In particular, he seems to be fascinated with your “cookie doughs and cookie don’ts” pyjamas, the top emblazoned with a pattern of cute little cartoon foodstuffs.

Well, fuck. It’s a different side of you than Marc usually sees, that’s for sure. You fold your arms defensively around your middle, but even if you are doing your best to scowl at him, you can’t quash a brief, wry smile at your own expense.

Marc looks up at you, quirking a thick, dark eyebrow. “What d’ya got underneath? Are your panties as sexy as the rest, honey?” he teases darkly, and despite yourself a heat snakes up your spine like his voice alone is charming it.

He’s really going to go there? Going to talk about underwear right now, when last time -feeling bolder than you are in this second- you had shoved your dampened and discarded knickers into his pocket. You recall, with a rush of arousal, how he’d fondled them and gathered the scent of you up, lifting his girthy fingers up to his nose to inhale you into him.

“Fuckin’ perv,” you sass boldly, and his blackened eyes glint with challenge - obsidian dark. The planes of his face angled and just as harsh as his strident palm usually is when it slaps a sharp sting across the globes of you, and god, you can’t believe that even like this, all beaten up and still withholding his secrets that he could illicit this heat in you, your core warm and flickering for him like a candle in the dark.

Your pussy clamps down on nothing as your eyes trail over him, all splayed out on the floor like this. Your stomach flips disobediently when he wraps his broad fist around the neck of the whisky bottle and tips it up for a swig, wrapping his smirk around the lip of it, the spirit lurching and gurgles as he sucks. As he drinks, his knuckles bump up against the tip of his strong nose and god. It’s the wrong time. The wrong time to think about this -wholly inappropriate – but all you can think about is the fact that those fingers have been buried in you, all the way to the knuckle, making you come undone with precision. The memory of it is buried even deeper.

“I’m sure these will drive you wild, Marc,” you caution, tugging the waistband of your bottoms down to reveal your huge, comfy briefs, peppered with adorable little clouds and rainbows.

Marc actually licks his lips. “Don’t get me wrong. I like your usual look a lot, honey.” His voice curls in you like a come hither finger, beckoning you closer. “But this side of you’s kinda cute too. Maybe I’d like to see you like this more often.”

“Right.” You pump your brows, sceptically, and - against your better judgement - you plonk yourself down next to him now, your back settled up against the frame and your neck braced against the lip of his mattress. “Except… I think you’re high from blood loss, or something,” you say snidely. “Because this is the side of me you didn’t want, remember? The side you don’t get.”

You hurriedly fumble the bottle of whisky from Marc’s warm hand for some belated Dutch courage. The amber liquid burns a satisfying trail down your middle as you tip it back for a generous, rousing swig. Blech. You screw up your face. And, as you pass the bottle back to him, Marc looks at you warily from beneath his endlessly long lashes.

There is a beat as he blinks at you. Tension writhes through his jaw in the face of your gently steeled expression, before he forces a taut, indecipherable smile on to his mouth. “Yep,” he clamps his lips into a thin line. “Right.”

You try desperately not to let even a hint of frustration or disappointment show in your face. You’ve always known this. That it’s just sex. Has never been anything else.

Still, he stares you down, and you try not to drop your gaze to his lips. Try not to imagine all the ways you might kiss some feeling into him. Some feeling other than pain. You resist him for now, but it feels inevitable somehow. Inevitable that you will have your lips on him tonight, like the timing is written in some ancient iteration of the night sky and you are powerless, simply waiting for the stars to align.

Instead, for now, Marc takes a deep swig out of the bottle, perhaps for some courage too. “Look. I know it’s gonna sound like a load of baloney, but I swear. I’m trying to protect you.” His eyebrows slope up, his expression contrite.

You shake your head tiredly. “From what?”

A beat. Buying himself some time. Thinking about which sliver of him to hand to you. “From my life. This playground of gods and monsters in my head.” He relinquishes the bottle and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. “From me.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” you snipe wearily. “I know my own limits, remember? My own mind too.”

“I believe that,” he says softly, and in earnest. “But you don’t know mine.” His words are spoken in a monotone of defeat. With all the pallor of spent ash. There is no threat you can decipher in his words; only fact. Only apology. Maybe you should run, but you do not want to. You only want to draw him closer.

You contemplate him for a moment. Marc with a “c”, a crescent curl like the bending of a tongue or the crooking of a finger. His body stretched out before him, spilling out from the lip of the bed like the golden pouring of dawn over the horizon, yellowed light pooling around the dips and swells and contours of him. He’s beautiful like this. Softer. You’ve grown so used to having him fast and dirty in the dark. To stealing mere glimpses of him through the shadows; but you could get used to him like this, you think. Could have him bare and long and slow in the light and devour him whole.

You search Marc’s face, and you see gentle resignation there. His secrets and his deflections are many, but in this moment, there is a truth harboured there. All you see is a felling. You see the walls in his eyes crumble like they were forged of an ancient stone. See his will flake and give way to dust as he collapses, under the weight of his own need for you.

It was only ever meant to be once; but neither of you can get enough, can you? It doesn’t matter what he keeps from you, any longer. He’s told you so many times, so plainly, all that he can’t give you and doesn’t want to take; but he’s never once told you to stop.

A hard swallow bobs down his corded neck as you move your hand unthinkingly across to his bare thigh - languid circles, beginning with an innocent attempt at comfort - and quickly corrupting. A divot carving into his brow as you tenderly caress the meat of him. “I suppose you’re right, Marc. I don’t know anything about you. Not really.” With a pained expression, he flattens his hand over the top of yours, tentatively lacing his fingers. “Maybe one day, you’ll feel like talking. But, in the meantime, you should know. There are plenty of hot men in London who would be willing to spit in my mouth and never call - but who won’t also need me to patch up a mysterious bite from the Loch Ness Monster. I have options, darling.”

Marc nods in resignation, albeit, the weight in his face giving way to a sudden, dark smile, carving out an etching of mirth across his cheeks like beauty from stone. It’s the kind of smile which sinks desire through your middle, like the hot, liquid burn of spirit, his half-moon eyes blazing just as bright.

“Sure,” he drawls, in a voice as thick and dark as the shadows coalescing in the hollows of him. As smooth and sweet as nectar. “But how many of those schmucks would fuck you so good your eyes roll back into your skull, honey?”

Fuck.

His words make you physically sweat, a hot prickle dancing across your skin. A clammy slick beneath your palm as Marc moves your hand up and up his thigh, closer towards the bulge which begins to strain against the thin material of those tight, black boxers. “Uhhh,” you whimper, greedy and hungry for him now, heat snaking up your neck. Your core turning over as he drags the tide of you, your body doing his bidding. “How dare you use facts and logic against me?” you bluster, trying to distract from the rising swell within you, even while your voice drums in your throat like a locust’s wings; brittle and tremoring.  

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, not at all. But at the same time? God. You remember how good it feels when you do.

“Besides,” he says, inching your hand further - ever so deliberately - up his leg. “You sure as hell know at least one thing about me. You know how to take me apart, six ways to Sunday. Don’t you, Princess?”

Hnnnnnngggg. “I know a thing or two about that, yeah.”

You shiver as he slides your hand closer to his crotch. You feel the heat bleeding through the thin fabric, and the hard, straining mass of him swell beneath your touch.

“You shouldn’t tempt me, Marc,” you say shakily, breath quickening, a pulse of desire thrumming under your skin. “I had a tragic failed half-wank earlier. I have plenty of… steam to work off.” His hand on top of yours, he moves your palm back and forth up the length of him, until he is hard enough that your fingers can curl and grip him through the soft, black cotton. He’s so warm.

“Do you always make jokes when you’re nervous?” Marc teases, somehow managing to maintain a relatively cool façade, even if you can feel how much he’s aching for more of your touch.

“Oh, you noticed?” you sing-song, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Clever boy.”

“Brat,” he counters darkly, with a curl of his delicious lips, and for that, you punish him by squeezing his cock in your palm until he shudders. His own palms flatten, fingers splaying out across the floor by his hips as though he half expects to fall through it, plummeting -perhaps- along with his bedding need. “Show me,” he commands gruffly, hastily clawing some power back. “Show me how you take me apart.” Marc lifts his gaze to you then, a clear plea in his eyes. His brow still twisted by this perpetual weight, and jagged shards of pain scattered across his face.

He looks at you. He looks at you like Steven was right. Like he needs you. Like he is swept up in it - a force even stronger than the steadily coursing river of want throbbing in his blood.

“Y-you want…?” You hesitate, not forgetting his injuries for one second. “Now? You’re hurt and-“

“-I know my own limits, honey,” he breathes, darks eyes enthralling you entirely. “I can tolerate pain. But I’m not sure I can wait a second more to feel the ways you can give me pleasure.” His gaze flits gently around your face, reading you like a book, cover to cover. Seeing if that’s what you want to. If you didn’t, you are sure he would back off in a heartbeat. But the truth is, you do want him.

No; more than that. You need him, too.

And, the moment he realises it? The stars align.

You are practically fall on to his lips, swinging your body around to straddle his thighs, his warm broad hands clawing desperately to rid you of your clothes. Your tongue shoves greedily over his. He tastes of the hot boil of spirit in your mouth. Of salt and sweat. His stubble rasps your throat as his lips work you and there is a tumult, barrelling and urgent.

With your cooperation, your lower half is soon bare before him, your heat settled over the meat of his thigh, arousal slick and liquid against his warm, firm flesh. Unthinking, chasing your want, you tilt your hips to grind down on him, his quad flexing and providing a divine pressure against your folds as his tongue opens your mouth up, stealing air from you. He snatches a shattered moan from your lips as it blooms from deep within your chest, grabbing hold of your hips and guiding you back and forth, rocking you more vigorously against him.

If you had the sense to move, you’d move. Move to sheath his hard cock inside of you. The veined shaft which he now pumps languidly in the circle of his fist, watching how you use his body to get off with slack-jawed awe. However, what you’re doing feels so good you can’t even imagine forsaking a morsel of this pleasure; not even in favour of promised gains, and so, you stay. You brace your weight carefully against his good shoulder and the lip of the bed, and you grind.

“That’s it, honey. Hop on and finish yourself off on my thigh, huh?” You mewl for him. “Think you earned this, for taking care of daddy, didn’t you?”

God, it feels good.  It’s embarrassing, how quickly you are unravelling. Breathy moans falling past your lips and the glide of your slick heat coating his leg and his arms folding around your waist. His mouth sucking and laving greedily at your tits, the heft of them swaying in his face as you grind and rock yourself into oblivion. His thigh, clenching and shaking beneath you with how much watching you pleasure yourself is turning him on.

“That’s it, sweet girl,” he praises, dipping the elastic waistband of his boxers beneath his balls to expose the full length of him to you, sitting heavy and proud against his taut stomach, hard and veined and needy. “Got yourself all worked up, huh?” He speaks with that biting, patronising, soothing edge to his voice. A distilled blend which never fails to take you higher. “Ride daddy’s thigh -just like that - and I promise I’ll make it alllll better.”

You submit a symphony of breathy, almost pious moans to Marc as he watches your every move intently – with awe. You may be the one getting off but you swear the act is dismantling him piece by piece with every nudge of your clit and glide of your folds over his skin, releasing a pool of molten slick over the contoured muscle of his thigh. Taking him apart every time his cock is nudged against his own stomach as you roll your hips, the swell of your belly providing him this delicious fiction as the motion pins his shaft in the space between you. Breaking him with every wet suck or swirl of his tongue or roll and pinch of finger and thumb against your nipples. Wrecking him with the tipping back of your head in ecstasy while he tastes the bead of sweat gathered in the valley of your breasts. Devastating him with each smooth, keening note falling from your pretty mouth, your noises sinking desire like a stone through his middle.

You look at him beneath you as you undulate like a wave on top of him, all hooded gaze and disbelieving lips. You feel his hands clamping at your soft middle, gathering up rolls of flesh as he works you down on him, increasing the pressure against your folds and your aching, swollen clit. He looks delicious, all muscled and sturdy, and you want his body everywhere. You want to take him in your mouth and taste the swell of him on your tongue. Want him sheathed inside you as you sucker him deeper until he is spilling over and up into you.

“Fuck,” he breathes - a wrangled sound, his voice sunken as your end blooms from your centre, catching you off guard. You gush over him, eking out every aftershock and leaving an artwork of dripped slick – pale nectar smeared along his tan brown thigh which now glistens and shines like moonlight beneath you. “Fuck, baby. So fucking hot.”

You shudder down from your high, core still fluttering for him, and your relief is only momentary. As soon as you peel open your screwed-shut eyes and witness the wrecked expression on Marc’s face – the sheer wantonness of him – you are crawling with an urgent need all over again. You look down at him as he groans and helplessly fucks himself into the circle of his fist, looking fit to pop and spill his seed over his knuckles. You’d like to see that; but you have other, more devious plans for him.

You can plainly see the strain of both his torment and pleasure playing over his features. With a grunt, he quickly lifts and rocks the bottle to down another messy swig of whisky, the sharp odour eddying between you with his ragged breath. He is so undone with pain and want alike that a liberal drip sidles from out of the corner of his mouth, the bead rolling down his chest, a rivulet coursing between the meat of his pecs.

“Can I… help you?” you offer breathily, arcing your brow and nodding down to his needy length. “I… I can be gentle with you.”

“I… I don’t mind if you aren’t,” he responds, thoroughly caved-in by need, face all crumpled with it, body even hunched as though he buckles under the weight of it. “Please.”  

He begs you. The sheer force and command of him subdued, for now, he must finally know how it feels – to be at your mercy. The strength and power of him compromised, his pleasure hanging by a thread which you could dangle in front of him for hours, if you wanted. You could tease him and torment him in all the ways he teases you. Take him apart, piece by piece. Take him to the edge and back again. But… as much as you think you would like that, there is something in his eyes which makes you want to be a little more generous.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Marc,” you soothe. No more pain for him. No pain. Enough. Marc looks like he’s had enough dealings with pain to last a lifetime, and you think it’s about time something changed. You think he deserves softness, and so, you give him a promise as soft as the kiss you plant, just below his ear. “Gonna take care of you, baby. Going to make you feel good.”

When your soft, dulcet tones filter into the shell of his ear, Marc’s face twists with a new burden. A burden which seems to collapse him more so than all the others you’ve seen so far.

You climb off from his thigh, shifting your body back so that you can arc your mouth down over him. “So beautiful, all spread out for me like this,” you praise, leaning to trail your mouth down his neck, your tongue laving at the valley of his chest and lapping up the bead of amber liquid. “Don’t need to worry,” you kiss across his skin. “Going to look after you, Marc. I’m right here.” You suck on him, on the meat of his pecs, tracing your fluid tongue over each ridge and contour. Flicking across his nipples until they harden and he whimpers - a delicious, cracked-open sound. With a wolfish, crescent grin, you lick and mouth over his abs, settling yourself in between his thighs and bracing your palms against them as you dip hungrily towards him, swiping your tongue around the swollen, ruddy head of his cock and collecting the salty pearl of precum, the taste of him flooding your tongue.

“Fuck. I…” Marc shudders, fumbling for words as you nuzzle your nose into the dense, grizzled hair at the base of him, inhaling his musk. As you flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe along the underside of his shaft, relishing the ripple of his veins and contours as you travel up to the tip of him. His cock twitches, swollen and needy and desperate – so desperate - to be enveloped by the warm cavern of your mouth.

“What?” you ask playfully, travelling back to the base of him and sucking his heavy balls into your mouth, releasing them with a gentle pop. “What do you want, Marc? What do you need?” You apply a pattern of kitten licks and kisses along the length of him, disappearing the tip of him between the petals of your lips.

“God,” he shivers, voice full of holes. He throws his head back on to the lip of the mattress, tipping that sharp, angled jaw and nose up to the sky.

“There are no gods here, Marc. Only me. Only you and me. So tell me what you need.”  

You suck at him a little harder, taking him deeper into your mouth, engulfing him and he engorges to his full stretch. Your ministrations are meticulous; perfectly calculated. Perfectly precise. You do know. Exactly how to take him apart. His eyes practically roll back into his head and he lays a pattern of terse breaths as though he’s trying to stave of his end already. You can tell that he’s fighting it. Trying not to give in to you so easily. Marc; always so strong. So fucking stoic. And here you have him, little whimpers and whines spilling liberally from his lips.

“What do you need, Marc?”

He screws his face up momentarily, before his jaw drops open with a shocked gust of breath as you work him harder, his hips chasing you as he fucks up into your mouth. “More. Need more.” he pleads. “More of you.”

“Mmmmm,” you hum around his shaft, his head dropping back down simply -it seems- so that he can look at you in awe. His hand hovers above your head, guiding you down on to him again and again with the scarcest of contact, as though you are his gentle bird.

I’ll take care of you, Marc. I’ll take care of you if you’ll let me.

“Please. Please. Please,” he begs. So beautiful. Such pretty offerings.  Such jewelled words, his length heavy and thick and warm on your tongue. His eyes are spiking with tears of frustration, his hips bucking to surge into the circle of your throat; gently, languidly – you are in control. His thighs are shaking. His abs rippling and biceps clenching as the string in him tightens, preparing to snap. His body preparing to shoot his load into you. His palms flattened and braced against the floor.

You want him. You want him like this; soft and bare and slow.

Your head bobs more vigorously on his cock, taking him faster and deeper and you know that he’s close. You know, and as soon as you taste the first flood of his tang spilling over, you scrape two fingers through the slick you had pooled on his thigh, gathering it up and unceremoniously shoving the taste of yourself across the flat of his tongue. His lips clamp around your fingers instantly, obediently, eagerly cleaning every drop from you as he moans around your slickened digits.

The flavour of your release seemingly makes Marc’s own orgasm deepen and heighten too. His cock pumps his warm seed into your throat, and you feel the zip of each pulse shooting across your tongue as you drain every last drop from him, swallowing him down with relish.

He shudders down from his high, length softening quickly and his chest still lightly heaving. You relinquish him from your mouth, swiping the tang of him from your teeth and lips with a lazy swipe of your tongue. He looks sleepy and sated -entirely spent- his lashes fanning out as his blinks become long and slowed. He reaches for you. Reaches his palm out to cup your cheek. Draws you gently to his lips. You bask in this softer glow of him – his eyes lit and glinting, but this time, not with a hot, fiery desire, nor that shadowed glint of steel. This time, the glow you find there is gentle and constant. Something more akin to moonlight.

You did always like the night. You always were a nocturnal animal, but oh boy, do you love to see him shine for you.  

Marc gathers you up, and together, you bundle carefully into the bed. He lies on his side, on his good shoulder, and you -laying on your back - swell with emotion as you feel him nuzzle into your side. Still, you can already feel the shadows beginning to cling to you. Can feel the afterglow giving way to that familiar dark.

“I need you to go,” Marc resonates, his sudden and unfeeling voice vibrating through your chest as though he means to target your heart, with brutal precision. “You have to be gone before I wake up.” Perhaps he does mean it. To hurt you. Isn’t everything he does so very deliberate? “Please. Can you just trust me?”

Can you? Can you trust him?

“Okay. Okay, Marc. I’ll go.”

Now? Is that what he means?

And yet, Marc’s arm tightens around your middle, his thumb drawing idle patterns down your side, as though he expressly wants you to stay. For a moment, you freeze there, unsure how to react to this unheard of affection from him. Then, in the next moment, his small voice cuts through the mellow dark. “Would you…” He sighs and tries again. “Would you… Tell me something about yourself? Anything. Please.”

Oh, Marc, you plead inwardly. Please don’t hurt me. Please don’t ask for more, unless you’re sure that you actually want it from me.

Still, despite the flutter of locusts swarming in the pit of you you steel yourself, losing your fingers in his dense tangle of curls. “I’m afraid that’s redacted, baby,” you state coolly, a wry smile painting your features. That’s right. Two can play at that game.

Marc doesn’t fight you on it. Not at first. Probably assumes it’s the least he deserves. For our part, you fully intend to continue being steely and aloof; that is, until his thumb skims a spot on your side which tickles, sending a chaotic shiver through your body. Fracturing your resolve, an involuntary giggle explodes from your chest.

“Are you ticklish here?” Marc asks, targeting the precise spot again, and you can hear the unfettered smile which curls his mouth as he learns this about you.

“Sorry. ‘Fraid that’s redacted too.”

However, try as you might to be like him – all cold and stoic – that just isn’t you. And so, when Marc digs his fingers into your side once more, you can’t help it. Your bright, melodic laugh fills the room. And, from the way Marc squeezes you a little more tightly, you wonder if it might just have filled his heart too.

“You need to stop making me laugh, sweetheart,” Marc complains. “It kinda hurts.”

“No, thank you,” you respond firmly.

“No?”

“No. I think I prefer seeing you happy.” Against you, you feel Marc expel a long, contented breath. “Now shut that pretty mouth, would you, and get some rest?”

“Brat.” You feel the meat of his cheek shift against your chest, and you know that he is smiling.

“Er. Excuse me?” you chide good-naturedly. “Was that backchat?”

“No, Ma’am,” he humours you. “Copy that.”

Combing your hand through Marc’s inky curls, you smooth them back from his forehead, until his eyes are almost weighed by sleep.

“You know,” you breathe softly, before lights out. Something you need to get off of your chest. “I don’t want to hurt you, Marc, but I… I can’t heal you either.”

He stiffens against you, and there is a jagged silence. A stretched moment before he finds the right words. “I don’t need you to heal me. I just…” He swallows.

“What?” Tell me what you need.

“I just,” his voice cracks, pain splintering his robust, smooth tone into pieces. You weren’t ready for it to break your heart. You weren’t ready either, for the tears which shimmer violently in his eyes as he battles valiantly to restrain them. “I just need a little help.”

“Oh, Marc,” you soothe, as a single, disobedient tear shivers over the bridge of his beautiful, prominent nose. He sniffs and huffs a frustrated breath through gritted teeth. And, you do everything you can to take care of him, in this moment. To promise him that you’ll take care of him. You soothe him, and you pull his head into your lap, stroking his curls back from his forehead until he falls asleep.

The Next Morning

Steven wakes up to an empty bed, and, as usual, starts the day by sitting bolt upright, in a panic.

“Owww!” he complains, as pain shoots liberally through his… His shoulder? Ribs? No wait. Yep. His whole body. “Aaaaahhh,” he groans, clamping a hand over his racing heart, adrenalin firing as he works back through the chain of events since he was last fronting.

The blood. He remembers the blood.

He remembers… you.

“It’s okay. You’re okay,” Marc smooths calmly.

“Oh yeah!” Steven begins sarcastically. “Just another completely normal one? I don’t think we are okay actually, Marc, are we?” Yes, Steven is definitely freaking out. A giant jackal bite to the shoulder will do that to a person, no doubt. Eyes wide, Steven tips his head up to the ceiling. “Khonshu – hiya. Excuse me? This absolutely kills. Any chance we could grab the suit for a minute, mate? If it’s not too much trouble?”

“He’s pissed at us, Steven,” Marc reminds him. “He’s just letting us stew.”

Steven points his face upwards again. “Is this because I called you a pigeon? So sorry about that. You’re a swan, honestly. A majestic swan, yeah?”

“He’s not coming yet, buddy. I’m sorry.”

“It bloody hurts, Marc!”

“Yeah. I know it does. Look, why don’t I take the body for today? You sit this one out. Jump back in when Khonshu’s being less of an ass. Alright, pal?”

Steven’s eyes soften, glimpsing Marc’s reflection and his steady calm in the bottle of whisky by the bedside. “You’d do that? For me?”

“Yeah, Steven. That’s what friends are for.”

“That’s really lovely of you.”

“I… uh. I also wanted to thank you, for what you did last night.”

“No problem, Marc. I think you just need to remember you’re not alone, anymore, yeah? That, and to feed Gus 4. I can’t go through anymore fish.”

“Alright then, buddy. Let’s not get all mushy. Let me sub in, would you? Let’s get you out of this.”

“Yeah. Just a minute.” Steven picks up Marc’s phone, flipping it open. “Need to do summink first. One sec, yeah?”

“Wait. What are you doing?” Marc asks in a rare panic. “Don’t you do that, bud.”

However, to Marc’s horror – probably - Steven continues to type out a message. To you. “Hiya. Thank you for what you did for me last night. You’re so completely lovely. Can I take you out to dinner? If you would like to. No pressure or anything. Not trying to be creepy. Promise. Marc Spector xxx”

Steven hears Marc groan. Looks back to his reflection and sees that the guy is covering his face with his palms.

He feels like Marc will want to murder him; but that’s okay. He’s pretty confident that he can’t actually take him out. He kinds thinks he needs him, actually. Thinks they’re a team now. Need each other.

“What in the hell were you thinking?! Do you think she’s ever going to message me back again now that you’ve-“

-The phone dings brightly in Steven’s palm.

With surprise and delight, he opens up your reply. “Alright. But my schedule is a lil unpredictable, shortcake. Wait by the phone?”

A delighted, even smile beams out from Steven’s face.

Marc tries, to the best of ability, to restrain his own, mirroring smile, but he can’t quite manage it.

“Okay. You’ve gone and done it now. Time to sub me in, bud.”

Steven’s eyebrows shoot up, his eyes widening. “Are you sure?”

“Yeahhhh,” Marc says in a resigned tone. “Seems like I owe you a coupla favours.”

Steven’s eyes roll back, and Marc takes control of the body, bedding himself in for another day of pain. It’s okay though; after all, he’s become pretty used to that feeling. To a world of hurt. That is, until lately. Until there was you. Marc truly does hope he can protect you. And maybe… Maybe he really can, now that he’s no longer alone.

For a moment, Marc stares, dumfounded, down at the phone in his palm, before he lands on just the right thing to say. “Copy that.”

All Marc has known for a long time has been pain.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s time for a change.

“Marc’s got a girlfriend,” Steven sing-songs, as Marc crosses to the bathroom mirror.

“Shut up,” Marc snipes, but he still can’t mask his smile all the way.

THE END

Hiyaaa! :D I hope you enjoyed this, and if you did, please consider reblogging and/or leaving feedback! That would mean a lot. Thanks so much for reading, and I will have more Moon Knight content coming soon (because I’m a mess and I slipped and fell in a pit of hyperfixation). Lotsa love, and wishes for a lovely day. Luna.