#I was on the floor laughing like a madwoman

[polarisbibliotheque]

Are you into MBTI? If yes, may I ask for your idea on DMC characters types? If no then feel free to skip this ask, sorry for bothering you.

First things first, my beloved: DON’T APOLOGIZE. None of you are EVER bothering me by sending an ask – unless, of course, you’re completely crass, deranged, borderline criminal (or full criminal) with your words or just gratuitously rude. Those types are bothersome and will get blocked and ignored.

Unless I’m on an Axl Rose like rampage and want to burn and fistfight people along my way, then I’ll use the stupid being in question to pour all my anger and have a good reason to spend hours in therapy :)

But you are NOT one of those, my dear. That’s a very fun question and do feel free to ask me random things like that, I enjoy answering!

Now, I’m not really big on MBTI – I know enough about mine and my family’s so I can make things work between me and them. I also like to know my friends MBTI’s because the memes are usually freakishly accurate with all our personalities xD

I am an INTP! Quite proud, if I might say so hahahaha I like the weird vibes and I have adopted in my heart Sherlock Holmes as an INTP ‘cause he was my role model when I was a teen (I know, HORRIBLE role model, but it is what it is) – and that’s how I got into MBTI.

(more under the cut, this answer is LONG)

Big introduction for me to say: VERGIL, THIS LITTLE SHIT. INTJ. I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT.

I’ll start with him and then Dante. I won’t share my 2 cents on the rest of the crew because either they aren’t that much developed as the twins or I’m not really trusting my MBTI judging abilities here.

Without further ado…

Vergil

I debated quite a WHILE on Vergil, to be honest, because we all know INTJ is the typical villain archetype used everywhere on media because heaven forbid a villain is not calculating and devoided of emotions.

And there’s where I got a little stuck: emotions.

Vergil does have emotions, and I dare to say his run even deeper than Dante’s, so I got a little sidetracked. But then I took my own personality, INTP, and thought about it for a while. I have the same problem as Vergil: my emotions do run deep and I’m always guarding them in a dark, secret place inside of me so I won’t get hurt, opting for a more thinking, analytical and practical approach rather than the feeling approach. And oh boy does my life get difficult with feeling types like my aunt, my mom and even my sister.

I got to the conclusion, then, it’s not how you feel, but rather how you present yourself. I took the test as if I was Dante (I needed that to figure him out, not sorry) and a lot of questions are more leaning on that. It’s not that you don’t feel or don’t understand feelings, it’s more like you have a different approach when doing things and processing all of that – because it can be quite overwhelming.

So, there we go, Vergil is BLATANTLY Introverted and Thinking. The Introverted I got from what I heard some people saying that it’s not that “oh I like talking to people/I don’t like talking to people”, it’s energy: at the end of the day, do you prefer being alone to recharge or around people to recharge?

Me and my sister are opposites on that. My sister was always quieter and shy when she was a kid, and I was expansive and always came back with a new friend. Lo and behold, I’m an Introvert and she is an Extrovert. How? I HAVE and I NEED time alone, completely for myself, with NO ONE around at certain times of the day and I do get AWFULLY tired when I’m being social for too long, needing some me time with tea and a good book. My sister NEEDS to be around her friends after a long, tiring week at work, famously going to 3 parties in a row, in 3 different days, different groups, outfits and all, exiting one party to go to the other, and then BAM going to work on a Monday completely replenished. I’m an Introvert. She is an Extrovert.

Dante and Vergil seal of approval here hahahahaha

His Intuitive part, though, comes from the art – poetry, philosophy, reading, education. Vergil is obviously BIG on that, loving poetry since he was a child and always being found in libraries, we can all picture him going to art galleries, concerts, operas and such. But, particularly, I extend that to his thirst for knowledge: everyone who enjoys reading the dense stuff he does, tends to fall for philosophy, sociology, the metaphysical part of physics, mathematics, all that. There was a reason why great mathematicians of the past were also philosophers: knowledge walks together.

Loving that deeply, Vergil has to be quite Intuitive. Yes, he will do things with discipline and how they should be done to achieve the result – but he will rebel and do things his own way if the knowledge he acquired so far points him to another direction; he will follow his intuition. He’s not one to dismiss the big questions in life: quite the contrary, I think one of his favorite past-times would be drinking wine along his s/o while talking about philosophy into the wee hours of the night as if they are the only people in the world.

Vergil is an open minded, curious and always searching for the meaning of things kind of person, and I will die on this hill. There is no way a guy who likes learning so much would be against challenging his own point of views: to learn, you have to first be a novice; and to improve, you have to admit there’s much you still don’t know and keep an open mind to fail and do it again, and again, and again, until you master what you are learning. Just the way he fights tells me he is very much like that and I’m still dying on this hill.

And lastly, Judging. No, not because he’s the judgy bitch of the series who’s always side-eying someone and sighing while saying “pathetic” just because they got scared by their own shadow. I have to say I wasn’t too sure on this one when I realized Vergil could end up as an INTP and that bitch can’t be an INTP like me, I claimed it.

Jokes aside, Vergil can be quite Perceiving at times, because, wanting or not, he has had his moments of needing to improvise and spot opportunities that weren’t quite on his schedule… But, I do have to admit, INTPs are a mess and Vergil is FAR from being a mess – and when I say a mess, we are everywhere: reading 5 books at the same time, leaving them scattered all around the house, laying upside down in bed to think and come up with a great idea for something… INTPs aren’t pragmatic or schedule oriented. And Vergil would DIE in an environment like this, I think.

So, my conclusion was: his ability to survive does come from his Perceiving characteristics, but his pragmaticism comes from his Judging – and the second is a lot stronger in him. He would like the schedule, he would do things as he has programmed and, if you interrupt him, he’s counting the minutes to go back to his schedule or else everything he has carefully programmed for the week will be delayed and his plans are all but GONE (read: Verge at the Temen-ni-gru screaming “WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING?!” when ALL the plans he carefully executed for WEEKS so he could get to THAT moment and open the gates of Hell just went down the drain ‘cause he missed something in his calculations. Man is in excruciating pain he missed something and ALL was for NOTHING and he’d have to TRY again).

Verdict: Vergil is an INTJ. Expected, annoyingly villainous personality, but it does fit him wonderfully.

Plus, we are the 'we don't have feelings' types :D

Dante

Oh, Dante. My beloved. My red devil. The man who haunts my dreams.

Seriously, I had a REALLY hard time pinpointing his MBTI.

Remember I said I took the test as him? Yes. I did. To check some things and argue against others hahahahaa

I don’t think Dante is as black and white as Vergil. The blue devil is almost textbook INTJ, but Dante…? I have my doubts on SO many parts of his personality, because, unlike Vergil, Dante does a LOT just for show.

Starting with the Extroverted/Introverted. Most people won’t even think before saying Dante is an Extrovert, but I had my doubts when taking things in consideration. What we usually see is that, yes, he does love being around people – but Dante spends most of his time alone, without electricity, reading his old magazines at his shop, sleeping or eating pizza by himself.

Depression? Yes. YES. This man is more depressed than the San Andreas Fault. This can make people behave differently from their personalities, so I had to think a little more about it. Dante doesn’t really go out of his way to be around people, to party with his friends or just have a nice time with them around. Dante wants to be alone, because he thinks he doesn’t deserve to be with people – and that they are better off without him, safer. He puts them in danger, at least that’s what’s on his mind. So, he isolates himself and prefers to spend time on his own, away from everything and everyone.

That’s where the energy thing comes into play! What gives Dante energy? Honestly, my man looks drained and just the dust of his being whenever they get to his shop and he’s been living in that condition for months. During the games AND after the games, though? He looks a lot better – even if he has been beaten up by a bunch of demons. And that’s because, I think, Dante gets energized by being around people – friends, family, loved ones. Just like my sister, he can conquer the world after going to 5 parties in a row. Vergil, in the other hand, would be drained and dying by the second one, just like Dante is when he hasn’t been around people too much, always isolating himself.

So, despite his depression that makes him behave differently, Dante is an Extrovert in my book.

One that I don’t even think too much about him is the Perceiving trait. Dante is like that, 10/10. He can’t thrive on a schedule, things in his life are Everything Everywhere All At Once, and my man is in his lane with that. Try to fit Dante in a box with a set routine and too many rules, he’s dying. Aside from that, he has a knack for improvising and finding the best opportunities in unexpected situations.

Hence why he has so many freaking weapons and is just using all of them and all of his fighting styles at the same time, taunting demons and dancing Macarena right after – and making it all look like it makes the most absolute fucking sense. No one can pull that off like Dante, king of winging it.

Now, I do believe he is Intuitive. Dante might not be the art and poetry type like Vergil, but he is well educated. He has to be, to do what he does. And I do believe his thing for philosophy shows when Dante is lecturing demons: that WHOLE answer he gives Agnus about what demons lack compared to humans, that is VERY much philosophy. Dante doesn’t just go and takes everything at face value, because, if he did, he would very much say the obvious: demons are, objectively, stronger than humans. But all the heart, all the internal things that make humans stronger than demons… That’s philosophy.

I can see Dante enjoying movies – blockbusters, yes, packed with action and special effects, but let’s remember… Titanic is a blockbuster. And there’s so much heart in that movie, so much philosophy, so much about choosing your own fate and not being tied to the one that was handed to you… Titanic can pack one hell of an existential punch and make you think about so much in your life – you just have to be open to it.

Differently from Vergil, Dante wasn’t the library and heavy books sort of guy. But he was the guy to go to the movies, to watch all of that. To go back home (wherever his home was at the moment, even if just a place for him to crash for a while) and think about everything he watched in the silent darkness of his room. To think about the things Eva taught him – and see the value of all that.

He’s not the type to go to an art gallery, or read philosophy, or go to the opera. But he will go if he is invited, he will discuss things the way he learned them, and he will enjoy it. He’d be more than willing to talk about what makes humans so precious and spend hours doing so, as he would be open to listen to his s/o explaining what makes him so human despite his demonic heritage. And he would spend days thinking about it, always willing to discuss those topics if his s/o wanted to.

He's not textbook Intuitive like Vergil, I think, but he still is, in his very own way. I’d say Vergil is academically Intuitive, while Dante learned his Intuitive trait on the streets – we all say Dante is a safespace for everything, and a man like has to be open minded and curious. If he wasn’t, he would have never welcomed Trish and given her a chance to be human: he would’ve killed her right away for being a demon. And that isn’t our red devil.

Last but not least, Dante is a Feeling. I’m always dying on this hill, even if that one ALSO made me have some doubts.

Because you see, Dante just pretends to be a goof, but he isn’t. He is very intelligent and cunning, very perceiving and observing, but wrapped in a reckless rockstar package. It’s his own way of coping, but that is what makes him SUCH a great devil hunter (sorry, Nero). Even if we might disagree on this, I do believe Dante has his emotions very much controlled.

Which is a little evidenced by the lyrics on his theme song in DMC V, Subhuman (I know we ALL love Bury The Light and Devil Trigger but OH MY GOD, I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT HOW SUBHUMAN IS AWESOME AND FITTING FOR DANTE). The song is VERY explicit how Dante is always controlling his rage and keeping his demon on a very tight leash so he has control over it all the fucking time. That isn’t very Feeling in my book – it’s quite Thinking, like Vergil.

That’s what made me think a little about Vergil’s as well. I have what might be an unpopular opinion about the twins after thinking so much about them and seeing how they react and act in all of the games: Vergil has a tendency to loose control and overkill, while Dante has a tendency to let his rage burn at the exact moment he needs it and use his power just as much as he needs to get the job done. Dante is more controlled with his emotions than Vergil – and in my opinion, it’s because Vergil bottles up and ignores his emotions until they become a storm that can’t be stopped (cough cough personal experience cough cough) while Dante controls things so he can use his emotions and let them be expressed/gets them off his system in “safe” environments for him, which would be killing demons.

So, why the heck is Dante a Feeling in my book? Precisely why Vergil is a Thinking. It has to do with how they present themselves – and that is the point that makes them so different and butt heads almost every game.

The devil on Dante’s leash is his rage, the feeling he allows and wants to run amok and uncontrolled is his love. Dante controls his bursts of anger and the demonic blood who craves for mayhem – but he doesn’t control his human heart that does everything out of empathy and love. He will run to the rescue when his loved ones are in danger, he will protect weak people against the powerful ones, he will lecture corrupted humans who see nothing but power in front of them, he will cry and he will do everything in his power to keep love alive and thriving. He will react immediately, he will understand, he will feel the pain of those who are injured and begging for help – he will let his heart melt and do everything for them.

Therefore, Dante is a Feeling. And I think that’s what makes him and Vergil opposites and always fighting: Vergil wants power and puts logic over feelings, avoiding them like the plague, while Dante wants love and puts feelings over logic, embracing them and acting out of what his human heart tells him is the right thing to do. The whole series is based on this – at least in my opinion.

Verdict: Dante is an ENFP. Didn’t really expect it, but after analyzing with care, it makes a lot of sense to me.

Also, all the memes with ENFP x INTJ relationship dynamics I just checked are basically Dante and Vergil in a nutshell - I’ll leave some of them below and you guys will HAVE to forgive me not really crediting the people who created these memes, I honestly just found on google and wanted to share so you can have an idea of what I’m talking about.

But I honestly have been wheezing for the past hour and I thank you SO MUCH anon for this ask – I hope you enjoyed this little TED Talk about the Sparda Twins’ personalities please Capcom hire me to write official canon about them

If this isn't Dante and Vergil, I dunno what is

And last but not least:

That's all the games in a nutshell, really.

[minhosimthings]

Prideful

Synopsis: You never thought that Lee Heeseung, the man who had proven you wrong in the subject you were best at, would be fucking you on the classroom floor, but here you were.

Pairings: Heeseung × fem!reader, sort of enemies hate sex, includes Sunoo from Enha, and Soojin

Warnings: Smut with plot in the beginning, MINORS DNI, fluffy in the beginning, mention of food, degradation, praise, fingering, oral (f receiving), sex on the floor, unprotected sex (not for you bubs), rough sex, overstimulation, swearing, Heeseung calls reader princess and doll, open ending my babies have fun with that

A/N: idea came into my brain and I thought I'd forget about it and just added it to my wip list but then I was like NOPE IMMA WRITE THIS SHIT. So this makes my third smut for Heeseung (idk why I'm writing only smut for him) enjoy it y'all

Jane Austen once wrote an entire fanfic about enemies to lovers, slow burn, and she thought no one would notice. Well almost no one. Nothing ever gets out of the eyes and pens of literature majors does it? Especially not out of hardcore Jane Austen fans like yourself.

You must have analysed that godforsaken piece of literature atleast a thousand times since you recieved it as a gift for your birthday. And every single time, you failed to understand how such a love could be possible. I mean come on, a man and woman who hate each other, falling in love with each other? Either Jane Austen must have been a reincarnation of Aphrodite, or a madwoman who still kept faith in love.

Your heart nearly exploded when your professor had assigned a full fledged essay-presentation, costing half your grade on Pride and Prejudice. "Explore your opinion!" She had called out cheerfully, "Tell me what your heart truly feels about this beautiful piece and I'll give you a full half grade and no assignments for the rest of the semester." The class gasped in excitement at her words as you pretended to be interested. Internally, you were groaning. Wasting half of your night to make a presentation about a book you hold no love for? The universe really was against you. You picked your books up dejectedly and walked towards the entrance, shoulders hunched and music at a higher level of noise than it should have been at.

"Oh shit!" You cursed, dropping your books at the sudden interruption. A flurry of blue wool flooded in your face, as you leaned down quickly to pick up your fallen books and phone. "I'm so sorry." You apologised not looking up at whoever you crashed into. "It's alright." A voice responded back, and you looked up to see him. Lee Heeseung. You had seen him a few times in class, heard him actually. With his pristine glasses, and his woolen sweaters, he was the definition of a movie nerd. He was actually smart, you had to admit, always quick to respond to the questions that you had no idea about. Best in the class after you, according to your professor. Although his choice of literature slightly weirded you out. You often spotted him sprawled out under a tree, holding Pride and Prejudice to his nose, deeply engrossed in taking in each word.

"Is that The Neighborhood you're listening to?" Heeseung asked, as he handed you your phone, which he had picked up before you had the chance to. "Do you have an ear for them?" You asked, taking the phone from him. His hands felt soft, like the first snow when you were eight. Heeseung shook his and chuckled. "I'm more of a Arctic Monkeys person." You smiled awkwardly and shuffled your feet. "To each his own then."

"Macbeth." Heeseung said, before you could escape from the conversation. "I'm sorry?" You questioned, confused at his sudden outburst. "That line's from Macbeth." Heeseung sent another smile your way, pushing his glasses up from his nose, "Polonius says it, 'To each his own'." You felt a pang of jealousy hit your chest. You didn't know where that line was from. Of course, what normal person would know the origin of a common idiom?

"Cool." Your laugh was not without a tint of awkwardness. "Well-" Heeseung shifted his weight from one foot to the other, "Bye then." "Bye." You bid each other goodbye and rushed off in opposite directions, not wanting to be stuck in another neverending loop of conversation.

"Don't tell me you actually talked with The Lee Heeseung." Your roommate Soojin laughed, accidentally smearing some turquoise nail polish onto your thigh. You quickly wiped it off with a tissue before frowning at Soojin. "It's not a big deal." You scoffed, having another slice of pizza, "I mean he's just a guy. Kinda nerdy actually"

Soojin burst out laughing again, this time shutting her nail polish close. She gasped for air as she pulled out her phone and showed you a picture of a what looked like a frat party. "Girl-" she got up from her leaning position, "Nerdy is the worst way to describe Lee Heeseung. I'm telling you-" she picked up the last slice of pizza, "-he's the playboy representative of this college."

"Oh come on." You scoffed again, getting up to go to the bathroom, "Stop joking around." Soojin shrugged her shoulders as you disappeared into the bathroom. "Whatever you say."

The next day, you strolled into your favourite cafe with your laptop, headphones, a copy of Pride and Prejudice, money in your pocket, a sketchbook, and a positive mindset. Always need one to write an essay right? You were thankful that it wasn't raining today like it had been for the past few weeks.

The cafe was mostly empty, with a few medical students drinking coffee to their death, as they always did. You walked up to the counter, where you saw your friend Sunoo, working his shift.

"Y/N hey!" He flashed his bright smile at you, putting down the glass he had been cleaning. "Hey sun." You clapped back, leaning in front of the counter, "The usual please." Sunoo nodded his head and started to prepare your drink. "So I've heard something." He put on his mischievous smile, one that he often wore when he had gossip on his fingers. "Please tell me it's not about that girl from Chem again." You sighed, as he put a coffee cup down in front of you. "No it's about you dumbass." Sunoo scoffed, taking the money you handed him, "I heard you bumped into Lee Heeseung." You let out a groan at his words, and quickly grabbed your drink, going off to sit in the corner. "Yah take your change!" Sunoo shouted after you to which you shouted back, "Keep it! Your broke ass needs it anyway!"

You didn't get the chance to see Sunoo giving you the stink eye, as you plopped down on the comfortable couch and opened up your laptop. You had prepared a few opening lines the night before, since you had learnt that doing half of an assignment on the day of the announcement is better than starting the next day. Whoever wrote that theory needs to clarify it to you, but hey never pass up a good study tip right?

Immersed by the clacking of the keyboard keys and the pretty syllables decorating your page, you were completely absent from the world around you. Until, you heard a familiar voice, which broke you out of your hypoxia.

Heeseung.

What was he doing here?, You thought, not realising that you were basically staring at him. He was dressed in full black today, a leather jacket adorning his broad shoulders. A single earing dangled from his right ear. He still had his glasses on, which were fogged up completely, courtesy to the weather outside. Chatting away sonderly to Sunoo, as Sunoo prepared his drink in a way familiar to you, Heeseung caught your eye. He waved joyfully to you, akin to a child waving to their best friend. You waved back, not aware of the face you were currently making.

"Hey!" Heeseung said, sitting down in the chair next to you, with his drink in hand, "Working up on the Pride and Prejudice thing?" There were atleast a million other seats empty in the cafe. Why did he have to sit next to you? You didn't really realise how handsome he was, until he was sitting face to face with you. The mere sunlight coming in from the windows seemed to illuminate his face well. "Oh yeah I am." You replied, shooting him a smile, "Same thing?" You asked, wanting to keep the conversation going. Heeseung smiled jovially at you and propped his laptop open. "Yep." He replied and glued his eyes to the screen as you went back to your own work. "The Neighborhood again?" He raised an eyebrow, peeking at your open Spotify. You smiled gently and replied, "Arctic Monkeys?" As if ticking a correct answer, Heeseung laughed and showed you his phone where 'Arabella' was playing. A pretty album cover, you thought, subtle and sleek. "To each his own then?" Heeseung said. You nodded and smiled in response, before dropping your head back down to your laptop.

An hour must have passed like this, both of you hypnotised in writing and editing, and downing the refills of coffee Sunoo was providing you with. You stole tiny glances at Heeseung from time to time. Concentration was a good face on him, his eyebrows furrowed, his hands typing away furiously at the keyboard. He didn't talk to you at all, except for the initial hey and hello. But something about the way he spoke to you in the beginning, about the way he asked if you had a pen, and about the way he said 'Hey you have an eyelash on your nose' made your stomach erupt into butterflies.

Heeseung left before you did and before leaving he had extended a hand out to you. "May the best essay win." He spoke, shaking your hand and showing you his smile. God he never stopped smiling did he? His hand was soft, as was his grip on yours. It felt like how your father would hold your hand when you were little on the crosswalk.

"Girl just ask him out." Sunoo called after you as you were about to leave, "The tension between both of you back there was almost poetic." Even though you laughed at Sunoo's quip, and denied the offer, a part of your mind lingered on Sunoo's words and the way Heeseung spoke to you that afternoon.

The days leading upto the hour of the presentation went fast. Too fast almost. Your mind went over your short conversation with Heeseung atleast a million times, sometimes distracting you from typing. You didn't know where all the red bull cans littered across your room came from, but you remember where you threw every single one of them and why. The presentation was perfect. It must have been checked by your eyes atleast a hundred times. Finally, a time was coming when you would be able to express your true feeling about it. Despise and Trouble ran through your veins as you walked up to the board as your professor called on you to present. The class seemed to hold a tight breath to themselves. Everyone knew you, teacher's pet, best at English, known for using the most difficult metaphores in her essays yet having a straightforward point.

"Shall I begin?" You asked your professor who gave a curt nod and leaned back in her chair, an expectant smile plastered on her face. You returned the smile and turned to your classmates, who seemed most interested in your essay.

"Well to begin with, as one does-" humor was always the best way to start off speeches, which was shown by the subtle laughter of the students, "-I would like to say that Pride and Prejudice may be one of the most despised books I have sitting in my bookcase." You heard gasps around the room as everyone started murmerring. Your professor leaned forward in her chair, her mouth pressed tightly to form a thin line. That's good, you thought, a good way to break into their corneas.

"While most people would disagree with me upon this apparent piece of art, I truly believe that this sort of a romance is highly impossible. And no-dont tell me that this is fiction and in the fictious worlds you can quote unquote 'do whatever you want'." The audience held their breaths back as you continued with your rant. Your professor was watching it all with a smile on her face, knowing that she couldn't disagree with you. After all, you had to present your own opinions no matter how opposite they were to everyone else's.

"Well-" you professor stood up from her chair, as you finished your presentation. It had been a 25 minute rant about the book and by now everyone seemed to be meekly looking at their own essays. "That was brilliant Y/N. Truly brilliant." You professor clapped you on the back, "I must say, you have a flair for arguing in a way no one can find counter-attacks. I wonder why you did not choose law as your major?"

"Because there is another argument to be discussed here."

A cold voice rang through the room, as you were about to laugh at the professor's quip. You spun around on your shoes to face the culprit.

Lee Heeseung.

"Heeseung!" Your professor delightfully responded clapping her hands together, "Well why don't you tell us your opinion then? And we'll see if Y/N can fire back." She sat in her chair again, looking positively delighted at the forthcoming, "A battle of the best wits perhaps!"

Heeseung smiled widely and stepped forward to where you were sitting, plopping down on the opposite chair. Your professor had always kept two chairs facing each other in front of her class, for debates, her reason sounded. And now, as you sat in front of Heeseung and his stupidly handsome smirk, you swore you were going to bring him down.

"First of firsts-" Heeseung began, as everyone's attention caught on you. "-your opinion is speaking from a highly biased perspective." "How so?" You fired back, before he could even breathe, "I had already stated in the beginning, about how this cannot be on a biased perspective, since fiction based in actual words cannot be this animated." Heeseung smiled again, which threw you off track a bit. God he's handsome, you thought, too handsome....

"Of course but must I remind you, that this book was perhaps the first out of many to start with the trope of enemies to lovers?" Why were his eyes like galaxies?, "Jane Austen invented an entire trope, which still remains a genius scan of literature to this day. How could you say it's too animated?"

"Yes but-"

"Furthermore-" Heeseung continued, not giving you the chance to breathe, "inventing new tropes does not break this 'law of literature' as you say. Since there was no law of literature to begin with. So please Miss Y/N-" he leaned forward, looking at you with dangerous eyes, "-don't you dare say that Pride and Prejudice is a worthless piece of literature just because it does not have proof of poetry."

The class let out a breath as you sat frozen in your seat. Someone actually breaking your argument was a first for you.

God, his hair. His pretty curly hair.

You didn't realise how long you'd been staring at Heeseung with widened eyes until your professor clapped her hands together again.

"Well then!" She said cheerfully, effectively breaking you out of your stupor, "I believe this goes for grading both of you an A+. Half of your grade is filled you two! Congratulations!" The class broke out into applause as you thanked her and awkwardly shook hands with Heeseung as the bell rang loudly. "Well class I'll be seeing you next time!" Your professor announced, as everyone started filing out. "Oh Y/N, Heeseung a moment please?"

You stopped your feet from stepping out the door and immediately spun around, marching off towards your professor, seeing Heeseung doing the same. "Yes Professor Kim?" Heeseung responded with those stupid puppy eyes of his before you could. Professor Kim smiled gently at both of you, before pulling out her tablet.

"I need a bit of help from both of you. It'll be sort of a favour to you too." She handed you the tablet, which had a sort of letter open on it. Heeseung leaned from behind you, and put his chin on your shoulder, making your stomach feel clammy. He smelled good too, you thought, like fresh paper.

"An event is being hosted by our Dean for all majors." Professor Kim smiled, "Sort of a career booster you could say. We were instructed to pick two students from our classes to have the assignment of checking essays, and documentations and whatnot pertaining to their majors."

"And you chose to pick us Ma'am? I'm flattered." Heeseung chuckled, as Professor Kim laughed to his quip. "Well you two are my best students." She drawled, "So the assignment I'm giving you is-" she pulled out a huge stack of papers from beneath her desk. It shocked you how quickly they appeared out of nowhere, like magic. "-these are all essays collected by last year's class. I want you to go through them, give them a good critic, and grade them according to you. You will personally grade each one, taking each other's help of course,since it's a group project. And it will lend you a helping hand since you'll be getting a certificate which you can use to get into any company you'd like!"

You and Heeseung glanced at each other and we're relieved to see the same excited expression face back at them. This was a rare opportunity, a diamond of the first water you'd say. And you had to grab it, even If that meant it was with a person you despised with your entire being.

"I'll do it Professor!" You replied positively to which Heeseung also nodded frantically as if to say the same thing. "Great!" Professor Kim clapped her hands together again, "Oh and one rule is you two have to work together in this classroom. Since the Dean wants to provide you with an opportunity to see how workplace relationships doon out."

Your heart dropped to your stomach as you heard her words. You, working with Heeseung in an empty classroom? You would rather have praised Pride and Prejudice.

"Here, the keys." Professor Kim handed you and Heeseung a pair of keys, "You can work in the evening if you want. But make sure to complete it as soon as you can alright? Oh and you can skip classes if you want to do this first, since the Dean is prioritising this before anything else." You nodded in response to her instructions and bowed her goodbye as you and Heeseung walked out.

"So-" Heeseung stuffed his hands in his pockets, "You wanna work on this shit tonight?" "Unless you have any other appointments, sure we can work on it tonight." You responded, coldly, not looking at him in the eye. "Alright then." Heeseung scoffed, "Meet you here at 8?" "Alright." The end of your conversation came a little too fast, you thought, but you couldn't stand looking into his pretty little eyes and talking to him, as if he didn't just embarrass you infront of your entire class a few minutes ago. "Y/N wait!" Heeseung called, running up to you, as you were about to exit the building. "What?" You spun around to face him. "Shouldn't we exchange numbers first?" Heeseung handed you his phone, which had his contact list open. "Why? So you can take me out on a date later?" You shot at him. A smirk tugged on the corner of Heeseung lips, but he resisted, not wanting to anger you more. You looked cute when you were angry in his opinion. "No. Maybe incase you were murdered by someone on the way here, I can call you and scold you on why tardiness is a childish thing to do." Heeseung joked. You smiled sarcastically at him as you handed him his phone back, having typed in your number. "Eight o'clock princess don't you forget now."

Tick tock tick. The clock's quiet sons echoed through the empty class. 'Don't forget.' you scoffed, 'And he's the one who's late.' The time on your watch sounded 8:30 and yet Heeseung wasn't here. You had given up waiting for him, and started on the assignment yourself, already finishing two of the army of papers. You were a hard critic, and it clearly showed in the way you were seeping your eyes through the ink.

"Soojin he's late! I can't come back now!" Your roommate had called you, in the midst of your third paper, complaining about a cockroach in the room. "Just call your boyfriend, and don't be such a pussy it won't hurt you." You scoffed at Soojin, whose scared whimpers were heard clearly through the phone.

"How's the checking going?" Soojin asked, having seemingly calmed down. You groaned and leaned back in your chair, wincing at the crack of your backbone. Your back must have become stiff from the amount of time you had been sitting in that chair. You felt pity for your professors for the first time, having finally been in their shoes.

"Heeseung's not here yet and I'm literally so fed up right now." You complained to Soojin, "That handsome bastard told me not to be late, and now look where I am! Asshole seriously." "He'll turn up, cool down Y/N." Soojin soothed you. You heard a sound of crashing in the background and stifled a laugh, assuming that Soojin must have miraculously jumped from one bed to the other. "I told you he's a playboy." Soojin panted through the phone, "Maybe he's busy fucking some poor girl in his frat house." You rolled your eyes at her statement.

"Please." You scoffed, "He couldn't fuck a girl if he wanted to, with the tiny ass cock he has." Soojin let out a raucous laugh from the other side of the phone. "How the fuck do you know he has a tiny cock?" She chuckled. "Intuition baby." You responded, "And my intuition is never wrong."

"Like how it was on the day of our debate?"

A familiar voice again. But this time, the warmth in it wasn't present. You whipped your head around to the door, where Heeseung stood, leaning against the door and smirking. "Soojin I'll call you back." You cut the call, before Soojin could respond.

"Hey." You called out to Heeseung. "Hey." Heeseung shot back, sitting down on the chair in front of you, spreading his legs wide. An involuntary gulp went through your throat. "What were you saying princess?" He leaned forward, his shirt dropping down slightly, "I have a tiny what now?" The dim lighting of the room, made his eyes look dark, and the leather of his black jacket, gleam more. "I- I wasn't saying anything Heeseung." You responded, turning your chair back to the desk, warmth coming up on your cheeks. Heeseung cocked his head to the side and smirked at your flustered state.

"Really princess?" He smirked, edging closer to you. The smell of his cologne filled your nostrils again. His glasses dropped on his nose, and he hadn't even bother to push them back up. "Heeseung just get to work." You sternly responded, trying to keep your cool. How could you though? When he was so close to you, lips almost touching your ear. "For you information-" Heeseung spoke, turning your attention away from the paper you were working on, "-I had a friend who needed a lift to his dorm, so I ran a little late. But you couldn't wait for me could you princess?" He smirked, laying his hand on top of yours, "Just couldn't wait to critique all those papers like the good girl you are." "He-Heeseung." "Shh don't." Heeseung shushed you, "You want to see how tiny of a cock I really have then hmm?"

"Heeseung we shouldn't." You hesitated, feeling your legs warm up. "No one's gonna know, as long as you don't make a noise alright?" He kissed your neck gently, turning your figure to his, still sitting in the chair. "Oh princess, already wet for me?" He chuckled, toying with the button of your shirt. "Heeseung-" you moaned out, quickly unbuttoning your shirt, as Heeseung took off his jacket and threw it on the desk. You pulled back slightly as your mind came to its proper senses. "Where are you going doll?" Heeseung questioned, hands resting on your thigh, squeezing it from time to time, "Don't worry princess, no one's gonna know."

Heeseung brings his lips down to yours in an instant, wasting no time. You gasp at his sudden actions and he takes advantage of that by entering his tongue into your mouth. You grab at his shoulders while he cups your jaw with both of his hands. Your hands reach his hair, softly tugging at the root and you hear him whine. Heeseung sucks on your bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and pulling it back to look at you. You look up at him and he takes your face in his hands.

“You wanna see my cock baby?” Heeseung asks in a teasing tone as he looks down at you. You could feel the throb in his pants press against your legs as you whimper. “Hee please.” You whine, squirming as he places a kiss between your breasts. Heeseung runs his hands up and down the sides of your body. If he was going to fuck you on the classroom floor right there and then, you were going to let him.

“Oh, you're feeling extra polite today huh? Please, Heeseung.” Heeseung mocks you with a tiny laugh. You groan in embarrassment and hide your face with your hands. Heeseung just lets out another laugh and wraps his hands around your wrists, prying them away from your face. He transfers both of your wrists to one hand, holding them over your head as he uses his other hand to trail his fingers down your body.

“Don’t hide your pretty face now, princess.” Heeseung says nonchalantly as he dips a hand inside your leggings and panties to feel your dripping cunt. His glasses were beginning to fog up slightly as he whipped them off of his face, setting them down on the desk. You clench around nothing when you feel his middle finger dip into your wetness and bring it up to your clit, rubbing slow circles around it. You moan softly as Heeseung teases your clit, never taking his eyes off of your face.

Heeseung begins to rub your clit faster, and you buck your hips up into his fingers. You hear him laugh at your eagerness and he presses soft kisses into your neck. Heeseung takes his fingers off of your clit and he snaps the waistband of your trousers against your pelvis.

“Dirty girl. Never thought you'd be like this.” Heeseung says with a smirk and you dumbly nod your head. The sounds of your heavy breathing and your pussy squelching around his fingers make your legs begin to shake.

Heeseung spits on your cunt to lubricate it even more, and that's what makes you come undone. Your cunt clenches around his fingers, sucking them in as he fingers you through your orgasm.

Heeseung takes his time kissing down your body, letting your need and desperation build by the second. He tugs one nipple and then the other into his mouth, suckling at the perky nubs and massaging your areola between his lips. Your hips are trembling with anticipation, the space between your legs aching to feel Heeseung's kiss.

Stars hover over you, or at least, that’s how it feels. Your eyes are closed, awareness cut off to the world around you except the place Heeseung's face is buried. He devours your cunt like a man starved, swallowing you whole. Heeseung doesn’t come up for air; he doesn’t need to, because all he breathes is you. Your back is arched and arms stretched forward, fingers clutching Heeseung’s hair in fistfuls.

Your thighs are shaking, reflexively clamping around Heeseung's’s face. He keeps forcing them open, demanding full access to your cunt, even as you buck and claw and convulse. Your mouth hangs open in a stupor; a thin line of drool trickles down your cheek and connects to the cold floor beneath you.

Heeseung laps at your slit like he’s never tasted you before, like he never will again. His tongue pads between your lips, upward strokes that end with the tip of his tongue flicking your clit with a firm intensity that has you reeling. Tugging at his hair, trying not to scream his name incoherently, you ride out the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. Tears burn the corners of your eyes, stars bursting in the black sky of your vision. Heeseung doesn’t stop licking your cunt till you release his hair.

“M’gonna fuck you now, okay?” Heeseung says sweetly and you nod your head. He runs his hard cock through your folds, and he catches your clit, making you jerk a little. Heeseung slowly begins to push himself into you and you throw your head back against the hard material of the desk.

“Fuck, knew you’d be tight when I felt you around my fingers.” Heeseung grits out, and he continues to push himself into you until he bottoms out. He starts to move at a slow pace, and he whines when you beg him to move faster. “Fucking whore. Bet you think about me fucking you in class don't you?” Heeseung spits out as he pushes himself harder and deeper into your sloppy cunt. You moan at his words, and you try to reply but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper.

“Hee, I’m gonna cum.” You cry out, and you clench around Heeseung's fat cock.

“ Cum for me princess.” Heeseung. moans out, fucking into you so deep, a ring of your cum and his has formed at the base of his cock. You run your fingers through his hair, harshly tugging on it as you come undone at his expense. Heeseung buries his face into your neck as he cums, sucking at your pulse point. You feel his cum shoot into you and it only prolongs your own orgasm.

After a couple minutes of you two catching your breath, Heeseung takes his face out of your neck and plops down in the chair, pulling you onto his lap. You sit there, dazed for a few seconds, burrowing your head in his chest, his heartbeat reminding you where you were.

"Well that was a whirlwind of emotions." He says at last, when you start to stir from your hypnosis, "You good doll?" You nod slightly and feel Heeseung's arms wrap around you, putting you safely down on the chair, as he put his clothes back on, slowly picking up yours as well.

"Heeseung the assignments." You panic, as he puts your shirt back on you. "It's alright princess." He coos at you, wrapping an arm around your waist, "We can do that in the morning. Let's get you home." He guides you slowly out the door. "So-" he smirks, locking the classroom with his key "Same time, same place tomorrow?"

[chaninfused]

The Altar of Angels | Lee Minho

◤“If the jester wanted to play, then the Prince of the Underworld would happily oblige.” In which a mafia heir seeks the aid of a wildcard to upturn his court. ◤Disclaimers: Female reader insert. Chapter five from the ‘dead men don’t speak’ series. Enemies to worse enemies (seriously, there’s not a shred of affection between them, only toxicity). Action and angst. Descriptions of violence, death, blood, and injury. Usage of vulgar language. ◤Word count: 3.3K ◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction and do not reflect the idols' true characters. Please do not take my content without my consent. Masterlist. ◤From the author: I'm sorry for the long pause! It took me longer than expected to get back into the groove of writing, but we're back, and I wish you happy reading!

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The Prince of the Underworld had learned many lessons at thirteen. Most notable was the revelation that his life was merely a game of cards. Every person had their pre-assigned place in the deck, and he played them all with a serpent’s ease and a devil’s grin.

A restless mastermind, Minho survived by being in control, and it seemed that his guest was keenly aware of that fact.

He glanced at his silver watch. Seven minutes past the meeting time. He’d known that this alliance was never going to be peaceful when he sent that invitation.

Still, he was patient. Two could play this game if his valued guest so desired.

Ten minutes.

He was sure it was on cue when the doors swung open right then and his guest strode in, that infamous burgundy coat billowing around her, her entourage of one man tailing behind her. She was all too relaxed when she met his gaze, faux apology leaving her lips, “My, what a maze this place is!”

The legs of the chair opposite to him screeched against the floor, but she didn’t seem to care as she flopped onto the leathery cushions, tossing a familiar envelope his way.

“So,” her eyes didn’t crinkle when she smiled, “Do spill. Where did you find the spine to summon me like one of your lackeys?”

Straight to the point, huh?

Minho wanted to laugh. She was just as he’d expected.

A Joker card.

Unruly, unpredictable, and incredibly special. If the jester wanted to play, then the Prince of the Underworld would happily oblige.

“I believe our meeting was supposed to happen at eleven. Seeing as to how it’s ten past that now, I think I’ll be taking my leave,” Minho remarked coolly, barely rising from his seat when the air next to his ear whistled as a bullet tore through.  

“Stay put, will you?”

He mentally cursed at his body for freezing involuntarily. Of course she’d be the type of madwoman to shoot at him in a room full of his men. Any closer, and it would have been his brain matter splattered on the pristine walls alongside the imbedded bullet.

“I did have to make a long journey here, so make it worthwhile, your highness.”

Her mockery didn’t go unnoticed, though the real mockery was the desperation that made him ignore that address and hold her cold gaze. He didn’t know if it was stupidity or confidence that made her and her second so nonchalant despite the guns aimed at them for the transgression.

Minho remained standing. “I’m not fond of tardy people, miss Y/n.”

“And I don’t like to be ordered around, but I guess we can’t all have it our way,” she twirled her handgun lazily, eyes and words sharp.  

Touché.

Minho supposed this made the two of them even, so he decided to let it go, motioning for his guards to lower their arms as he reclaimed his seat.

“I called you here because I would like to propose an alliance between us,” he began once he had settled.

“And what purpose would that serve exactly?”

“My uncle has been running Taunt to the ground lately,” he leaned back into the leather chair, voice dropping, “I think it’s time he fell.”

“Not interested in your intra-organization power struggles,” she shrugged in immediate dismissal. “Besides, it seems to me you’re forgetting the agents Taunt had planted to assassinate me and the Right Claw two weeks ago.”

“That is precisely why this alliance benefits both you and me,” Minho stressed. “My uncle was reckless enough to attack you and spur the Shadow Front’s wrath—against my express advice, I’ll have you know. I want him and his moronic execs gone before my organization is destroyed, and I’m sure you want payback for the hospital.”

She glanced at her second in command, an unspoken exchange flitting between them, before pointing out, “And you think associating yourself with the Shadow Front is gonna fly with the rest of your people?”

Of course it wouldn’t fly. The animosity between Taunt and the Shadow Front was as ancient as the sun and the moon, but the Seraph’s Ring was becoming impatient.

“I don’t plan to associate myself with the Shadow Front,” he corrected, “I’m associating myself with Shiver."

The Six Claws were the highest-ranking individuals in the Shadow Front, and their power allowed them to create their own divisions or even found their own sub-organizations, so long as they answered to their Boss at the end of the day.

Shiver was one such sub-organization, belonging to none other than the Left Claw who sat across from him, murmuring to herself, “I see.”

“Well… I do agree that the executives should perish,” she finally said, and Minho nodded, “And I won’t stand in your way when the time comes. Do we have a deal, then?”

The room held its breath, and then she laughed, “Sure. I’ll kill your boss for you.”

Minho exhaled.

He had done it. The King of Diamonds would finally topple.

“But what do I get out of this?” her question shattered his moment of triumph.

Eyes sparkling with amusement, she rested her elbow against the armrest of her chair and propped her head against her palm. “It isn’t like I actually need your permission to take revenge if I wanted to.”

But of course, Minho wasn’t so naive.

“I’ll give you free access to Port Three for a year.”

“Two years.”

She hadn’t missed a beat, still boring into him with those unnervingly bright eyes as though nothing in this world could ever be worth taking seriously. Her drawl dripped with poison, “Two years or I make a beeline out of here to your uncle’s office and tell him about his little traitor of a nephew.”

Right.

Port Three was under Minho’s control, and the charges he collected from it were only a small portion of his fortune. He could afford to relinquish control temporarily.

“Fine,” he yielded, perfectly composed, and that same grin stretched her lips again, not quite reaching her eyes.

“Nice doing business with you.”

Hatred was a mistress of many faces, and Minho was familiar with all of them. The Left Claw smiled and her second was expressionless, but Minho saw it.

Those two despised him to their very cores.

It mattered to him none.

He had his flimsy alliance and he finally had her.

A Joker card to add to his collection.

•⭓•

Minho wasn’t born a prince.

He’d been nothing one day, and then he was the chosen son of one of the most powerful men in the underworld, the closest thing to royalty among criminals.

And it was only right that the King’s son be raised a Prince. Blessed, untouchable, divine, he could have the very sky that you were now captivated by in his palms if he so wished.

“Haunting, isn’t it?” he remarked as he approached the balustrade where you stood with your second, so still as if meditating. The stars were invisible tonight, but the moon was a bleeding orb of light and terrifyingly close. It had a presence that sent a shiver down his spine, as though it were an omen. A promise of bloodshed.

“That’s not the word I’d use,” you scoffed, turning away from the balustrade to face him. You wore an altered version of your notorious coat, sharply cut to suit the party, and a displeased frown. “Let’s get this over with already.”

You didn’t care to wait for his response before stalking toward the grand doors, and Minho caught up to you with ease. The two of you walking in together would be a statement, and it would create just the kind of fuss needed to ruffle his uncle’s feathers.

More than that, actually. It would set the King of Diamonds’ metaphorical plumage on fire, and the thought of that almost made Minho dizzy with excitement.

The sea of dark suits seemed to still, conversation dying and voices falling into a hush upon your entrance into the hall. He stifled a victorious smirk at the scene.

It worked like a charm.

Every gaze was a spear that directed at you, and Minho felt it then, a gaze hotter and sharper than the rest. The Cardinal Ring, fuming with betrayal and unbridled rage.

They all recognized that deep, reddish color—the Joker card at his side.

You paid them no mind, marching through a crowd that parted for you almost naturally, and Minho matched your pace until your path collided with his uncle and his three executives, huddling close to one another as though to intimidate the two of you.

“You have some nerve, Minho,” his uncle all but spat at him, his name sounding like a curse from his lips.

He only smiled cordially, coldly, in response. “I’m afraid I disagree, sir.”

His uncle seethed silently, snapping his eyes to glare at you. Minho knew he wouldn’t make a scene with him so publicly, but you were a known enemy, so you weren’t spared when he jeered at you, “What, that one-eyed brute finally bored you? Cozying up to your enemies for some excitement?”

You didn’t so much as blink at his provocations. Lips pressed into a flat line, you leveled him with a look so unamused that it stilled the air. Only your second in command expressed any semblance of agitation, a lone vein twitching in his jaw.

Han Jisung was his name. A Jack card, so loyal to his boss.

Silence yawned between the two of you, a depthless canyon, so thoroughly uncomfortable it caused Minho’s skin to prickle. It felt like hours, though realistically, he knew it was a mere few seconds before his uncle scoffed a swear under his breath and turned away with his posse.

You watched them disappear into the crowd for good measure and then faced the direction you had come from. “Let’s go, Han.”

“You’re leaving?” Minho was a little surprised, and you gave him a withering glare.

“I only came here to piss off your uncle, and we’ve done that. Your company doesn’t interest me otherwise. Goodbye."

Minho could only watch as your burgundy coat melted into the mass of black suits. He might’ve been offended at your curt dismissal, and maybe he should’ve, but Minho found the grace in his heart to forgive you.

After all, the Joker, the harbinger of chaos, had but a single instinct driving their every action.

Bloodlust.

He would entertain your antics because as long as he wielded your insatiable craving for bloodshed, you were practically dancing in his palms.

•⭓•

Kings were made to fall.

Minho also learned that at thirteen, when he cradled his father’s cold body in his arms. The King of Spades, he’d later dubbed him. Mighty, boundless. Fallible.

The current boss, his uncle, was also a King and so were his executives. It was a fitting assessment because he had to fall too, for the sake of Taunt’s survival.

That was why Minho considered himself a perfect ‘one’. An Ace. He would only rise, like an angel outstretching a hand for the salvation of humanity.

Blessed, untouchable, divine.

His faction was thus aptly named the Seraph’s Ring, and they had become ravenous beasts praying on his uncle’s downfall.

The doors of the meeting room burst open when Minho charged in, quipping without a drop of lightheartedness, “What’s this? A secret club meeting?”

The stunned faces of his uncle and his three executives greeted him. The Cardinal Ring looked as though they had been caught red-handed.

“I wonder, did our invite get lost in the mail?” Minho sneered as he ambled in, followed by the two other executives who constituted his faction.

Sitting at the head of the long table, Taunt’s boss hissed, “You have no right to sit at this table after sleeping with the shadow bastards.”

What a vulgar mouth.

“I slept with nobody," Minho deadpanned as he dropped into his usual seat. "Your problem has always been that you’re severely short-sighted.”

One of the Cardinal executives slammed a fist against the table, features contorting in anger. “You arrogant little—”

“I learned something interesting.”

Minho savored the small victory of their silence at his announcement. They were all the same at the end of the day.

Vultures.

“Those shadow bastards have quite the deal to close with Six-Six,” he wielded the foreign organization’s name like weapon and saw the executives' eyes darken in response. “Three hundred million dollars or something along those lines.”

“I hear the Claws will be in attendance too,” Minho leaned back, triumphant when he met his uncle’s hungry gaze, “Doesn’t that excite you, uncle?”

“So this was your play all along?” his boss huffed his surprise.

“I’m not as airheaded as you think I am.”

Once again, Minho had played a flawless hand. He could practically see the schemes brewing in his uncle’s head.

“Two weeks from now. Two in the afternoon,” he smiled, drinking in his sweet, sweet greed. “I’m sure Six-Six doesn’t care who meets them at the West Port.”

Foolishness was the downfall of all Kings.

•⭓•

The rusty aluminum ceiling of warehouse 5B would be the last thing Taunt's boss would see. What fine taste you had.

Mino’s gaze roved over the space and the abandoned containers lining its walls. “And you’re sure no one will interrupt us here?”

“Yeah,” you said behind him. “Just make sure your boss shows his face.”

“He will.”

That man was a slave to his greed. Minho was more than glad to pull his leash into this trap.

“And the execs?” you asked.

“They’ll likely stay behind. Wouldn’t want to dim his spotlight.”

 “Right.”

You were as riveted by the plan as one would be by an ant crossing the pavement. It ticked him off, just barely.

“You’re awfully relaxed,” Minho commented as you strolled past him.

“What, haven’t killed a man before?” you paused to side-eye him. “No wonder you sought outside help.”

“Hey.”

“Or wait, there was that cruise incident last year, right?”

His blood chilled. Too late did he notice the sly grin on your lips. He’d basically confirmed your claim with his silence.   

Damn it.

“How did you know about that?” Minho demanded. He had ensured that the coverup was flawless, that it could never be traced back to him.

So how—

“A little fox whispers to me.” you shrugged, resuming your aimless walk. “Anyway, let’s go over your sob story again.”

That fox must have been your informant, and quite the skilled one. Minho bit back his frustration. It didn’t seem like you planned to use the information against him anyway.

“You purposefully fed me wrong information and made me lead the boss here. You then ambushed us and killed him as revenge,” he recited.

“Exactly! I betrayed you,” you lamented mockingly. “Poor Prince of the Underworld.”

Poor Joker card, he thought in response.

The hatred in your gaze never shied from the light, but it was pointless. No matter how much you fought him, you would never be able to truly betray him.

For only he held the cards in this game.

•⭓•

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

There was blood on the ground, seeping from bodies long still, pooling until it appeared like an extension of your burgundy coat. Four bodies, crumpled unceremoniously, and you stood in the midst of the carnage like a Reaper. 

This wasn’t the place the two of you had agreed on. These weren’t the victims the two of you had agreed on.

“What the fuck did you do?” the shout tore from Minho’s lungs, blistering and painful, colliding with your back which you still gave to him.

He saw your shoulders raise and drop.

“I told you they had to perish.”

“You killed them all!” a roar sounded from somewhere seemingly outside his body. Minho couldn’t tell, couldn’t think.

They were dead. They were all dead.

He stumbled and his legs gave out, splattering him in the blood of the executives of the Cardinal Ring when his knees met the ground.

This wasn’t my plan. This wasn’t my play.

You half turned toward him, that smile of utter distaste on your lips. Pity burned in your eyes. “It’s personal, don’t feel too bad.”

Personal? His stomach twisted and threatened to empty itself out on the ground. Minho’s assessments were never wrong. The Joker card was bloodthirsty, and that thirst was easy to control. It should’ve made the finest tool out of you.

So why—

His hands moved before he could process the thought, his instincts taking over.

A wildcard ruins the entire deck.

His gun was warm in his hands, and he aimed it at your head.

You can’t continue to exist, Joker.  

He might have been too late in realizing it, but he saw it now. You were a threat Minho couldn’t afford to ignore.

There was a step before he felt the barrel of a gun press against his temple.

“Wanna test my reaction time?” Jisung’s voice was void of humor and he ordered, “Drop the gun.”

It was futile. The moment Minho’s finger twitched on the trigger, his life would be snuffed out. He likely wouldn’t even see you fall before that. His resolve splintered and cracked, and his aim fell lower and lower until his weapon clattered on the bloody ground.

Jisung kicked the gun away instantly, and Minho felt a scream clawing its way through his throat.

But it was barely a whisper that left his lips, “Why…”

He wanted his uncle dead, yes, but not his executives. As much as he despised the Cardinal Ring, he needed its members alive to keep Taunt stable. There was no way he could avoid a revolt now.

His father’s kingdom. His family.

Taunt would destroy itself, and you would dance over its grave.

“You ruined everything,” he spat, hoping the words stung as he glared at your relaxed form. There was no hint of violence on your person. Your hair was undisturbed and your coat was pristine. No bruise nor blood marred your skin. There was only light in your gaze.

Blessed, untouchable, divine.

Corrupt.

“And who’s to blame for that?” you wondered aloud. “You were the one who led me right into your den, or did you forget that already?”

Minho had done just that. He even promised not to stand in your way.

A mistake so terrible, it would haunt him for the remainder of his days.

His distress must’ve shown because you frowned, disappointed, disgusted, even, “You’re still incredibly boring—”

An explosion shook the earth below you, deafening, and you immediately looked to your second. Alert with your gun ready for attack, you uttered a single word of command, “Han.”

He moved wordlessly, a specter drifting over the corpses as he made his way toward the shabby window of this warehouse. A few seconds later, he declared in the suffocating silence of the explosion’s aftermath, “It came from 5B.”

Minho’s heart sputtered. He didn’t remember setting up any bombs there, and judging from the grim shift in your expression, you didn’t either.   

“Didn’t he say he would be scouting the area?” you asked, and your second answered as he returned to your side, “He did, yes.”

“Well, then. I guess I’m glad I took his advice and changed locations,” you shrugged after a moment’s thought, stuffing your hands in your coat pockets and beginning to make your way to the exit. “Let’s hope we don’t meet again, Prince of the Underworld.”

Minho didn’t have the spirit to bite back. He had become a plummeting angel, his wings torn and his halo dimmed. He grappled with the realization that perhaps he’d been wrong all along.

Alone, surrounded by the corpses of his arrogance, Minho screamed until his mind’s pandemonium ceased.

Maybe Kings weren’t the only ones made to fall.

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Thank you for reading this far! We're nearing the plot's apex, so a lot of answers will be revealed in the upcoming few chapters. I would love to hear your thoughts! A reblog and any feedback would be greatly appreciated. I hope you have a spectacular day, and I'll see you next week for chapter six! ♡

[iovetecchou]

Hey, congrats on 100 followers! Could I request for Jouno 9 from fluff prompts and 3 from smut prompts? Thanks! (Also, loving oblivious btw xD)

prompt: "You are remarkably well behaved tonight. What did you do?"

“Aww is my baby crying? I know, that feels good doesn’t it?”

AFAB Reader.

1.8k words.

Jouno wasn’t born yesterday. He knew you were hiding something from him, and that was your first mistake. Thinking you could get away with this. You were frantically pacing around your shared apartment, and it was beginning to get on Jouno’s nerves.

“Princess, what on earth are you doing?” Jouno was resting at the kitchen table, with his head in his hands. He quirked an eyebrow in your direction. You halted in your movements at his words, turning your body around slowly to face your irritated boyfriend.

“Oh I’m just… getting a light workout in that’s all! Want me to run you a bath baby? I can wash your hair if you’d like!” You were standing in front of Jouno now. Bending at the waist so you could place a chaste kiss atop his cheek. He shot you a pointed look. You were being overly affectionate, it was throwing him off.

"Princess, you are remarkably well behaved tonight. What did you do?"

Your blood ran cold, and your heart rate slowly increased as you shot up from where your face was hovering over his. Shit, you were busted. There was no point in hiding it now. You took in a shaky breath before you spoke up.

“Well you see… there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about…” you paused to gauge his reaction. “Out with it y/n. I’m starting to lose my patience.” He said softly, his tone of voice certainly didn’t match the words that slipped out.

“Sai… do you think that maybe you could… let me be in charge tonight… in the bedroom…?”

His mouth curved into a smirk. He did not think you were pacing around the apartment like a madwoman because of your own perverse fantasies running rampant in your mind.

“Oh? You want me... to submit to you? That’s very naughty of you, princess. Here I thought you were truly troubled by something more… serious. Only to find out that you’re fantasizing about me… beneath you? How filthy, y/n.”

Your face was crimson. You wish you just never said anything, to begin with, this was so embarrassing! “You know what… just forget I ever said anything about it, okay?” You blurted out before making your way to the bedroom. Swiftly closing the door behind yourself. You felt so dirty for even asking him something like that, especially with the way he responded.

You were sitting on the bed now with your head in your hands. Hoping the floor would open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Letting out a deep sigh to yourself. Your head shot up at the sound of the door opening. Jouno made slow strides towards your frame, with the smallest trace of a smirk along his features. You craned your neck up as Jouno came to stand in front of you.

He slowly bent at the waist, his face mere centimeters in front of your own now. Your heart was beating so fast, and your face was still completely flushed. “I never declined, princess. Tell me, how do you want me tonight?”

Your jaw fell open, he was really… on board? Your mind was racing, you hadn’t gotten this far. How did you want to take him tonight? This was truly a golden opportunity… and you weren’t going to waste it.

“Well? You know I despise waiting like this, y/n.” His voice cut through your perverse thoughts. You took in a shaky breath before you blurted out, “Strip, Now. Get on the bed when you’re done, and keep quiet, will you?” Your own words surprised you and Jouno couldn’t hide his amusement. He chuckled lightheartedly at your words before he ultimately obliged.

He began stripping right in front of you, pulling his shirt over his head. Followed by his pants, and then his underwear. Your eyes trailed up and down his lithe frame, eyes widening at the sight of his fully erect cock. Was he possibly… enjoying this treatment just as much as you were?

He laughed once more, hearing your heartbeat pick up and your clit pulsing from within the confines of your panties. He stayed quiet though, just like you asked as he began to climb atop the bed. He was resting with his back against the headboard now, letting his hands rest by his sides. He shot you a sly smile, awaiting your next orders.

You were so turned on, and you two barely even started. “Touch yourself.” You demanded, crawling up the bed to straddle his thighs. Getting a perfect view of his twitching cock, and beautiful upper half. In less than a second, his hand was wrapped around his length. He began pumping himself in front of you at a leisurely pace. Letting out a small hiss at the sensation, but his face still remained smug.

“Faster.” You declared, moving your hands up to rest against either side of his hips. He complied, facade starting to crack, ever so slightly. His smirk had fallen now as he pumped his dick at a rigorous pace. Sweat started to bead at the edges of his forehead, a full-body blush blooming across his pale skin. You smirked at the sight, enjoying the way he began to crumble for you.

“Are you getting close, baby?” You cooed out, bringing your hands resting atop his hips higher. Lightly tracing over his taught muscles. His whole body jerked at the sensation, and when your digits pulled at each of his nipples, he let out the most obscene moan. Like music to your ears.

“Yes… I’m close…” He panted out, he was leaking so much precum. The slick sound of his sticky hand jerking his cock at an ungodly pace made his ears hot. He was letting all of his noises slip past his lips now. Every moan, whimper, and whine of your name as he lost himself in pleasure.

“I didn’t say you could speak.” You moved one of your hands down to stop his movements against his throbbing cock. Slapping it harshly out of the way, before gripping the base yourself. Wrapping your digits around his twitching cock oh so tightly. He groaned at the loss of contact, he was so, so close and you ripped that away from him.

“Do you want to cum, baby?” You cooed out to him, your other hand began to flick and tease his sore nipple. He whined at the feeling, his whole body convulsing from the sheer sensitivity he was undergoing. He was hesitant to respond, you did tell him not to speak after all. You could read the hesitation based off of his puzzled expression. How cute.

“You can speak now, Sai.” You chuckled, squeezing the base of his cock firmly just to see his cute reaction. He doubled over at your ministration, groaning out through his gritted teeth. “Yes, p-princess… I want to cum…” Not good enough. You twisted his nipple harshly, making him arch his back off the headboard. “What’s the magic word?” You quipped out, leaning in closer to his sweaty, blushing face.

“P-Please-!” He whimpered out, he was becoming increasingly more and more impatient. He didn’t want to be teased any longer. Suddenly your hands were off of him. You climbed off his thighs, and the bed leaving Jouno confused. He frantically reached out for you, his senses were overloaded from the pleasure. His own heartbeat drowned out his sense of hearing.

“Y/n where did you go? Don’t leave me like this- princess…?” Your silence was causing him to panic slightly. You wouldn’t leave him high and dry like this, would you? Listen, he’s been cruel like this between the sheets with you on the receiving end, but surely you weren’t as sadistic as him… right? His cock was aching at the loss of contact, it was almost painful.

Suddenly, he felt the bed dip and you were back in your previous spot. Only this time you were hovering over him, not putting your whole weight atop him. “Y/n? Where did you go- ahn f-fuck… princess-!” You were completely bare now, taking ahold of his cock from where you were hovering above him. You lined the head of his aching length up to your awaiting heat. You gave him no time to process the whole situation, slamming your hips down against his own. Taking every inch of him in one go, you groaned at the stretch. He was twitching so much inside of you, and you clenched around him in a teasing manner.

His glassed-over eyes shot open from your actions, and you could see the tears brimming over his snowy lashes. He had moved his hands up to grip your hips now for stability as he whimpered out at the overwhelming feeling of your gummy walls squeezing around his length so perfectly.

“Aww is my baby crying? I know, that feels good doesn’t it?”

You cooed out, lifting your hips up before slamming back down on his cock. “Princess i-it’s too much I can’t— hnn…!” He was whining so loudly at your movements. Fuck, he was about to cum and you barely even started. You could tell he was trying to hold off from blowing his whole load deep within you. He was biting his bottom lip harshly, and the grasp he had on your hips became painful.

His tears were flowing freely now, and the sight alone had you clenching around him even tighter. That's all it took for the coil within him to snap. “Y/n f-fuck I’m cumming—! Fuck, fuck, too much—!” He moaned out, his hips lifting off of the bed, back arching even further into you as you began to feel his load filling you up. You couldn’t hide your amusement, a wicked smirk painted over your features as you stilled your movements. His cock was still twitching from within you as his cum began to drip out of your hole.

He was whining, fingers twitching around your waist as he began to feel overstimulated. He took in a shaky breath, hips finally lowering back into the plush bed beneath him. He was completely spent, the feeling of being wrapped around your tight wet heat was mind-numbing. But, his moment of relief was short-lived.

You began bouncing up and down on his cock once more, giving him no time to process your movements. “Princess what are you— hnn… what are you doing—?!” You just chuckled, breath fanning over his face as you spoke up.

“What, you thought I was done with you already? Oh no… we’ve only just begun.”

oops… i made jouno submissive… anyways, i hope you enjoy this prompt! thank you so much for requesting (:

[kanencrow]

Can I request platonic Marlon, Louis, Mitch, Aj, Willy, Tenn with a reader who is very strong and when doing pushups they jokingly sit on their back and reader just like laughs and continues doing pushups and their like surprised andare having fun

May I also ask this to but an s/o one so like clem, vi, ruby x reader who does this also like platonic for the boys and x reader for the girls

How Would: The Ericson Students + Clementine & AJ React to a Strong Y/n | The Walking Dead | Headcanon

A/N: For sure! Hope you enjoy!

SUMMARY: How would the Ericson kids, plus Clementine and AJ, react to a strong Y/n?

WARNINGS: Swearing.

WORD COUNT: 2450

CLEMENTINE

She’s impressed, to say the least. She didn’t willingly go over to you when you were working out and sit on your back while you did your pushups. You actually asked her to do it, because you were needing there to be more of a challenge in the act itself. She said no at first, saying how that was dangerous and that she didn’t want to hurt you, but then you pulled the question of: are you calling me weak? And she immediately widened her eyes and donned a look of regret. Obviously, she wasn’t calling you that, but with the accusatory suggestion, she sputtered for some sort of response, before she paused and just gave up.

In the end, Clementine gave in. You assured her that she couldn’t hurt you, and although she didn’t seem very convinced, she still nodded her head and lowered herself down to sit on your back. Her once unsure demeanor turned into pure laughter when you so easily brought her up and down. It felt like she was on some roller coaster, and with her giggling so hard, you couldn’t help but do so too. It turned the makeshift ride into a bumpy one, and eventually, the both of you fell to the floor due to how goofy the entire position seemed. At one point, your girlfriend snorted, and then you wheezed in response, which ensued even more laughter.

BRODY

Fuck no. There’s no way she’s going to willingly walk over to you and sit on your back. Already she’s blushing because she’s watching you work out. Yeah, you’re her partner and all, but still, she’s not about to embarrass herself by openly showing her sheepishness. But – oh shit, well… now you see her while you blindly do your pushups, and now she’s turning around and running out of the room as though she had just seen a murder happen. Of course, you call her name in her escape, but she doesn’t hear you as she busts through the door and disappears from your sight. 

It wasn’t difficult to tell that she was flustered. Especially when you came back to talk to Brody, and she could barely even look you in the eye. Hits you with the timid hi Y/n, and you’re just there, staring at her with slightly raised eyebrows that tell her you’re not going to leave her alone until she speaks about what happened earlier in the day. Though, with how stubborn this woman is, good luck on trying to get her to tell you that she was in fact blushing like a madwoman when she saw you so easily doing pushups. You’re going to be there for a while, so grab a book and get ready to wait for her warm cheeks to cool down. 

VIOLET

Violet seems pretty unfazed when she comes in and sees you working out. She’s seen you in the act of doing so before, so it’s not like that’s going to really bother her. She goes about her business as usual, and only ends up stopping and gawking at you like you’re crazy when you look over at her and tell her that these push ups are too easy. Of course, she ends up asking you how much you’ve done, and you give her this absolutely insane number, and then she looks at you as though you’ve just told her you bought her an engagement ring. Completely surprised and in disbelief. You chuckle in response, and that’s when she dons a blank look on her face and proposes an idea.

She says something like well if you need extra weight, then let me sit on your back. All you can do in response is stare at her like she’s crazy, before you eventually relax your expression and nod your head in agreement to that idea. You think, what could go wrong? It wasn’t like she suggested that she set a boulder on your back. It was just her, and it wasn’t like she was insanely heavy, either. You thought it was going to be a cakewalk, super easy, but then when she got on your back you completely forgot that balancing was now going to have to come into play. And so, after like five or ten reps, you lost your steadiness, and the both of you fell over. You were embarrassed at first, but then your girlfriend started cracking up, and you felt a little bit better about yourself after that.

RUBY

You asked her, and she immediately said no without any sort of hesitation. She thought it was way too dangerous, and she didn’t want you hurting yourself over something so stupid. She was overly expressive when she told you that, and you stood in front of her like a kicked puppy dog. You should have expected it, though. She was too maternal and not one to do risky things, especially if they had to do with you. Still, even after her lecture, you tried to convince, and all you got in response was, ask me again and you’re sleeping in the music room. And the music room provided no comfort, so you shut your mouth and stopped trying to sway your partner.  Ruby did say she would happily watch you work out, though. Spent the entire time flirting with you, so you definitely became warmer than you would have liked. You almost had to kick her out with how complimentative she was being. At one point, you had to stop what you were doing and stare at her with pleading eyes that said, please stop making me blush. And all she did in response was continue. You guessed it was payback in a way. You know, considering you tried getting her to sit on your back, which was way too dangerous in her eyes. How dare you do that!

AJ

He asked so many questions. Why are you working out? Don’t you technically work out when fighting the monsters? Why are you on the ground and bending your arms like that? Honestly, it was endearing at first, and then it started getting a little annoying, because you were trying to concentrate, and the boy’s curiosity was becoming too incessant. He’s cute, but he was also someone who couldn’t take a hint sometimes, so as a way to get him to silence himself for a moment, you tried getting him to workout himself. You said it would make him strong enough to protect Clementine, and he immediately jumped to doing your suggestion without a second thought.  But then eventually, that got old to him. He said how he was now tired, and he didn’t like feeling tired, because then that would cause him to fall asleep, and would prevent him from protecting Clementine. So, naturally, he walked over to you and without hesitation, asked if he could just sit on your back. The sudden curiosity in him sprouted again, so when you questioned him why, he responded with a shrug and said I don’t know, I just wanna see how strong you are. It seemed like a fair reason, so with a sigh, you let him sit on your back. He was light, so moving him up and down was easy, but the highlight of the time you spent with him was the little giggles that came from his lips as you raised him and lowered him. It was something you hadn’t heard come from him in a while, and it was refreshing to listen to.

WILLY

Very similar to AJ. Curiosity struck him. He asked a few questions, before he ended up eventually trying to do exactly what you were doing. He called it follow the leader, and his job was to match your actions. He struggled a lot though. Little man had noodle arms, so he could barely do a single pushup. It made him annoyed really quickly, and honestly, you didn’t blame him. So, instead of continuing with your workout, you got up and helped him out a bit. You showed him other ways one could do a pushup, and he went from a pouty expression to a wide grin in the matter of a minute when he attempted to do a wall pushup and succeeded with ease. 

Though his attention span was terrible. He went from being hyper focused on trying to do a pushup, to laying on your back. Homie plopped on you as though you were a mattress, and you let out the loudest groan as your arms buckled beneath you. Your chest thumped against the floor, and you laid there, while the blond hung over your body like a blanket. You told him to get the fuck off of you, but he only whined in response and said something like but I’m tired, and you’re so warm. You didn’t have enough patience to deal with him, so you managed to push him off of you, and he let out a yelp in return, before scampering to his feet and sprinting off, running away from you, because you were chasing after him with steam coming out of your ears. 

TENNESSEE

He’s definitely the most behaved out of AJ and Willy. He doesn’t want to sit on your back, even if you asked him to. He just likes being near you whenever you’re working out. It gives him someone to talk to when he has no one else to go to, and you don’t mind the company every once in a while. It’s a very quiet atmosphere mostly, and if he does ever take part in a proposal of yours, it’ll most likely be when you end up asking him if he wants to try doing a pull up. Surprisingly, he actually can do one. You end up feeling a little guilty though, because here you thought that he’d be the one who couldn’t.  Definitely enjoys when he can surprise you, though, so he’s not very offended or anything. He just smiles happily at you when you praise him, and then when you ask him if he can do something else, it quickly turns into a session of him just absolutely knocking your expectations out of the park. You just assumed he was a shy bookworm with no athletic ability, but you’ve been proved wrong. And here you are, watching him do some pull ups with your hands on your hips, as though you’re some proud parent. They grow up so fast.

MARLON

He ends up challenging you to a pushup contest. You had never seen him workout before, so you accepted the proposal without much thought. However, when he got down and started doing what you were doing, you were surprised with how long he lasted. He was able to do a lot, before he eventually lost all of his upper body strength and fell against the mat. As you continued your own pushups, you couldn’t help but laugh at him, and he awkwardly chuckled in reply, a little embarrassed that he wasn’t at least able to do more than fifteen. Still, you assured him that it was okay, and he didn’t have to be good at doing that type of exercise in order to be considered strong.

The thought of sitting on your back as you did your pushups did come to his mind, but he decided against asking and instead just sat and watched you do your thing. You and him made conversation throughout your workout, and he spotted you in anything that you didn’t have full confidence in doing. He was pretty much quiet, other than that, and you understood why. The blond was just a guy who didn’t like talking all that much. He was more observant than anything else, and there were even some moments where he went off and did his own workout, as he didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable because of his standing around. 

MITCH

He’s going to try and get you to sit on his back. He’s got way too much pride, so the idea of him sitting on your back while you do pushups is something that you’d have to pay him to do. He does propose the opposite, though. He mentions how he could easily do twenty pushups with you on his back, and you immediately disagree, and so he replies with bet you dinner that I can do it. Of course, you didn’t believe him, so you quickly agreed and let him get into position before you sat on his back. And… to no one’s surprise, when you did settle down, he immediately crumpled to the ground with a groan escaping him.

You called him a little bitch, as a joke, and he pushed you off him with a lighthearted fuck you. You cackled at the reply as you moved away from him, and he shook his head in amusement while he stood up to his feet and just settled on watching you do your thing, instead of trying to conjure up contests he knew he was going to lose. Unlike you and Marlon, you and Mitch would banter with each other the entire time. If you did twenty reps, he’d call you a pussy and say that you could totally do thirty. And you could… and the moment you would, he would immediately shut up and cross his arms over his chest like an angry kid. 

LOUIS

Definitely brings it up the moment he sees you doing pushups. Hey, how weird would it be if I just sat on your back while you did your pushups? You could only gaze at him in confusion when he asked that. Well, it wasn’t necessarily confusion, you were just at a loss of words. Why would he even suggest that? But then again, it is Louis, and so you can’t really wonder what goes on through his head much. He’s just a goofy guy, and you’ve learned to quickly remember that when he does ask very interesting questions. 

Eventually you agree to it. What could go wrong? Doesn’t hurt to try and see if you actually had the ability to do a pushup while someone sat on your back. What better way to try it out with your best friend? When he sits on your back and you actually do end up accomplishing his challenge, both of you are equally surprised, and he’s insanely impressed with your strength. Says something along the lines of if there’s ever a moment where I need someone to protect me, it’ll be you. In response to that, you can only roll your eyes, as he holds his hand against his chest and pretends to be absolutely amazed by you. 

Wowza, this one took a minute to put out. Sorry for the long wait!

I'm finally back, by the way. I needed to take a much-needed break, and it worked out perfectly, because I also had absolutely no motivation to write for The Walking Dead. Besides that, I thank you all for showing my works love, even while I was gone, and I appreciate all the follows I've received, too. I see you guys, all 51 of you, and I thank you for being here!

Until next time!

[myfuckingpenexploded]

My friend should probably not trust me as much as he does.

I was ranting bout my 'gay block people readings' and he was bored so he demanded I send him to link. long story short the man who didn't know there was even a fandom for the life series/minecraft people in general is now reading fanfiction.

This is the same dude who now proof reads my fanfiction before posting, let me drag him back into the countryhumans fandom after he escaped us, lets me rant about dumb things like that one post saying that according to lore c!grian is a milf (Idk why that exists, it should not but its funny that it does)

Anyway below the cut is more info aka a happy rant bout Trust Life on ao3 by @chaiandsage

tw below this point for all caps

AHHH I KNOW ITS OVER BUT ITS SO GOOD IVE READ IT TWICE ITS AHHHH THERE WILL BE MORE READINGS OF IT BY ME

I FOUND IT THROUGH MY INTENSE SCROLLING ON HERE AND AHHH IM SORRY IM YELLING ITS JUST AMAZING EVERYTHING IS SO WELL WRITTEN AND IT HAS To BE ONE OF THE BEST LIFE SERIES FANFICS Ive EVER READ!

THIS STORY HAS HAD ME ON THE FLOOR SOBBING, MADE ME LAUGH, TAKEN UP WAY TOO MUCH TIME OF MY LIFE BUT ITS WORTH IT, PROBABLY SCARED HALF OF MY FRIENDS BECAUSE OF HOW MUCH I YELLED ABOUT IT, AND ITS WELL WRITTEN TOO?

CHAI COULD LITERALLY WRITE ANYTHING AND I WOULD READ IT! THEIR WAY OF WRITING DIALOGUE AND SCENERY AND LITERALLY EVERYTHING HAS ME ON THE FLOOR EVERY SINGLE TIME. SHE IS SO GOOD AT IT! AHHHHH I CANT BELIEVE ITS OVERRR. 66 CHAPTERS? YOU ABSOLUTE MADWOMAN YOU HAVE WRITTEN SO MUCH GOOD CONTENT THAT IS UNPARALLELED. 350K WORDS???? THE DEDICATION TO THE QUALITY AND QUANTITY AND EVERYTHING IS SIMPLY CHEFS KISS. I- I PHYSICALLY CANNOT DESCRIBE THE EMOTIONS THIS THING HAS MADE ME FEEL.

THE CHARACTERS?? ICONIC! THE WAY YOU'VE MANAGED TO MAKE THEM BE SO PERFECTLY FITTING TO EVERYTHING? AMAZING! I CANNOT.

AHHHH

[thefarawaystar]

I fell to my knees crying and silently screaming, and holding my hair like a madwoman, and I curled up on the floor, and then I stopped, got up, and laughed at my reflection. Can't take it anymore, huh? How many times have we said that?

[ladyfranklin]

{{Franklin's rage}}

As the cannibal got back from a meeting with the rest of the overlord's on Rosie's behalf, even if she was one herself Franklin was never fan of going to these meetings but Rosie was off handling business and getting more ingridients for things she made herself and sold at the Emporium like makeup, perfumes, etc..but as the woman arrived home, she held a piece of paper tightly, her hands shaking in anger as sweat formed on her face, the way some ridiculed and laughed whenever the lady in white would make a suggestion just got her blood boiling "The poison to Rosie's image one of them called me, eh?? Oh damnit! How I hate those disgusting fools, the way they think they're so superior to me!" She needed to take her anger out some way, heading to the kitchen Franklin stopped midway to look out a window in the hall, it seemed to be the garden..yes.. that's something she could use..

She quickly headed down ran over to the shed, the gown she had been wearing thinking this reunion was going to be important but in the end, it didn't matter what else they said, only that one comment and how they thought she was inferior compared to ROSIE, DAMNIT, DAMNIT, WHY DOES EVERYBODY PREFER HER?? Franklin would go to the shed and open the door roughly, pulling out a pair of gardening shears as she headed to where the roses and other flowers were, thinking of the heads as if they were her business partner, angrily cutting all the flowers in her way "The audacity of those PIECES OF SHIT!! GODAMNIT, I GET MYSELF ALL PRETTIED UP ONLY TO BE DISRESPECTED LIKE THAT!? AGH!"

She continued aggressively getting rid of these pests others would consider flowers and continued yelling like a madwoman, it was so loud some of her neighbors could hear her as Franklin was transitioning from both crying and laughing, speaking incoherent nonsense as she got up and made sure there were no blooming monsters looming in the backyard, roses, tulips, dahlias, ALL OF THEM SHE WANTED GONE UNTIL THIS GARDEN WAS CLEAN!!

After a while of taking out her anger Franklin would begin to breathe heavily, looking behind her to see a nice small tree in the middle of all this with her beginning to growl at such a sight with her heading to the shed once more to get an axe, smiling and giggling as she swung it to test out how strong it was gripping on the handle as if her afterlife was dependent on it, that thing would go down whether it liked it or not "Rosie, my love, you always stand so high and tall with your sweet facade making others believe your superior! Well, dearie, like the rest of them I can also kick others down!"

She raised her arms to the side and quickly went down on the tree, beginning to cry with every hit given, this was the only way to show her true feelings towards Hell, how much she hated her afterlife and this blasted town with it's idiotic people, that oldbag Susan, just EVERYTHING annoyed her, as the next hit came she yelled out "Susan, you miserable old bitch, thinking you can get away with anything just because you have a fragile hip and those horrible wrinkles!" Another hack to the wood, and another, and another until this damn thing fell at last!! How relieved she felt..

The night went silent for a moment..Franklin just let herself go down to the ground, all that adrenaline and anger was slowly wearing off with her beginning to feel tired and worn out, her beautiful dress full of dirt and chipped wood. Franklin just held onto her axe tightly and closed her eyes, tears rolling down her face as she'd just rest on the ground letting everything out and silently crying within the midst of all this mess, weakly all she let out was "Why am I not enough..? Why don't they love me..?" She continued talking to herself until her mind went numb, falling asleep on the floor on a puddle of her sweat, tears, and some blood..

[bleuhisteria]

Fading Flames Chapter 1 (Fionna And Cake)

It was a regular day as regular as you can call it, another mundane and boring day for the likes of Fionna, but today was a little different than most, deciding that it would be good to not keep Cake at the apartment and maybe go on a short cat walk around the town for a while.

"Let's go Cake," Fionna said after putting a leash on Cake's collar, she opened the door to go out, only to be met with a familiar face.

"Fionna!" Marshall Lee greeted, guitar case hanging on his back, he seemed happy to meet her, a little too happy.

"Marshall," Fionna greeted back, noticing the tone in his voice, "What's up?" she asks in a skeptical tone.

Marshall raised his hands forward defensively, "Nothing, nothing, uh, where you headed?" he asks, changing the subject.

"A Cake walk-- Cat! A cat walk," she said, correcting herself but catching Marshall of guard.

He began to laugh, getting a glare from Fionna before he composed himself, "Sure, enjoy your Cake walk~" he teased.

"Urgh," Fionna groaned, "You still haven't said why you're here," she stood while crossing her arms, waiting for an answer.

Marshall leaned back, raising his hands, "You got me, I was just thinking about hanging out..." he said with a shrug.

"Oh," Fionna uncrossed her arms.

"...at your place," Marshall finished.

Fionna's expression changed once she realized what he meant, her hand immediately going to her face, "Oh."

She let out a sigh and ran her hand through her pocket, reaching for the keys before handing it to Marshall, "Just lock the door once you're done," she says before passing him.

"Cool," Marshall nods, heading inside as Fionna left with Cake.

Fionna walked down the street with Cake beside her, stopping by the bakery to meet with Gary despite the fact that Cake had been acting up, seemingly angry with pink haired candy connoisseur.

"Welcome!" Gary's voice was heard as the bakery's door chimed, Fionna walked inside. "Oh, Fionna, perfect timing! And Cake," he said happily.

"Hey Gary," Fionna greeted, walking over to the counter.

"Out on a cat walk? You need to keep hydrated, even if it's not a vigorous activity dehydration can still occur, and-- oh! I have just the perfect thing for you," Gary began to ramble on, heading to the drink station to make something for Fionna.

 He came back to the counter with a drink for Fionna, "Here, it's coffee but you should still drink plenty of water when you're out, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," Fionna replies with boredom as she took the cup from Gary, their hands touching causing them to both look at each other with slight surprise.

Once the two realized, they began to chuckle, but a loud meow was heard from the floor, before hissing. Cake jumped on the countertop and hissed at Gary who stepped back in fear.

"Cake!" Fionna yelled and attempted to pull at Cake's leash to get her to stop.

Cake jumped down from the counter and let out a scoff before licking her paw.

Fionna looked at Gary with an apologetic look, "Sorry, I don't know what's gotten into her lately," she said to Gary with a worried expression.

Gary smiled sympathetically, "It's alright, maybe she's just not in the mood, cats can be like that after all."

"Yeah," Fionna said while looking at Cake, taking a sip of the coffee Gary handed her. Thinking that it was time to carry on with the walk, she turned back to Gary, "We'll be off, see you around."

"Come on Cake," Fionna tugged at Cake's leash, waving at Gary as she walked out of the bakery.

The two went on to continue their walk, Fionna sighed as she took a sip of the coffee Gary made, turning to Cake.

"Gary is nice you know? I've had the longest crush on the guy but it doesn't seem like he's the least bit interested, he only sees me as a friend," she says to Cake, sounding like a madwoman to whoever she passed by.

But it was therapeutic to think that her best friend was listening. As she rambled on, Cake was staring at her with a tired look in her eyes, which made the whole experience feel more real to Fionna.

She smiled at Cake, letting out a minor complain, "All I'm saying is that, it would be nice to have someone be interested in you more than just a friend, you know?" she said to Cake with a shrug.

Fionna held the half cup of coffee in her hand, when all of a sudden, Cake started running, it caught Fionna off guard that the leash slipped from her hand.

"Cake!" she called in a panic, running after her into the gates of the park.

However, no matter how much Fionna called, Cake didn't seem to stop.

"Cake!" Fionna called again, "I'm sorry, I won't complain about my love life again, please just-- come back!"

Fionna had closed her eyes for a moment from sheer exhaustion, but in the span of that moment, another person wasn't paying attention as he went across from her.

The two met each other with wide eyes full of surprise and panic, however Fionna's momentum was difficult to stop--no, it could not be stopped.

And before they knew it, they had collided hard, and fell to the floor, Fionna's coffee spilling on the park grass.

"Ow, ow, sorry," Fionna sputtered, pulling herself up from the man she had landed on top of.

"Watch where you're going man..." he said with a weak groan.

Fionna quickly got up, offering him a hand.

The guy took her hand and stood up.

"Sorry about that," she said, looking at him closely, the guy had a mohawk that resembled fire, her eyes sparkled as she stared at him.

His eyes seemed to not be able to look away from her either, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, "It's cool..." he replied.

Fionna's eyes wouldn't have left him if it hadn't been for Cake who was sitting nearby, grooming herself.

"Cake!" Fionna immediately called, rushing to her cat's side to grab the leash, kneeling beside her to give her some pets, "Don't run away like that next time will you?" she said with worry.

"Hey," the guy she had bumped into called, looking a little sheepish.

Fionna stood up with Cake in her arms, "Yeah?" she replied with an interested smile.

"There's gonna be a party later downtown, maybe you uh, wanna come down?" he asked, rubbing his arm as he looked at the floor.

Fionna tilted her head curiously, "Sure, what's the address?"

"Right!" the guy said in realization, grabbing a flier from behind him, "Here, I've been handing these out."

Fionna took the flier from his hand, scanning it before raising her head, "DJ Flame?" she asked with teasing smile.

The guy blushed and looked away, "Yeah...that's me."

"Pfft," Fionna giggled.

DJ looked a bit embarrassed seeing her laugh, he looked away feeling a bit shameful before she took him back.

"I'm Fionna, thanks for the invite, I'll see you there then?" she asked.

He looked back in surprise, "Huh? Uh-- yeah! I'll see you there," he replied, a smile forming on his face.

Fionna chuckled, "I'll see you around then," she said, waving as she walked off, continuing the walk with Cake.

[annoying-shits-i-think-of]

Alex : "Hey, Byleth. How is the Demon King ?"

Byleth : "2 words. Son complex. He's always gushing over how cute Dia is."

Alex : *blinks in surprise* "Huh ? Dia always told me he was really strict with him."

Byleth : *snorts* "It's a front so Dia would always think he's cool. In reality, the man spoiled Dia a lot. Barbatos nearly got beheaded the 1st time he scold Dia when he and Meph didn't eat their vegetables."

Alex : *laughs* "Seriously ?"

Byleth : *nods* "Yeah. And there was that time when the other head nobles and I had to stop him from sending a wedding proposal to the Celestial Realm because Dia talked about how beautiful Lucifer was."

Alex : "Oh my Barbatos' cake ! That's so hilarious !" *laughs harder*

Byleth : *frowns* "Easy for you to say that. You're not the one who had to tell him to not make the brothers Dia's consorts when they fell."

Alex : *on the floor, laughing like a madwoman*

Byleth : *frowns more*

[stevenbasic]

GITJ Post 291: A Date at the Movies, Epilogue

In the end she tore him out by the root, and suddenly the blood was everywhere…

Marisela Vasquez had known she couldn’t go out with the rest of them tonight. They’d planned a trip to the movies a few days ago, to go see the new She-Hulk thing. She liked Marvel as much as everyone, but Melissa would be there, and he’d be there…so Marisela knew what might happen. And if she had the same sort of reaction - or maybe one even stronger still, as these things seemed to be getting - who could know what weird shit could go down? She figured she should probably be alone, at home. To be safe. So everyone else would be safe. It was kinda scary, what was happening to her, how she was changing. But it was also thrilling. Darkly thrilling. It freaked her out…but, secretly, she didn’t want it to stop.

The first one she’d felt around 9:30 or so. She’d been on her laptop, writing code like a madwoman, her new pet project. This echo of this orgasm of his, was odd, subtle. She could tell that somehow Melissa wasn’t even touching him. But still, it lit her skin, it made her teeth ache. She texted the other girls; they’d felt it too. Apparently the two of them had left the group, were alone somewhere, or in Melissa’s car.

Marisela had to get a drink of water.

She went back to her laptop. Would that be it? Was it over for the night? Part of her, haha, was actually a little disappointed. She ran her tongue across her eye teeth and thought back to Thursday, the party at work. God, I mean, we all sorta freaked out, she remembered, all that laughing and screaming. Amelia and the soda machine, what Randi did with her jaw. But, she felt, with her it was different. Yes, she put the hole in the wall, but it took all her strength to not tear out of there and go, like, nuts. She’d felt possessed but she had to admit: it also felt good. So it was bittersweet, thinking that maybe this was it for the night, tonight. Was Melissa really done with him?

No.

The second one, fifteen minutes or so later, made Marisela scream. He’d been in Melissa’s mouth, he was down her throat! The feelings, the furious imagery flashed lightning streaks through her vision. On his climax they erupted from her gums full force, and from her fingers, claws. Her skin lit on fire this time, and the strange soreness in her upper back, between her shoulder blades, was much greater now than ever before. Her laptop toppled off of her as she stood and ripped, baring her teeth and breasts. She gasped, absorbing it, and felt the burn behind her eyes, the heat in her chest. There was no holding back tonight, she knew. She didn’t want to hold back. Her eyes went wide, she looked to and fro, scanning her small apartment with a boiling frenzy and a vision that edged past the visible spectrum. She needed to get out. There was a whole city full of their weak little bodies out there, all the little piggies. She couldn’t ignore the instinct, the drive, the compulsion any longer. She had to hunt…

…

Though she’d spent countless nights in her teens and early twenties in places like this one, Marisela hadn’t done this in nearly a year, gone to one of the city’s dark, underground clubs, throbbed to the heavy music along with everyone else in their mesh and their piercings. And she’d never done it alone. She’d all but flown out of her flat, rabid but with the presence of mind, at least, to put on a new top. Black lace, matching her brief black shorts. Her dark hair flew wild about her face on the crowded floor as she danced. The noise - metal, guitars, howling - only fed her lust, which had not faded. She’d found her mark easy, quickly, and drawn him towards her. She’d actually recognized him, one that had dishonored one of her friends in a year past. She felt like a dark, silent siren, now filled with vengeance; that made her smile. Her pheromones would make him want it, when the time came, she could see it in his piggy eyes. 

“A-are those things real?” the male-thing asked as they danced, body-to-body, struggling to be heard over the caterwaul of the singer onstage and its chainsaw rhythms. Surprisingly, that question wasn’t about her tits - which, tonight haha, looked glorious.

“You’ll find out later, when I’m raking them down your back,” she growled, showing him her talons and smiling at the dark depth and tenor of her voice and thinking: or clawing your face, cracking your throat.

“huh-huh,” it laughed, the ignorant swine still unaware his fate was already sealed. Within the hour, she’d have him in his bed. There’d be no morning for piglet, she knew, as she leaned down into him on the dance floor and pierced her teeth into his shoulder. The taste of him ignited her lust and he moaned, already under her spell. 

“Come with me,” she commanded, her eyes taking his as powerfully as her hand, each dragging him out through the crowd. Out to the alley: bloody kisses, the first taste of his fear. But he lived close, and they were there in minutes. Door slammed, locked. His clothes soon in shreds, his body launched through the air onto the edge of the thin mattress with its unmade sheets as she laughed and slowly knelt by the bed between his legs, flashing her fangs. The spellbound terror in his eyes was nearly as delicious as his skin would soon be. He would be in her mouth in moments…

…in the end she tore him out by the root, and suddenly the blood was everywhere.

=========================================

more NSFW animations for this post and lots of other fun stuff at my Patreon

[grey-gteam]

GreyG: the formation of the group

Chenny:

We were still in the training room, all together, chatting, calmly. Jin Sol and Yerin were laughing like crazy, while Iji was judging them loudly right behind. Ara and Heni were in the middle of a discussion, adorable. Gabi was stretching with Mio, on the floor, except that's when Jin Sol fell backwards because she was laughing way too much, rolling backwards, bumping into Mio and Gabi.

Gabi: Soli!!! What's your problem ?

Mio: Ouch! I am in pain.

Jin-Sol: Sorry! It's Yerin's fault.

Yerin: Don't accuse me!

Jin Sol clasped his hands in apology.

Jin Sol: Sorry girls.

Iji: Are you bilingual?

Jin Sol: Of course!

Because of Jin Sol's burst accent, we all laugh our hearts out, making fun of her.

Chenny: You are the least serious here… Finally after Yerin. Nobody beats his stupidity.

Yerin: Chenny!!!!! How dare you ?!

Yerin then does her drama queen which makes us laugh even more.

Akane:

We had fun together, it was great. But it was still a long time that we were there waiting.

Akane: What have we been waiting for all this time actually?

Lynn: Yes, it's true we've been here for over an hour.

Ara: One hour?! Only I feel like I've been here for a whole day

Mio: I no longer have the notion of time since I left Japan, me, apparently you too Ara.

Ara: Is that supposed to be nice?

Mio: No.

We all laugh even more. It's weird our humor.

We were still making fun of Ara, when suddenly someone walks into the training room. We all get up in panic and line up, a reflex of our years as a trainee. It was a woman, very beautiful, probably in her twenties, accompanied by a man. Looks like a couple, the gentleman was also in his twenties, that's for sure.

_Hello girls !

Enthusiastic lady.

Us: Hello.

Without emotion, because in my opinion, we were a little scared.

_Hey ! Get a little excited girls, you've been chosen to be part of a group.

Ara: REALLY?!

_ That's the kind of reaction I want. Anyway, my name is Heo Erin, and from today I'm your appointed art director. Me and my colleague here, we have chosen you and propose a project for a new girl group to the management of SM. This is Mr Parker, your manager. We will take care of you as it should be.

Mr. Parker: Hello.

Ara:

We listen carefully to what they tell us.

Ara: We will then be in a group every 10?!

Ms. Erin: Yes, all 10.

Chenny: Since when do 10-member groups work, especially in SM?

Ms. Erin: That's the challenge we gave ourselves, me and Parker.

Mr. Parker: Don't call me Parker.

Mrs. Erin: Shut up.

We all prevent ourselves from laughing before being reprimanded, it looks like a couple.

Iji: Excuse me but we're still too young, me, Ara and Heni, no. Are you going to start us off like this?

Ms. Erin: The project still needs to take some time to properly train the group. Your debut will be scheduled for 2023.

JinSol:

Ah ok, so we still have time to improve before starting, I can't wait to start.

Jin Sol: So what do we do now?

Ms. Erin: It's Parker's turn to speak, isn't it Parker?

Mr. Parker: Shut up, Erin! Okay, you're going to move into your dorm, together. Then we will give you time to settle in. Tomorrow we will start to establish the bases of your group, the positions and all, with time, we will talk about the concept with the other madwoman there, and the rest will be communicated to you.

Jin Sol: Wow, that's crazy!

Mr Parker: By the way, we will also give you new stages names. Not all of them, it will depend on your choices too.

Yerin:

I didn't say anything from the start, I was so stunned, it's crazy, it's the start of a new experience, I don't believe it.

Yerin: Do we have a name?

Ms. Erin: Patience, you will be soon. Now go get your things together, a car will pick you up in two hours.

Then they leave, leaving us like potatoes in a field.

Chenny: In 2023?

Gabi: Are we going to start in 2 years?

We all look each other in the eye without saying anything, suddenly I explode with joy.

Chenny: Ugh! why are you screaming?

Yerin: WE'RE GETTING STARTED!! In 2 years but that's already it.

Iji: She has the right to be happy, I think we all are.

Ara: You're kidding me, Iji. Come, let's redo our handshake!

Heni: Uh...yes, let's celebrate, our...uh, new group ?!

Gabi: Let's go! 1,2,3

Together: dont'you know !!! we !!

Jin Sol: Woohoo!!!!

[granhairdo]

i have been having the most fucking weird dreams lol. like last night i dreamt i was a fancy restaurant with my mom and i were talking to this stranger (an old man) and he asked me if i “knew what was going on” whatever the hell the meant. to which i didn’t respond to, my head slumped over and i slowly sunk to the floor, my mind blank. my mom grew worried, and slightly upset with me. to which i exclaimed loudly and emotionally that i had “shut down”

my mom laughed but with concern and grabbed my sister (who looked like a much younger version of herself, about 8) who had not been here before and told me we’d best go out shopping instead. she clutched my sister and left the restaurant. she stood at the little desk at the front. and i was still at the table. all I can remember was my heart pounding SO fast as i absolutely RAN through that restaurant to my mom and sister. I busted down tables and was screaming and crying begging to see them even though they were only a couple feet away from me. i eventually got to them and I was just screaming and crying and I held onto my moms leg, still just WAILING.

we walked out of the restaurant to this strange little sidewalk that led to a shopping center. as we walked down the sidewalk, I held my head down low and slowly sunk to the ground like earlier as my mom smiled saying she had such a good time at that restaurant. I did (and still do) feel absolute gnawing guilt feeling like i completely ruined that time at the restaurant and I could picture us home, my mom screaming at me stuff my dad used to.

we then arrived at this shopping center. a strange old white building with bluish teal accents. it’s completely empty and smells like those wretched old mental hospitals I spent my childhood in. my heart rate speeds up again and i absolutely lose it. I start running through this whole building, hitting stuff, screaming, crying, just running SO FAST. I then dropped to the floor and had some sort of seizure, but still aware of my surroundings, and still just crying and crying and crying.

as I run, an announcement comes over the grainy intercom that a child is missing. I do not notice. i just keep running until i immediately run and grab my moms leg, terrified, shaking and crying out to her like a baby.

in front of us suddenly stands a young woman, clutching a baby who begins screaming at me and my mom because i apparently was the one who took her child earlier. this makes me start wailing again because i would never do that. the woman exclaims that it’s not beyond some “psychotic madwoman” like me to do something like that. she continues screaming that I’m hysterical and insane. my mom starts defending me saying I would never do such a thing. then my alarm wakes me up. I’m shaking, my heart pounding, and SO MUCH SWEAT on my body

so yeah um what the fuck

[zawazawanightmares]

Ishtar & Naked Princess

You, Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order), are connected to Naked princess Your partner selected the 18+ server.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): Hello there, mortal!

Naked princess: "Ah! Who is there?"

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "It is I, the most beautiful goddess of them all: Ishtar!" The goddess proudly strode into the room. "Ah...but I found such a delectable treat in front of me nonetheless..."

Naked princess: "Goddess or mortal, do treat yourself then," the princess smiled, a gentle nod of her head directed towards a large plate of grapes. "It would be ill custom not to welcome a visitor."

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "Treat myself? Hmmm..." Ishtar put a finger to her own lips. "Well, as a goddess, anything I desire is within my right to take. But if you are offering, I won't refuse..." Ishtar suddenly wrapped a hand around the princess' waist, pulling her into a close embrace where she pressed her lips to hers.

Naked princess: "Even gods have to satisfy themselves with but the offerings given to them - lest they become too greedy for their own good." The girl laughed, her body within a large bathing pool recoiling to easily evade the intruder's grasp. "And you know well what was and what was not offered to you yet."

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "Do I? Maybe you didn't and I did." Ishtar smugly chuckled. "A god that can be too greedy...most would call such a concept evidence of a mortal's hubris, you know."

Naked princess: "Yet gods wait patiently for their priests to serve them, and for the common men to come to their temples out of free will." The girl smiled again, crossing her arms over the small chest concealed under the water surface. "What brings you to my chambers?"

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "I heard there was royalty here that has yet to prostrate itself before my temple." Ishtar patted her own petite chest. "I wanted to see what was delaying such a necessary act."

Naked princess: (How is she dressed, by the way? Anything particularly divine about her appearance overall?)

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): (I'll send a SFW ref. And her divinity can only be sensed by her aura in this form.)

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): https://typemoon.fandom.com/wiki/Ishtar

Naked princess: "It would do poor to prostrate myself right now," the princess giggled, slightest bow of her head already submerging her lips into the water.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "I suppose I would excuse such impropriety for the time being; of course, such a magnanimous show of mercy will require an offering to make up for it." Ishtar noted with a smirk.

Naked princess: "I have shown you far more mercy myself than I would to anybody else daring to enter my chambers uninvited and disturb my swimming time." The girl smirked in turn. "But do treat yourself to the grapes. They are lovely, and it would be in poor form to refuse my offering." She turned her head again, motioning the goddess to approach and take a seat at the edge of her pool.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "Such arrogance from a mortal. Need I remind you that I am a goddess?" Ishtar moved to sit on the edge of the pool. "I could smite you, make you barren, ensure you have no luck in love-related manners, throw a planet at you..."

Naked princess: "Maybe you could do all those things. Or maybe you are but a madwoman deluded to call herself divine." The girl shrugged, tips of her bare shoulders coming out of the water for a moment. "But if you did not come to quarrel, then goddess or not, you should behave as befits a guest." She extended an arm from the pool. Her slender hand picked up a grape from the golden plate and moved to feed it straight to the goddess's mouth - like a serving girl attending some decadent noble.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): Ishtar frowned, absolutely floored by the disrespect of this mortal...before moving to eat the grape, delicately taking it from the princess' fingers with her lips. "So you seek proof of my divinity?" Ishtar asked as she chewed.

Naked princess: "I did not say that." The princess smiled. "You came uninvited and unannounced, when I am alone and defenseless. Normally, I would be surrounded by servants doing this to me." She picked up another grape and repeated the process, seemingly content to play the servant's part herself. "And normally, guards outside would strike any intruder down. By some miracle, none of that is happening, does it?" She smiled again.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "Ah, that. Well..." She repeated her previous action, keeping her face near the princess' fingers this time. "Your guards are fine, if that's what you're wondering. As I was prompting my investigation, I was accosted by them on the way in. By using less than a fraction of my strength, I soundly put them to rest to think over their actions as I entered your palace."

Naked princess: "Then they have done well enough." The princess nodded and shifted even closer to the edge of the pool, grabbing one grape to swallow herself before she continued feeding her guest. "It would be a shame if one of my favourite handmaidens go ill and barren or struck by a star." Her eyes met the goddess's gaze, trying to judge her displeasure. She had been nothing but respectful when she had every right to scream for guards and flee in fright, but perhaps her divine visitor did not see it that way.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): The infamously proud Ishtar met her gaze with no shame, simply showing her resolute desire to obtain. "I believe that does not need to happen. As long as I receive an appropriate offering for my grace, I will leave without any further conflict."

Naked princess: "You wish to leave already?" The princess raised an eyebrow. "Is my company not to your liking, and my welcome not hospitable enough?"

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "Your company is adequate and your welcome was satisfactory despite your doubts in my divinity..." Ishtar explained. "But I have much business to attend to, being such a beloved goddess, and I'm afraid I cannot spend my time entertaining mortals in this fashion, regardless of how delectable they appear even to a noble being such as myself."

Naked princess: "Oh, say no such thing," the princess giggled before covering her smiling mouth with her slender hand. "You are welcome to stay as long as you wish, and I am happy to serve you as long as you desire - but do not dismiss my humble hospitality so lightly before I have even had a chance to offer you a drink." And if myths were even by half true, divine attention was not so easy to lose. It was better, then, to at least be appropriately reverent.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "Hmm...I suppose you have handled yourself well enough that I cannot depart without accepting one drink." Ishtar agreed. "You may fetch for it and I will join you in a toast."

Naked princess: "Fetch for it?" The princess giggled again. "I will not have my divine guest to wait upon some common servant to bring her a cup." She moved now to the very edge of her pool, clearly wishing to come out. A polite mortal would have turned away and gave her some privacy to do so unwatched.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): Sadly, a polite mortal was not in the room. A rather proud goddess watched with obvious interest as the princess rose from the water, taking note of how the beads of water stuck to such an elegant if slight form. She watched while waiting for her cup although she had an unusually patient air around her today.

Naked princess: And yet, despite being watched, the princess had no hesitation. Her body easily slithered up and rose to full height, slender and graceful even in its complete nakedness. Pleasantly cold water was streaming down her well cooled pale skin, long hair black as night was cascading down her shoulders and back, twirling through the air as she turned on her toes. The two could be mistaken for sisters - so similar in appearance and so unceremoniously casual in each other's presence. The one that was completely nude tiptoed to a table, keeping her bare feet from touching the marble floor too much, and picked up a massive golden pitcher to fill an elegant silver wine cup. She then, quickly pulling the cup's exact twin from a box, filled that one as well and returned to the pool's side where she knelt before the goddess and bowed her head, extending a hand with the first cup in offering.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): Ishtar made sure to take it with both hands, not letting a single drop spill as she brought it close to her chest. She then waited for the princess to get her own cup, wishing to silently show her goodwill by drinking with her instead of merely being served.

Naked princess: The princess was in no hurry, though. She had more wine than even two of them could possibly drink, and a proper offering was due anyway. Once the goddess had taken the cup, the girl before her lowered her empty hands. "Take of my bounty, now and ever," she recited reverently. "Grant me your blessing and smile upon me when I do as you bid me." She fully prostrated, her bare body pressed against the cold marble of the floor.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): As much as she wished to clarify her intentions, Ishtar was as bound by the rules of hospitality as any woman from her era. The princess had done nothing but treated her kindly and had given her an offering. She drunk deeply from the cup, not a single drop spilling from her lips before she finished with a breath. "Princess, you have the blessing of Ishtar. May you remain victorious, beloved and fertile in all your endeavors."

Naked princess: "Grant my victories, and you shall have no end of bounties and praises to your name," the princess replied in kind, just as bound by the formalities and rituals to remain put and prostrated until given the leave to rise. Cold stone floor of her bathing room, devoid of any carpet, was so pleasant to walk upon barefoot on a hot day or even, as the goddess was doing, sit on it, but lying on it completely bare was another story. Not shameful, but it still was humbling enough to remind her of the place of mortals in gods' eyes, even if it did not hurt her pride any. It was so much easier to perform these rites in a temple... maybe because the goddess was not watching there so closely and so personally.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "You may rise, Princess." Ishtar instructed. "Rise and look upon the goddess who will grant you her eternal boon." Even in this semi-mortal form, there are still certain favors she can bestow upon mortals.

Naked princess: And the girl rose - not to her full height yet, but to her knees, now level with her seated guest. She had plenty of chairs and pillows and sofas elsewhere in her rooms, of course, but here by the bath the only seat was on the floor. Thankfully, the goddess did not seem to mind it, and the princess was content with remaining here rather than trying to usher her guest elsewhere and then having to solve the awkward question of still not wearing anything. Here, at least, she had the excuse of being caught by the sudden visit while she was having a swim. "You are always welcome in my lands and in my chambers," she assured the goddess. "Allow me to refill your cup."

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "You may." Ishtar held her cup out while smiling. "To prostate yourself so quickly and effortlessly before divinity...you truly do have noble blood coursing through your veins."

Naked princess: "Mightiest tree bows to a storm, strongest warrior bows to his king, but even greatest kings bow to the gods." The princess smiled again and rose to her feet to walk to the table. She returned with the pitcher in hand, reasoning that it was going to be easier to take it once than to constantly run back and forth for it - as, she suspected, it was going to be far from the last cup. With an elegant bow, she refilled Ishtar's cup to the brim without spilling a single drop, then sat down again, finally raising her own full cup. It was her favourite wine - light enough to keep her head unclouded, sweetened with herbs and stored on ice to keep it cold. A drink worthy of a princess, and hopefully satisfying enough for a goddess too.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): Ishtar nodded her head for the princess to drink before taking another swig herself. "Ah, such luscious wine...although I should have guessed that its taste would be memorable from the grapes I had earlier."

Naked princess: "If something else is more to your liking, I can have it sent for," the princess shrugged as she brought the cup to her lips and took the first sip. "Or, rather, I shall go myself before I would have you waited upon by some common serving girl."

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "It is not necessary. You have done more than enough." Ishtar stood up, placing her finger on the forehead of the princess. "I hope your body is prepared." Ishtar spoke as a golden aura began to emanate from her...

Naked princess: "A good host is always ready to do more for a welcome guest." The girl smiled again, but her body tensed at the divine touch, a shiver running down her spine - not just from sitting bare and wet on cold marble and drinking iced wine.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): A sudden pressure was put upon the princess, not physically but on her very spirit. Her very soul had something molded into it, an eldritch feeling building inside of her until it suddenly settled, like it never happened in the first place. "It is done."

Naked princess: She trembled head to toe, her pale skin shining with a reflection of Ishtar's own radiance. Unable to make any words, she only bowed her head deep in gratitude and tried to calm her nerves by taking another sip.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): Ishtar placed a hand on her head with a gentle smile, not sure if the princess will be able to stomach anything for a bit after such an experience. "From now on, you will succeed in any battle, you will be able to charm anyone who catches your affections, and you will never be barren."

Naked princess: That was a lofty promise - but in essence, it was the exact same as what Ishtar's priestesses promised to any worshiper coming with a prayer and sacrifice. And yet, somehow, in every battle somebody still managed to lose. Being given a direct blessing by goddess's own hand had to account for something, but the princess was not so foolish as to rely on that alone for the rest of her life. "And you will always have a worthy welcome for it," she responded meekly, refilling the goddess's cup before trying to sip her own wine again.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "I'm counting on it." Ishtar drunk from her cup again, certain she made the right choice in giving away such a hefty blessing.

Naked princess: "Then I am ever your servant." The princess nodded and reached to feed the goddess another grape.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): Ishtar stopped her, moving in to plant another kiss on her...this time, on her cheek. "I believe you have shown me enough kindness. I'll take my leave now."

Naked princess: "Will you have me follow?" The princess asked with a smile. After all, she did promise to serve as long as the goddess desired - if she wanted to hold her to that word, Ishtar could whisk her away. Sure, the girl doubted that she will, but who can know the mind of a goddess?

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "I believe you'd do better here...for now." Ishtar stood with a happy sigh. "You may be worthy to enter my own courts but it seems the mortals of this kingdom could use your guidance for a little longer."

Naked princess: "Where lies your journey then?" Now the princess's tone was nothing but a simple girly curiosity. It was a rare sight to have a goddess manifest walk through her doors, clad in mortal flesh. What roads awaited such a being? Was she simply going to dissipate and return to some celestial realm, or there was more to her existence?

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "I must assist another mortal in a certain contest, a war in some respects." Ishtar stretched before her. "Even with my lessened abilities, victory is almost certain assured but who knows? It can be still be fun."

Naked princess: "That does sound fun," the princess nodded with a smile of a royal girl who had never set a foot onto a real battlefield and stood up as well, hurrying to keep herself from sitting before a guest. "I trust that I will see you again?"

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "I hope I am met with the same treatment when I return." Ishtar winked flirtatiously at the princess. "Perhaps with more private privileges?"

Naked princess: "If it is your desire to be fed and served, I shall gladly oblige it," the princess burst into laughter. "And if you give me but a minute's warning, I will even be properly dressed for it next time."

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "Aww, such a restraint to be placed on me...but I will consider it." Ishtar took her leave. "Until next time."

Naked princess: "Only consider?" Now the poor girl was awkwardly blushing. "I do not wish to offend." Her hands belatedly moved to bashfully cover her bareness.

Ishtar (Fate/Grand Order): "There is no method in which one as radiant as yourself can offend me with your body." Ishtar sultrily answered before disappearing into the halls.

You left the chat

[davosmymaster]

Fallen from Heaven, Grown on Earth

A/N - Hello everyone! Long time no see. Here is a story I wrote for @beautifulbows924​ 's writing challenge. Thank you so much for this! <3 Before you start reading I'd like to say I'm very proud of this, even if it's not as good as I'd like it to be. I had never written such a long story, (and finished it) and obviously not in English. As always, English is not my first language, and this had no beta reader so forgive me and please, laugh out loud if I write something that doesn't make sense. Also, my first time writing smut, please don’t come at me.

Also, this fic turned out a bit dark near the end, I'm obviously against any type of violence. If you need help, there's plenty of resources out there for you. You're not alone.

 TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, eventual smut, graphic descriptions of sex, blood, mentions of self harm and suicide (they do not happen, they are only mentioned but just in case), dubius consent because DID (?), DID probably not accurate, canon-typical violence, angst, hurt/comfort, nightmares, panic attacks, sleeping disorders, jealousy, alcohol consumption, no beta, probably more warnings but I'll update if I find more.

PAIRINGS - Steven Grant x fem!reader ; Marc Spector x fem!reader.

WORD COUNT - 25k (yes I know, I started writing a one-shot and this happened)

SUMMARY - The arrangement was to become friends with Steven Grant, that was what you'd promised to your lifelong best friend, Marc Spector; but things quickly get out of hand.

 FALLEN FROM HEAVEN, GROWN ON EARTH

The ride to Steven’s workplace was calm, calmer than you had expected it to be. The driver hadn’t talked to you apart from asking where you wanted to be dropped, and you had wondered if your face was revealing that much about your current emotional state that people knew better than to bother you with small talk. You didn’t really know. And in the end, you didn’t really care either. What you did care about, though, was that you hopefully seemed nice enough not to scare a certain person away.

 The taxi slowed down as it took a soft turn at the last intersection. Behind the maze of buildings that was London, the British museum emerged like a vision.

 From afar, the British museum looked intimidating. That thought hadn’t changed since your last visit. It was an enormous monster in the middle of the city, a bleach type of white emerging from the road, a minotaur in the maze pushing the rest of the world outside. You couldn’t stop looking at it, but shook your head to get rid of the anxious thoughts anyways. You were about to go inside. You had work to do.

 You had promised.

 You decided that biting the bullet was the best way to end the nightmare soon, so you rushed inside. Maybe if you focused on the exposition it would be easier. After all, you quite liked it las time you were there with the school. At least the small cardboard pyramids didn’t look as bad as the gigantic building did, and the mummies were fairly interesting even when you didn’t have a class full of kids to keep busy and entertained.

 The hall was surprisingly small, and you crossed it as quickly as you could trying not to look like a madwoman. In the exact same second that you could see the first sarcophagus in the room, majestically standing up on the floor behind their protective glass, your heart seemed to slow its pounding in your chest. The icy cold air and the ringing in your ears dissipated into the nothingness at the same time, leaving you with a warm sensation in your chest and trembling fingers.

 Don’t worry, you thought to yourself. You’ve seen him a million times. You grew up together. Surely he cannot be that different, right?

 In the middle of your soothing speech, a hand gently grabbed your shoulder. All your muscles instantly flexed, and suddenly your heart was back at a hundred per minute. You turned slowly as if you were about to be caught doing something you weren't supposed to be doing; which was the case. But instead of a pair of brown orbs and dishevelled curls, you stood in front of a security guard.

 “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re closing in half an hour. I thought maybe you’d like to know.”

 You took a deep breath to calm yourself.

 “Yeah, I’m aware of that”

 He seemed confused, which was fair. The exposition was an hour-long, at least. That was without the videos and documentaries streaming in the adjacent rooms. It had taken you the whole day to reunite the strength to come here, but not just the strength; also all the doubts swirling in your mind asking if you were doing the right thing. It was an unending carousel in your head, always looking for an answer you were satisfied with and never getting one. It was madness.

 You hardly knew the name of the person you were looking for, and at the same time, you had known him your whole life. You didn’t even know why you were so scared.

 Fucking Marc, you sentenced. Fuck Marc and fuck my inability to say no to him.

 The guard went back to his monitors, not entirely happy with your answer.

 The exposition was impressive, you could give them that. Once you saw the recreation of the Great Pyramid of Giza, everything got easier. The walls were full of old artefacts behind stainless glass. If the sarcophagus were not real, and they probably weren’t, they seemed to be very accurate. Most importantly, the subject you were looking for wasn’t in his spot. Maybe he had finished sooner today. Hopefully. Maybe you could leave and create an elaborate lie for Marc. Some little white lies had never hurt anyone.

 You were looking at the faded colour of one of the sarcophagus when you heard his name.

 “Stevie!” it was almost a whisper, but a very loud one. “C’mon, go there and try to sell something!”

 You couldn’t help but stare at the woman. After all, the word curious was something people had always associated with you. She had your whole attention as she almost shouted (whispered?) at his employer. You felt a pang in your chest as Marc… no, Steven, walked into the circular room from behind a column anxiously fixing his name tag. In exchange for her disrespect, Steven successfully whispered something back at her without looking too much into her eyes and positioned himself behind the counter. He tried to fix some of the candy and the postcards in their small glass containers, but as soon as the woman vanished he stopped and looked ahead.

 His eyes locked on yours, while you were looking at him.

 Swallowing every last bit of pride and listening to your self-preservation instinct, you broke free from the enchantment. Your eyes locked with the red staining the lines of the sarcophagus, except your mind was in an entirely different place. Your body was screaming at you to run, it didn't say where, just to run away from such an open room without walls to keep his eyes away from you.

 You felt guilty. You felt caught red-handed. You could feel his eyes piercing you in the head and getting his hands on all your thoughts and intentions. Marc had warned you Steven was incredibly smart, after all. And he had said that if you thought you couldn't do it, it was better not to try. Steven couldn't know about Marc. Never. No. Nada.

 In the pockets of your jacket, your hands became a pair of fists. And although you were stuck in place, frozen for god-knows-how-long, you managed to take a calming breath and walk slowly in the opposite direction; pretending you were looking at some scriptures that were hanging on the wall. The circles and edges of the complicated hieroglyphs caught your attention, your eyes stuck on them as you felt someone walk behind your back. The whole scene looked like something out of a horror movie.

 "Are you reading those?" Steven asked, pointing at them "because if you are you must be a bloody genius."

 The accent shook you to your core, even though it wasn't the first time you heard it. A sudden, soft chuckle came out of your mouth and you had to keep yourself from laughing in his face and say `My god Marc, you sound so posh".

 In your mind, you were eighty-seven, in a nursing home and still making fun of Marc because of it. The image was enough to calm your nerves enough to talk. You'd have to thank him for that.

 "Not really. No," you said "but I have to admit I tried..." you squinted at the black lines. "...very hard, actually."

 "Well," he said, jokingly, both hands in his pockets and moving slightly on his feet as he looked back and forth from the scriptures and yourself. "You can try as hard as you want for the next twenty minutes, but I figure you won't get anything out of the bloke who wrote this just by killing the words with your looks."

 His gaze shifted, slightly scanning you up and down in a quick glance; so quick and subtle you wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't been staring at him without blinking for the whole interaction.

 He expected an answer, but you were so astonished by that look, the way that this person who looked so much like Marc had given you, that you had entirely forgotten the question by the time you snapped out of it. At the same time, you saw the lightbulb lightning inside his pupils and turned instantly self-conscious.

 "I- I mean- I didn't mean it like that," he stumbled upon his own words, a soft laugh emanating from his lips. "I meant, you know, if looks could kill... it's a set phrase, you know?"

Something weird moved in your chest. It was something warm and fuzzy, and you couldn't help but let the feeling sink in. His struggle was cute, despite how bad it might sound.

 You had never seen Marc act like that with anyone. He had always been very reserved, only talked the exact amount not to seem rude and sometimes not even that. He hurt your feelings many times and broke your heart many more. Sometimes you wondered if he even cared about you in the slightest and other times you were certain that the only person he cared about in the world was Layla. He looked at her as if she held all the answers in the universe.

 Marc had never looked at you the way Steven just had. No matter how much you wished for it or how long you waited. In fact, it was obvious that he hadn't even given you a second thought. Because if he had, he would have figured out by now that you had loved him for sixteen years.

 It was a thorn in your heart that you could never get rid of. No matter how many boyfriends, friends with benefits or one night stands you had. It was a lost cause.

 "Don't worry, Steven," you said, trying to calm him down with a smile and getting rid of all your thoughts regarding Marc. "Of course I get it, I'm a teacher after all."

 His eyes lit up at the mention of his name. It had slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it, yet it didn't really matter because he was wearing a tag with his name. Maybe next time you'd need an elaborate excuse.

 There could be no more slips.

 "Yeah, I recognized you. Saw you here at the beginning of the week with the primary school, right? I thought you looked familiar, but I didn't want to bother you or look like a creep."

 "It's alright, you don't like a creep at all," you said, although you wondered if he was flirting or he in fact thought you looked familiar.

 Maybe if he squinted very hard he could see you in Marc's memories, right? No, obviously not. If I'm gonna be doing this, I definitely need more research, you thought.

 "That's good, 'cause I don't know your name and I'd like to change that."

 Your gaze went straight to the floor as if something had stained your shoes. The faintest blush began to cover your cheeks and you cursed yourself for that. You introduced yourself trying not to make much eye contact, looking at the black lines on the wall instead.

 'Oh, he's really good.' you thought 'How did he get in this situation, even? How is he as lonely as Marc said?'

 You were seriously starting to doubt his words.

 In that next instant, he quickly glanced behind him and his whole body became tense. Her boss was a blonde shadow in the back of the room, luring over him like a hawk waiting to get his next meal. At that very moment, you thanked fate that you loved your job and your superiors were mostly nice; because she looked terribly angry.

 "Woah... looks like I'm in trouble here," he muttered. "It was really nice to meet you. I'll let you try to decode the rest before she eats me," he said.

 Steven took a step towards the cash register and then turned back again.

 "By the way-" he spoke, raising his voice. "We have wonderful stuffed gods-animals and delicious sweets on the counter."

 You couldn't help but laugh. Then he took a step forward and tilted his face an inch closer to yours, completely unexpectedly. His fingertips touched your arm. You could feel the gentle pressure above the fabric of your jacket. A flash of lightning started where his fingers landed and ran up and down your spine. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, and goosebumps erupted in both your arms.

 He smiled and you could have sworn that he lit up the room. Then he whispered, just for you.

 "Enjoy the rest, will ya?"

 You nodded.

 When he turned and left your side, you physically felt your lungs deflate like a balloon. You were by yourself again, looking at meaningless black lines. You asked yourself why you had been so anxious and concerned and on the verge of a panic attack for so long. Marc had said you two would get along. He wasn't wrong.

 You checked the time on your phone. You still had time but not enough to finish the exposition in the room.

 'Too bad,' you thought, almost laughing. 'I'll have to come back again'

 A pang reappeared in your chest, harder than ever before in the face of such a hostile fate. The fate in which you accidentally ended up falling for Marc Spector again. You breathed through it. After all, you were setting yourself for failure. You could not feel like that again. It was nonsense. You couldn't possibly make up fantasies in your head, not again.

 It was exhausting to get your heart broken, but it was even worse to try and pick up the pieces of yourself from the floor and realize some were missing while others were barely splinters and impossible to reach. You couldn't do that again. You couldn't witness someone you loved break you apart again, insult your feelings and spit at your image and then ask you why you were so sensitive. You just couldn't.

 You swore you would not fall in love with Steven Grant. And it only took you the realization that Marc would beat the shit out of you if you did to get convinced of your own words.

 You could have ended your interactions with Steven for the rest of your life right there, tell Marc some dumb excuse and go on with your life. Hell, you could even tell Marc to fuck off and he would never bother you again. After all, he had been too busy for a while now to even call. He wouldn't realize. He wouldn't care.

 However, Marc was very concerned about Steven. According to him, Steven had no one around. He had no friends, no girlfriend, no one to take care of him when he got ill, no one who missed him if he abruptly disappeared, no one to call if he found himself in trouble. Now setting Marc aside, you felt sorry for him; because he seemed like a genuinely nice person waiting to show the best of him. You just hoped you weren't making it up just because he had Marc's face.

 So you could have stopped everything right there, you really could, but didn't want to.

 Steven was starting to get everything into boxes when you approached the counter. To say you were nervous would've been an understatement because you were about to ask him for a date, and you had never been the type to ask guys on dates, not in high school and certainly not after, but fate had a fun way to mess with things, especially with your things. You had no doubts about that. You couldn't possibly find any other way of getting to know him and getting his phone number.

 "I'd like one of these," you said, taking in your hands one of the stuffed animals. It was a hippo, or so you thought. You tried to read her name on the label. "What's his name... Uhm.. tawel-"

 "Taweret," he answered, a grin on his face. "Egyptian goddess of childbirth and fertility. Certainly not towell. And her pronouns..." he pointed at her raising his eyebrows "...are she/her."

 Steven took it from your hands and put it in a bag. He gave it to you and leaned over the counter until his chest almost hit the surface.

 "Oh, wow. You really are passionate about this"

 "I am," he answered. "It's a bit of an odd hobby to have, but I mean some people like football."

 He chuckled first and then you couldn't help but follow. Would he ever stop being so goofy? You hoped not. Being Steven's friend could be easier than you expected.

 "How much is it?"

 "This round's on the house."

 Your jaw slightly dropped, your lips parted. "Oh, that's really not neccessary."

 "It's not, but I want to," he said. "You seem like a really nice person."

 "Tell that to my students, they are wishing a get in a car wreck or something."

 He laughed, then ran a hand through his hair seemingly anxious and took the receipt out of the cash register. With a pen, he started writing something in it.

 "I was wondering if- well..." you started. "...if you'd like to go for a beer, or coffee or whatever, some time."

 Steven stopped writing, his head shot up.

 "Sorry..." he said, mumbling, the accent was music to your ears. "Are you asking me out? Like... I'm not going to say no, but I was writing my number here hoping..." his gaze shifted between the receipt and your face. "...woah, yeah, sure. Coffee or tea is fine. We can do that."

 It had been easier than you thought it'd be, and you couldn't believe your luck when you saw his number and name written on the receipt.

 Problems started with the next step of the plan; hanging out. Steven was difficult in that aspect, and you started to understand why others seemed reluctant to form a meaningful relationship with him. After work, you had plenty of free time that you silently loathed, so it wasn’t difficult —at least on your part— to meet your lifelong group of friends and coworkers. You figured finding time for a date and eventually getting to know Steven would be effortless, but that was far from the truth.

 For the first date, you had chosen something informal, just grabbing up some coffee on a Saturday afternoon; but he never showed up. You dialled his number and called. He picked up the phone on the last ring.

 "Steven?"

 "No, Marc."

 On the other end of the line, he breathed heavily in short quick breaths.

 "You got his number, that's a start. Congratulations."

 He said it in a way that made you feel bad about it. Which was fine to an extent, because forcing a friendship out of pure pity and lying was the last thing anyone wanted. But the charismatic, kind and fun nature of Steven made it feel as if you had known him your whole life —which wasn't technically a lie— so at the end of the day it was easy not to think much about it. Besides, you figured that at least part of that guilt was completely justified.

 "Don't say it like that," you said. "We were supposed to be meeting for coffee. Twenty minutes ago. So you, Steven, you're body, whatever are late."

 "Can't right now," he said.

 A loud thud filled the line. A shuddered breath, the sound of metal clacking and something crushing.

 "What is that sound? Are you alright?"

 "Yeah, yeah. I'm busy at the moment. I'm confident Steven will make it up to you later somehow. Bye."

 And just like that, he hung up.

 Marc had never been the social type. Already in high school, he had loved a good friendly get-together to get drunk on cheap beer and play cards; but he didn't like parties with loud music; especially if he didn't understand the lyrics. He loved renting films on Blockbuster and watching them on his then brand-new VHS player, and if he did it with the right person, he also loved everything that followed.

 Despite not being very social, he was certainly not ugly. He was no Casanova and had no desire for it, but he found out pretty soon in life that if he wanted he could have any girl he liked. That is, if he actually put just a little bit of effort into not being a dick.

 He got too drunk once, and you suspected that also high. His brown irises were completely engulfed by his pupils. Both of you were on the end-of-school-year trip to Brighton. It was his last year in college (Marc was a year behind what he was supposed to), and you had just started it, but lived as if it was your last because most of your friends were Marc's age and you didn't really care. He appeared from nowhere in the lounge of the hostel and pulled your arm up from where you were seated on the floor. It was so sudden and violent that you almost slapped him in front of everyone. However, your anger quickly dissipated when you saw the state he was in. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair messy with curls pointing out in all directions; his soul lost somewhere in the empty space between you and him.

 "I need to talk to you for a second," he whispered.

 Some of your classmates, who you were talking to before he showed up, tried to convince you not to go, worried about his state, but they ultimately gave you a look of disbelief as you left. By then you had already known Marc for a few years and he was your closest friend. You knew they were worried he would hurt you, but they didn't know Marc at all, not like you did.

 He did apologize once you were outside, but didn't say anything until the beach was visible. He took a seat on a bench on the promenade, facing the sea. You sat next to him, crossing your legs on the bench on a warm summer night; and waited.

 His eyes welled up with tears without saying a word, and your nerves spiked up. Something had to go horribly wrong for him to act that way. You had never seen him cry before. So you did the only thing you could, you hugged him, squeezing him in your arms as if you could make anything that might cause him the slightest discomfort disappear. You knew you couldn't, but you had to try anyway.

 You let him go eventually. Marc gave a long sigh, trying to get his pieces together. And he spoke.

 "I left my parents' house last week," he said, solemnly as he watched the waves break against the shore. "And I'm not going to uni. I'm going to join the military."

 You had the awful realization that being drunk and high was the only way Marc was able to open up to you. The pang in your stomach became unbearable, the pain blooming there threatening to open a wound that would never close. Tears began to stream down your face without warning. Marc broke crying again, covering his face with his hands. Your arms surrounded his whole figure, even though he was much bigger and taller.

 Until then, you had a clear image of what your future would look like. At least for the next three years following college. You wanted to apply to London Met when you finished A-Levels, to pursue teaching. Marc, on the other hand, had always been unsure about his options; but he had never even considered doing anything other than university. The thought of the two of you living in the same student flat or even in the same building on campus kept you up at night sometimes. You'd often surprise yourself by searching for rent prices, figuring out which areas in London were best to live in. How wonderful would it be to wake up in the same house as your best friend? To talk for endless hours about your hopes and dreams and fears and nightmares and stories you've told each other a thousand times; to come back home wasted from a party, have a bowl of cereal and attend classes only half sober. He was reluctant as to look way too much into the future, Marc was a pessimist as good as they come, yet at some point, he had declared that he would happily do all the cleaning and laundry as long as he didn't have to cook anything other than a sandwich.

 Now the image was shattered, broken, as each tear and sob tore your throat apart. Still, your eyes didn't leave Marc's now small figure as you cried. You were frightened that if you did something as insignificant as blinking he would disappear into thin air. It was the first time in your life Marc Spector had actually looked his own age, his own personality and demons looming over him and often making his features sharper, darker and overall angrier than he really was.

 Then it happened.

 His hands fell from his face and landed on the bench. His fingers gripped the metal under his flesh as if it was his only anchor to the human world. The vein in his neck swelled, his pulse clearly visible from where you watched. His face twitched as if he had taken a bite out of a lemon. His eyes rolled back to his head.

 "Marc?"

 Pure panic, as a hot white flame, rushed through your veins and infected every cell of your body. The world around you gave a sudden turn around you as you reached for him, burying your nails in the tender flesh of his shoulder.

 "Marc!"

 As soon as it started, it stopped. His features changed, and his beautiful dark eyes appeared again. They had a glint you couldn't quite comprehend, one you could only describe as the look children had in a toy store. It was subtle, very subtle, something you'd have missed if you weren't leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder and the other not-so-gently grabbing his face.

 He mumbled something you didn't discern. All you could hear back then was your pulse beating behind your ears and your gasps for air. The image was burned into your eyelids forever. That night you'd have nightmares about it.

 "Are you alright, Marc?" you asked.

 He squinted, bewildered and petrified at the same time. Then turned his face away and Marc fronted once more. That was the first time he told anyone about his DID, and the first time he got some comfort about it. That was, also, the first time you heard about Steven Grant.

 The army posted him two weeks later and Marc left without saying goodbye, only calling you after he landed and just before reaching the out-of-range area. During those two weeks, Mr Spector called your home landline every other day. You refused to pick up the phone. He was a reasonable man, a good man. At least that was what your mother said each time, after hanging up the phone on a desperate father in the search for his son.

 "I'm sorry, Mr Spector. She doesn't know where he is. No. She doesn't know. No, she will not do that. I hope your son gets in touch with you soon. I'm sorry. Bye."

    Saturday passed and at midday on Sunday, there he was. Steven calling. The phone hadn't reached your ear yet but you could already hear his apologies.

 "I'm so so sorry," he said, his voice quick and reverberating and stumbling over his own words. "I don't know what happened. I think I slept through the whole day yesterday. Please don't hate me."

 It broke your heart to hear him talk like that about himself, and given the fact that Marc would quite literally kill you if you said anything to Steven about him, your hands were tied.

 "It's okay, Steven. You must've been very tired. Surely you needed it."

 It took him a solid minute to respond.

 "Oh, Woah... I actually thought you'd be fuming," he said. "As in I-don't-want-to-see-you-ever again fuming. Don't get me wrong, I-"

 "Steven," you interrupted, playing with the remote's battery cover in your other hand. "I swear I'm not mad at you. Actually, I was a bit late and thought you had left already," you lied.

 "Oh, god" he answered, he let out a soft relieved laugh. "Sounds like a hell of a date right? You know...we can grab some Starbucks near the museum in an hour or so- I mean, if you fancy it."

 You shook your head at his words, the smile on your lips not wearing off for a second, and thanked the universe that he wasn't looking. Steven was too much of a nervous wreck sometimes. You took a mental note about it. That was something so unlike Marc that it was even comical that they were, in a way, the same person.

 "See you in an hour, Steven."

 "Alright, yes! See you."

 Steven was still wearing his name tag when you met him at the museum's front door, which fought the urge to call him Marc when he appeared in your field of vision. Despite that, you absorbed every detail about his features to find out if it was actually Steven or not; you didn't want to fuck up.

 It wasn't difficult to differentiate them, not when Steven held a box of chocolates close to his chest and he had two coffees to go waiting on the base of one of the museum's columns.

 "I'm so glad you could make it," he said. His smile was genuine, you didn't get used to seeing it on his face.

 His greeting was a quick hug, too quick for your liking. Despite being a completely different person and sounding like one, Steven still smelled like Marc. That, is, at least behind the smell of the rubbing alcohol at the entrance of the building. There was a desire burning for Marc's closeness somewhere near your heart, in that tiny spot where you always felt it empty no matter what you were doing. His fingers were hot against your cold skin.

 "I'm so sorry about yesterday," he said once it was over. Even though you tried to talk him out of it, he didn't let you. "No. No. Don't be nice. It was a bummer for ya, you don't have to hide it. I brought you a little something to make up for it."

 You took the box of chocolates and couldn't help but think that Steven could be a dream for someone whose love language was gift-giving. The stuffed hippo he gave you was now one of your favourite things, along with The Killers' concert tickets Marc got you for your birthday after the last time he came back from Egypt.

 "You didn't have to. Thank you very much."

 "You're very much welcome," he answered, his brown eyes shining. "I have thirty minutes I saved from my lunch break, forty if Donna doesn't catch me; 'til then I'm all yours."

 The confession shouldn't be as cute as it was. The fact that he didn't have time for you and still made an effort to create it was a kind gesture that you were not used to. It was well-known the fact that people who want to see you, will go out of their way to do it, even if they have scarce time for you. You'd hear it everywhere, even from your friend's mouths, but had never actually experienced it. In the end, you were the one to always say it was okay when others cancelled plans or when Marc said he was busy, which had been a daily occurrence even after he left the military.

 You took a sip out of your coffee, and you had to admit it was better than what you usually ordered

 "I didn't know how you liked it so..."

 "It's perfect, really."

 "Good," he said, nodding and looking at the stairs as he hid a smile. He was just mumbling to himself. "Yeah... that's perfect."

 Steven was going to kill you with his awkwardness, in the best of senses. He grabbed his coffee and the two of you turned and walked away from the building. He was still wearing his name tag.

 "Steven," you called him, stopping in your tracks for a second, your hand gently touching his elbow to make him stop as well. "Let me help you with that."

 He frowned and for the first time he looked a bit similar to your childhood best friend. You took the tag out of his ash-coloured jacket, careful not to poke him with the sharp end of the pin, and when you tilted your head to look into his eyes, there were merely a few inches of empty space between the both of you. Steven's lips opened slightly, his eyes fixed on yours and red blood taking away the paleness in his light brown skin.

 You wanted to stay right there. Steven had a twinkle in his eyes that you couldn't get out of your head, a way about him that you can't help but be drawn to. You couldn't understand how others didn't see it, as difficult as his circumstances were, you couldn't quite understand that no one wanted to befriend him just because he had some small flaws.

 You extended the pin to him, who looked at it in bewilderment and put it away after thanking you.

 You can't fall in love with Steven Grant, you told yourself. But knew it was already a matter of time before your ultimate fall. It was impossible not to be attracted to him physically, you dreamed of kissing his cheeks and long lashes and burying your fingers in his curls. And for what little time you had spent together, you knew his personality was awkward and somehow also calm and kind, and that was something you liked as well. You'd seen him talk to several of your students, sell sweets with a smile and return lost phones. Back then you'd been so impressed by the sight of him that you didn't dare to get any closer, but the kids laughed and asked and talked and despite not being a guide, the kids referred to him as such when they got back on the school bus.

 You just hoped you weren't making everything up just because you loved Marc, or still loved Marc. No, loved. That's right. Past tense.

 It only took you another date, this time in a vegan restaurant in Soho, to realize you actually liked him. And not in a friendly way. More in a we've-talked-for-five-hours-and-the-waiter-is-kicking-us-out kind of way. You drank wine until you felt like figuring out what colour Steven's sheets were; despite promising yourself you wouldn't get drunk in case the word Marc spilt out of your mouth by accident. It didn't. Maybe Marc didn't give you much thought, but Steven definitely did, and wasn't that everything you'd dreamed of? Happiness looked real nice on Steven. You didn't want to break that for anything in the world.

 Just before leaving he excused himself to the bathroom; and after waiting for a while, you decided to do the same thing. It wasn't your intention, but the walls were thin enough that you distinguished Steven's weird accent without effort, and as drunk as you were, you didn't have the morals nor the self-discipline not to eavesdrop

 "You have to meet her, mom," he said. "She's absolutely gorgeous, I swear. I'll bring her soon. I mean... if she stays long enough..." a long pause. "Uhmm, sorry for that. Yeah, forget it. I drank a bit. Yeah, I know, me drinking. Pfff. Anyways, she's awesome. I think you'll love her. Looks a lot like an actress but I can't quite think of who, maybe that's why she looked so familiar the first time. I have to go now, she's waiting. Love you. Laters, gators."

 It was a stroke of luck that there was no one else in the toilets because the alcohol made you start crying. Marc didn't talk to his mom, never had, really. And now certainly he couldn't. Marc's dad called you when the shiva for Marc's mother started. He didn't attend, and his dad wanted him to have someone by his side. You figured he didn't have Layla's phone or he'd have called her, and you weren't even sure he knew that Marc had gotten married.

 That call was everything Marc always wished for but never could. You wondered who was Steven calling, and which number he dialled. You didn't even know how the whole thing worked, what was the arrangement, how Marc was so good at it that Steven never noticed any traces of Marc in his life.

 You splashed water on your face, but that didn't take away the sadness or the alcohol boiling under your flesh. You hoped Steven didn't notice. He did anyways.

 "Hey, what happened?" he was on his feet as soon as he saw your face. You hated it. "What's wrong, love?"

 His hot callous fingers caressed your red cheeks. He took the wet baby hairs out of your face and tucked them behind.

 "I drank too much, I'm so sorry"

 He hugged you and blamed himself for filling the glasses so many times. Of course, you denied it.

 "Let's get out of here, alright?" He said, left some notes on the table, took your handbag and carried it.

 His arm tried to embrace you and pull you close to him as you walked out of the restaurant. You backed off, suddenly feeling like a child in need of comfort —and refused to feel that way—, but he didn't take it like that. The hurt showed on his face, in his pressed lips, in the way he walked next to you at a safe distance.

 Your fingers slid around his wrist and curled around his fingers once you crossed the entrance, and a small dimple appeared again. It was so easy to make him happy, you liked how effortless everything was. He stopped in his tracks.

 "Everything alright?" he whispered, slurring his words.

 You nodded profusely, more than you should have. Your sight fell on his shoulder — for some reason— and you couldn't help but leave a kiss there.

 Steven's breath was caught in his throat.

 It's so easy.

 He leaned against you, still holding your hand as an anchor. He ran his fingertips along the back of your neck, and pulled you closer to him slowly. He left a chaste kiss on your forehead.

 Squeezing your eyes shut, a different kind of warmth spread through your body, different from the uncomfortable hotness of wine. Letting go of his hand, you grabbed the fabric of his shirt above his ribs, fighting the urge to slide your hand under it. You wanted him a little bit closer, but he took a step forward and you had to take one back, you hit the wall. His fingers still hidden in your hair.

 He silently gasped, his laborious breathing against your cheek, the smell of wine in his breath, his lips parted.

 "M-May I kiss you now?" he said. His eyes closed shut, nervously, his forehead pressing onto yours. His hot breath sweet over your own lips.

 A soft chuckle came out of your chest. You leaned over him and left a kiss there, where his neck and jaw found each other.

 He gasped, hard.

 "You don't have to ask, Steven."

 Even though he had warned you, you didn't see it coming. His kisses were supposed to be calm, loving, at least you had imagined them as such. Instead, he furiously joined your mouths, a moan reverberating in the depths of your throat as he grabbed both sides of your face and lifted you to have more access. You thought of returning the favour and buried your fingers in his hair and pulled. The moan he let out was animalistic, his breath was hot in your mouth as he quivered and it became raggered a second later.

 If Steven didn't kill you, you for sure were.

 His forehead pressed against yours. With his eyes closed, he kissed you on the lips once more, and then your cheek. You took a deep breath, drunk in every way.

 "Thank you," he whispered. "You've no idea how long I've waited for that."

 Oh, Steven, if you knew.

 "I'd take you home if we weren't so drunk," you mumbled, although you hadn't meant to say it out loud.

 It was pure delight to see his eyes get drowned in the darkness of desire. A look so strange and new in him and still, the naive glint didn't leave.

 "On the second date?" he whispered, the tip of his tongue wetting his lower lip. "People do that?"

 "This is our third, technically, but yeah, they do," you chuckled.

 Steven shook his head and apologized before taking a step back. You wondered why he was saying sorry for, but then he looked down and you could see exactly why. It was impossible to take your eyes out of him, of how big he seemed even with jeans on. It was an astonishing surprise to still find out things that belonged to Marc —in part— that you didn't have a clue about.

 Steven closed his eyes shut and tried to hide the bulge in his trousers by standing face to the wall. Redness engulfed all his features in a split second. "Think about deserts, think about deserts," he mumbled.

 You can’t stop looking at his face.

 “It’s easier if you think about our English teacher in college”

 As soon as your lips stopped moving, you felt every organ in your body descend to the core of Earth. Your skin tingled uncomfortably and you felt yourself start shaking. The comforting smile on your face vanished completely. The dimly lit street gave a soft turn around the confused look of Steven.

 “That actually works, mine was a nightmare,” he chuckled. “But you said our.”

 You frowned on purpose and took your sight to somewhere behind him. You were not the best liar and hated to look at people’s eyes when you had to become one, but that probably only made you look more suspicious. Then you looked back at his face.

 “I didn’t.”

 “Actually you did,” he said, all smiles. Every muscle in your body relaxed, slowly. And all the blood in your feet seemed to go back where it belonged. He kissed your cheek. “It’s okay, it’s the alcohol talking. I guess every English teacher’s butters,” he said, then he looked down and grabbed your hand. “Yezz, look at you. You’re shivering.”

 “Am I?”

 Your voice was almost a whisper, and again, you shouldn’t have said that. In your defense, the world was a bit blurry, everything still doing circles around you even with your eyes closed. Steven took his coat and placed it over your shoulders.

 “I’ll cab us home, yeah?” he says, his voice was calm and kind with a touch of worry. “You can stay at mine”

 “No.”

 “It’s okay. I’ll give you my bed.” Steven said “I don’t even sleep much, I promise. It just doesn’t feel right to leave you alone now.”

 Before you could think about where you were heading, Steven was already opening the front door of an old building in Brixton; which you had no idea of. Last time you had been in Marc's house, it was also Layla's. And after that, you had only met Marc a few times, always in cheap cafés or bars after the sun had set.

 Once he opened the door of his flat, he stepped aside and gestured with his hand for you to come in. It was almost a bow. "Welcome, my lady."

 His flat was a one-bed studio without walls. It had a bookcase in the middle of the room, full of books and vintage decorative figurines, although it was fair to say the entirety of his home looked like the backroom of any library with more than fifty years. Although the sheer amount of clutter made it look dirty, it really wasn't. It was cosy and inviting, but also a comfortable and disorganized mess. You took off your heels before you had hardly taken a step into the flat.

 "Give me a second, yeah?" he said, his smile trembling over his lips. "I have to hoover first. It's a bother, I know. Stay there."

 You couldn't stop but frown at his words. "Steven, what are you talking about? I don't care about that."

 You wondered if he was about to laugh, and followed him. He scratched the back of his neck, turned on his heels and quickly walked. Then you saw it.

 The shelves were blocking your vision, but not anymore. His bed was barely a mattress on the floor inside a wooden structure with four columns, almost like a cage. And around it, a circle of sand. You stood there, feeling confused and awkward at the same time.

 "Steven, why do you...?"

 "It's just a second, sorry," he said, as he struggled to take the hoover out of a small wardrobe with cleaning supplies.

 "Steven, Steven," you caressed his shoulder in a comforting manner but failed at trying to take his attention. "Please, leave that alone and look at me."

 He did after a few seconds, and stepped aside when you asked him to. You left everything inside and closed the door behind you.

 "That's an awful lot of sand."

 He replied crestfallen, with both hands behind his back, as if he had just been caught doing something he shouldn't and punishment was about to be announced. "I know."

 "It's okay, it's your flat. I'm just curious about it."

 He bit the inside of his cheek and finally looked at you, a look of embarrassment plastered all over himself. Then he sighed, his shoulders falling like a dead weight. He started walking towards the kitchen.

 "Fancy a cuppa?"

 You followed him, and he served a cup of tea for both of you. He left them on the table and fetched two glasses of water as well.

 "I have a sleeping disorder," he said. His fingers were trembling around the cup, and his eyes looked at you almost waiting to read your body language. "I sleepwalk sometimes. And other times I sleep for more than ten hours and still manage to be exhausted. I have dreams, very vivid dreams. And-"

 You took one of his hands in yours. He was going to break the cup if he kept imprinting his fingers in it. You held his hand, and he frowned at you, the corners of his mouth turned down. He looked just like Marc.

 "Nightmares?" you asked.

 The lines on his forehead became deeper as he recalled his memories. "I wouldn't say nightmares. Well, yes, sometimes they are; but they don't usually feel like nightmares. I don't know."

 You wondered if it had something to do with Marc, with the fact that he also had to have some kind of life beyond all the time Steven took to live his.

 "Look, I know I'm a walking red flag," he pressed his open hands to his forehead. "But I promise I'm not bonkers, I just have a little trouble sleeping. I use the sand and the restraints to check I haven't left the bed during the night, that's all. I know it's crazy to have strains on the bed..."

 "I didn't say that."

 His eyes shot open, and the most incredulous and relieved laugh you had ever heard left his mouth. You couldn't help but chuckle as well.

 "Oh, you didn't just say that," he replied.

 The atmosphere was light again between both of you. His frown had vanished from his features. Steven's face was Steven's once again; with his bright dark orbs, raised eyebrows and little smiles. His shivers had stopped almost entirely, you could notice by the way his hands rested over the table and you couldn't stop yourself from taking one of them in yours. He looked at both your fingers, yours on top of his as you slowly traced a path to his palm. You witnessed how his sight lost focus for a few seconds, and waited until his eyes fell on you again to talk.

 "Steven, we all have problems, but that doesn't mean we don't deserve love and understanding," his brows frowned slightly, while his puppy face remained; he was trying not to cry. "If someone, anyone, denies them to you, just because you're not perfect, you're simply asking the wrong person. There are plenty of people out there who'd love you for the very same things other people would despise you for..."

 He wiped away a treacherous tear with his free hand and you kissed the back of the other.

 "...and that's okay. Not everyone has to like you, you don't like everyone either. Some are just pricks."

 Another chuckle. Another tear. He wiped it away and covered both his eyes with his palms. He sighed, hard. He seemed tired as his shoulders fell.

 "God, I shouldn't be crying my eyes out."

 Getting up from your chair, you left a chaste kiss on his cheek. Your arms went around his shoulders from behind, and you couldn't help but leave another kiss on his temple.

 Steven was suffering, and it was something you had never thought about. Since you had met him in person you had begun to understand him a little, but before that, since Brighton, you had never thought of Steven as a person who lived and suffered. The few times you had thought of him before —because Marc never talked about it again—, you had imagined Steven as a drugged version of Marc: a quiet boy, almost like a rag doll o a puppet, who took all the pain that Marc couldn't bear without complaint, taking and taking like a punching bag. Feeling no discomfort, no pain.

 The more you got to know him, the more you realised that Steven embodied the best parts of Marc. No, not the best parts of Marc, the best parts of himself. He was a wonderful man, shy and charismatic at the same time. Talkative and awkward and a true gentleman who opened doors for you and bowed and laughed a lot.

 You could love him, and that was not even a new realization, but you had never felt it as true. Steven didn't have to do any of the things he did to be charming, and yet it was part of his persona, part of what Steven really was. Marc and he shared a body, maybe half a life and time on this Earth, but nothing else.

 Steven Grant was unique, without a doubt one of the most beautiful souls in the universe. And you thought you might regret it tomorrow, but Marc would have to get used to it if things went further. Maybe you could find a way he could understand. He had to. The possibility of him reacting badly tied a knot in your stomach that made you suffocate with every passing second. He was still your best friend. And you still loved him too.

 Steven stood up from the chair, took both cups and left them in the empty sink. His face was as red as it could, his nose a bright red colour and eyelids wet by the tears. He put his hands on his hips and sighed.

 "You should go to bed. I'll lend you a t-shirt to sleep in if you want," he said, looking at the black dress you were wearing.

 Steven opened a drawer in the space that belonged to his bedroom and took a t-shirt and a pair of grey joggers. You took them from his hands.

 "Thank you," you whispered. "I really shouldn't be here."

 "That's bollocks, you can come here whenever you want."

 He ran one hand over his eyes again, even though there were no tears.

 You didn't say anything back because he had no idea of what was happening, but you knew you shouldn't be there. The closer you got to Steven the more you liked him, and you had never stayed the night at Marc's. Never. You wondered what would happen if Marc fronted in the middle of the night and found you sleeping there. Maybe you could come up with something. Either way, you squeezed your eyes shut, tried to shake off the feeling and finished getting dressed.

 You had wrapped the elastic of your pyjama bottoms around your hips, but you could still step on some of the fabric. The T-shirt was beyond repair, but you usually slept in T-shirts and sweatshirts two sizes too big anyway, so that was fine.

 "It's so big on me," you said, jokingly as you walked out of the bathroom.

 You caught him getting dressed too. He was just pulling his t-shirt over his shoulders when you opened the door. From where you stood, the views were immaculate. The muscles in his back stretched and contracted before he pulled the t-shirt over his shoulders. His bottoms were a tartan printed pyjamas.

 "Maybe you should just... jump right into bed," he said, now approaching you and glancing at the sand on the floor. "You know, don't get your feet full of sand. I'll be in the living room. Having fun with..." he joked as he took a book from his desk and showed it to you. Egyptian Mythology: A Guide to the Gods, Goddesses, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt. "...Mrs Pinch."

 You got into bed without jumping, somehow, taking a long step from the floor to his bed. Steven stood closer as you did, almost grabbing your arm to help you. Before he could turn on his heels and leave, you kneeled on his bed, right in front of him. His eyes were still glossy from the crying.

 "Try and get some sleep," you said. He gave a long sigh and shook his head.

 "It's better if I don't."

 "Please, Steven..." you almost begged. "Get in here with me, just try, I'll leave when you fall asleep."

 You saw the doubt in his eyes, the indecision, but also the fear below all of that. Finally, he shook his head again.

 "Maybe we could try next time, if you still feel like it," He raised the book in the air and gave you a smile. "I have a second date tonight, don't be too jealous."

 "Why don't you read to me, then?"

 He considered it for a brief second, then he instructed you to get comfortable under the sheets while he locked the front door. Steven turned off all the lights except for the kitchen lights, which plunged the room into semi-darkness, but still bright enough to read. He also took a long stripe of blue tape and stuck it just above the locks in the door. Then he got into bed.

 You laid on your side, looking at him. His pillows smelled of him. It was a pleasant smell, the same smell that had flooded your nostrils when you had kissed his jaw earlier, only with less cologne. He didn't get under the covers. Instead, he crossed his legs on the mattress and leaned a little towards the headboard. He almost looked like a tall child.

 He gave you a quick glance from the text, almost waiting for you to stop him; but you didn't.

 "Let me know if you get tired of me."

 He smiled, half-joking, but you knew he was been very serious about it. Then he started reading.

 "Originally the Egyptian reverenced on God only whose likeness was never represented, “he is being worshipped in silence. His characteristics, however..."

 The next thing you knew, you were woken up by the morning light, slowly and calmly, bit by bit regaining consciousness of the context around you. It was an odd feeling, not to wake up in your own room, or by the loud noise of your alarm app, to see a different ceiling and furniture around you. In the usual morning amnesia, you looked under the sheets to check if you were still dressed. You were, but those clothes weren't yours.

 You got up, and there was something yellow in your vision for a second. It was so sudden that you wondered if a ray of sunlight just blinded you, but then you looked at your lap and saw it. It was a sticky note. It was probably on the headboard before it peeled off from the headboard.

 We need to talk. -Marc.

It was raining when you left your own studio that evening, and it was almost nine when you got to your destination, a cafe just a few blocks from Steven's flat. Marc had chosen it because it was the only one in the area which stayed open until half-past ten.

 By then you had been ignoring his calls for thirty-six hours, which should have been easy given the fact that Marc barely used his phone anymore, but he had called you twice yesterday and you had ignored them, giving him some excuse about having too many assignments to grade. It wasn't a lie, he had to understand that you had a life beyond him and Steven. And you knew nothing about Steven, so you guessed Marc hadn't given up the body yet.

 You couldn't help but wonder how poor Steven managed not to get fired or get burnout from work if every time he had a free day Marc decided it was his time to reappear. It was incredibly selfish of him to let Steven earn the money for both of them. After all, as far as you were concerned, Marc had been unemployed since he left the military.

 You weren't looking forward to meeting him, because you knew once you did, you'd have to tell lies. You couldn't possibly tell him about the kiss. You would, eventually, once you knew how to address the situation; but you didn't want to. Losing Marc was something you'd never forgive yourself for happening, and abandoning Steven now didn't seem like a good choice to make, at all. On the other hand, however, Marc had been extremely vague about the arrangement you two shared, you needed to know how the whole thing worked; for their sake as well as yours. You needed to know what to expect from Steven and Marc, when to worry if any of them vanished for too long, how the fronting thing worked, how he managed to figure out everything from Steven's life when Steven wasn't even aware that Marc existed.

 At the end of the day, you couldn't postpone meeting him anymore. It had been two weeks already, two wonderful weeks with your phone full of good-morning texts and calls lasting as much as two hours. You had hoped to have Steven as a friend, but he was too much of a boyfriend material.

 Your eyes were fixed on Marc even before you got in.

 The cold air suddenly disappeared from your cheeks. The cafe was cosy, but the heat inside was almost sultry. You could see it in the navy T-shirt Marc was wearing. You both came prepared for the heat, you had been there before.

 He subtly waved at you as you walked in. The table he had chosen was in a corner, away from everything and everyone even though the place was half empty. It was the same table you had been to other times, and you wondered if the waiters —who most certainly already knew your face— wondered if any of you was cheating on your partners.

 You walked to the table asking all the gods, the universe, and whatever else was out there to please not trip over your own feet. The last time you had been this nervous about meeting Marc, he was getting married in Cairo.

 He greeted and rose up from his chair to hug you. The hug was short-lived but much needed, yet you couldn't help but wonder if he could hear the frantic beating of your own heart against his chest.

 "I'm not gonna beat around the bush, I want you to answer a simple yes or no question," he asked.

 There he was, direct and blunt as a knife. There was no hesitation, no trembling in his hands. His accent almost came up weird now, that American accent that he had not left in Illinois when he moved to the UK in his teenage years and never quite vanished.

 "Are you and Steven together?"

 That was too easy of a question.

 "We obviously are not," you replied, but he still waited in silence. "If you're wondering why I stayed in his flat, we had dinner and I got drunk. I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted that he didn't feel good about me getting home by myself."

 He rolled his eyes and drank a sip of his black coffee.

 "You're quite the grown-up."

 You ordered your own tea and waited until the waiter left to keep up the conversation.

 "Yeah, I am, but this is still London and I'm still a woman. So there's that."

 Marc left his coffee on the table and leaned back in his chair, resting both elbows on the backrest. That's when his eyes scanned you, maybe he wasn't buying your half-truths. You kept your eyes on his until it was ridiculous how long you kept looking at each other.

 "What?" you asked.

 "Nothing. I just don't think you've ever stayed at mine."

 You chuckled, that was easy to respond to. The waiter left your cup of tea in front of you and you took a sip out of plain curiosity, a smile still lingering on your lips. Then you looked at him through your lashes.

 "Are you jealous, Marc?" you asked him, his mocking smile soon turned into a thin line. "Don't worry, I'm sure we can have a... how is it? a slumber party some time."

 You thought he would laugh at your imitation, but he did not. He gave you a look, the most disgusted look you'd ever seen on his face.

 "Did you fuck him?" his angry gaze pierced your soul, his elbows pressing into the table as he leaned over it. "Because I don't know if you're aware, but Layla and I aren't officially divorced yet."

 Low blow. Fucking moron.

 "I'm obviously not aware of that because you never talk to me anymore."

 "You didn't answer my fucking question.”

 A wry laugh bubbled up from your throat. Rage reddened your face with every passing second, you could feel the blood under the skin of your face, burning and boiling. You didn't know whether to tell him to fuck off or what. It was his fault that you were in this bizarre predicament, to begin with. Your muscles were stuck in place, you knew the answer to his question, but the fact he was asking was simply insulting. He didn't own you and neither did he own Steven.

 "You know what, fuck you, Marc," you rose up from the chair and smashed the palms of your hands against the table. "If I knew you'd turn into a freaking child I wouldn't have signed up to all of this. Now I'm basically lying to someone who has done nothing but treat me with respect. I cannot say the same about you."

 You left the place in a hurry, without even thinking about the bill you left behind. He called your name but you didn't give him any attention. Yet Marc still ran behind you and grabbed your arm once you were outside. You got rid of his grip and smacked his arm. He did not wince.

 "Don't follow me, Spector" you warned. "I'm tired of you."

 It did seem to pain. He grimaced as if he had been hit, blinked repeatedly and clenched his jaw.

 "You do not understand," he almost growled. "I just needed to make sure of it. I don't want to hurt you, I don't want you to get hurt in any way. I did say I shouldn't ask you for such a big commitment, but he is very alone. I was scared he would end up hurting himself. I knew you two would get along. There's no one who could not like you, (y/n)," he said. "You can't imagine how much I freaked out when I woke up and saw you next to me."

 His words hurt, so much so that you wondered why on earth you were still listening to a word that came out of his mouth. The thought of Steven hurting himself in any way was hard to swallow. You couldn't even begin to imagine such a sweet soul giving up on all the joy this life could bring him, of all the people he would indeed meet, all the people that had and would love him, all the experiences fate still kept for him.

 Then you had Marc's words. Did it hurt so much to wake up next to you that he had to leave? Was it so hard for him to look at your sleepy face in the morning? Did he find you that disgusting?

 "I will keep on seeing Steven," you said. "Not because of you, but because he genuinely has become a good friend," you finished. "I won't apologize for how disgusting you find me, though."

 He looked down. From that angle, he looked like a lost soul. He was absolutely drenched now, his curls sticking up to his warm skin, the ends dripping, the jacket now a shade darker because of the rain. Marc shook his head and looked back at you.

 "I didn't mean it like that," he mumbled. "I didn't..." his lips formed a thin line as he thought what to say. "Look, it's complicated. I am not always aware of him or his surroundings, but I am aware of his feelings because I can feel them too. You have to be only friends. I know I'm been annoying about it but it simply cannot happen."

 You gave a long sigh and pushed both you and him under the awning of another nearby restaurant. You tried not to think about his words.

 "You're right Marc, I don't understand. I don't know what you're doing" you confessed. "I don't know how the whole thing works, but it's straight-up ruining both of your lives. He's alone, not because he wants to, or because people find him irritanting, but because he can't commit to anyone, because he lives in a constant nightmare in which he does not know when or where he's waking up."

 "I'm not saying it's easier for you," you whispered as some pedestrians walked near the scene. "But at least you know what's happening. You used to live your own life, now he is the one doing it most of the time. He will eventually find out, so you should talk to him, however that works. Steven already thinks he's a lunatic," you said, as you remembered your conversation that night. "And I can't possibly understand how could you expect him to be happy in these conditions."

 Marc bit his lip and took his eyes away from you and into the road.

 "So you have talked that much, uh?" he crossed his arms over his chest. "I knew all the calls couldn't be about the weather."

 You stood there for a minute in silence, not knowing what else to say.

 "Things are getting out of hand, I know I'll have to do it at some point," he said. "I just can't right now. I need him to be calm and happy while I figure some shit out."

 You frowned at his words, nervousness and curiosity equally dancing in the pit of your stomach.

 "And what is that?" you asked, but when he did not respond you tried to guess. "Is it about Layla?"

 He shook his head. "It's more complicated than that."

 "You know you can tell me anything that's bothering you, Marc," you whispered, reassuringly. You actively fought the urge to caress the back of his head. "I'll try to help you. We've known each other for so long, it is actually insulting that you don't trust me yet."

 Marc smiled and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Then he looked at you and the glint in his eyes sent you off balance. It wasn't naive like Steven's, it was different. You couldn't quite tell why or what differentiated them.

 "I know," a pause. "I know I can, and I will once it's over. I promise."

 Marc was not a person who used to make promises, let alone empty ones. Throughout your life, he had made you perhaps a handful of them, and he had always kept them to this day. He took his word very seriously, it was a matter of pride.

 So you believed him.

   The staff room was almost empty two weeks later, as it was lunchtime and most of the teachers were in the school cafeteria. It was torture to be there alone, with only one of the history teachers marking exams and photocopying worksheets. You had forgotten your lunch box at home and complained to Steven profusely via text. You refused to eat anything from the cafeteria, and you were positive that anyone who visited the kitchen would, really, so you were just starting to mark some exams when a movement far out of your field of vision caught your attention.

 The sight in front of you was so out of place that your brain had difficulty processing it. Steven stood next to the door frame, shoulders down and a timid smile on his lips, trying not to draw any attention to himself while waving a hand in front of his face to catch your attention.

 "Hey," he whispered. "You alright?"

 "What the hell are you doing here?" you mouthed from where you were seated.

 He lifted into the air a rectangle-shaped plastic bag and pointed at it with the biggest and proudest grin you'd ever seen on that face.

 Oh, he didn't.

 "I brought you lunch," he whispered once you were standing outside of the teacher's lounge. He opened the plastic bag and began pointing out things. "I got you some chicken with gravy and mashed potatoes. I made it myself so I don't know if you'll like it, I haven't actually tried it."

 You looked at him, impressed and incredulous as he talked. He looked at you, then at the food, then at you again.

 "What?"

 His thick accent made you giggle in this disbelief.

 "You should be resting, it's your day off," you said. "What are you even doing here? And where did you get the chicken to cook? You're vegan."

 His whole face relaxed, his eyelids half-closed, his smile a funny one saying you're not really asking me that.

 "From the supermarket, where else would I get food?"

 "Oh you're something else, I swear," you whispered. "You know what I meant."

 You took the bag in your hands and got into the staff room again. The history teacher, Graham, took a glimpse behind him at whatever you were carrying. He rolled up his sleeves to continue using the photocopier, a tattoo of a black scale standing prouder on his pale skin.

 You caught Steven looking at it as well, his mind far away from that room, but once you were out of the other teacher's sight, his focus came back.

 "Thank you very much," you said, voice low and clear. You hoped he could read on your face the intent, the longing. After all, there had been many more kisses since that third date. "I'd kiss you right here if I could."

 "I can fix that."

 He took a glimpse of every corner over his head, looking for security cameras. There was none. Then he kissed the inside of his fingers and pretended to slap you in slow motion.

 You shook your head.

 "You're very much welcome, by the way," Steven said. Then he shoved his hands into the pockets of his grey coat, the one you loved so much on him. "So the thing is I might have gotten a bit too much chicken and you know... I'm vegan so..."

 You squinted at the way he was jokingly talking about it.

 "... so I thought maybe we could have dinner tonight. Maybe watch a movie afterwards, read a bit."

 "Oh, you cheeky bastard," you jabbed an accusatory finger in his sternum. "If you wanted me to come over, you should have just said that."

 "I know," he responded, his happy grin was breathtaking. "But I did want to make sure you ate, and I actually love cooking even if I'm not very good at it."

 You had to resist the urge to pull him by the collar of his jacket and kiss him on the lips.

 "You're perfect at it. And that was an awesome tactic," you replied. "The whole I'm vegan so you should come over and we could have dinner and have you-know-what after. You can't fool me, Grant."

 He shook his head.

 "It's a good one, right?" he said, his flirtatious tone completely foreign to him. "All jokes aside, I don't have any expectations about it, you know that." He gestured, his hands moving in the air. "Whatever you wanna do is fine. We could play chess all night if you wanted."

 That's why you liked him so much, everything was easy with him. He was happy with your company, loved doing indoor plans and both restaurant and coffee dates. That didn't mean everything was up to you, though, or that he didn't have any preferences. Last weekend he had miraculously gone to karaoke night with some of your friends, —you were lucky none of them knew Marc personally— and he had completely slain the stage. You had asked him to attend, but you didn't think he actually would. You slept in his flat again, and he was so drunk that as soon as his eyelids closed he ran to puke on the toilet. Then the next morning you fed Gus while he turned the kettle on and later both of you took a walk around Hyde Park; which was his plan in exchange for the karaoke.

 By now you were basically a couple, but avoided having that conversation nonetheless. Steven was a pro at reading your facial expressions and changing the subject when you didn't feel comfortable. That was pretty much the last thing he wanted, and he also had to remind himself that you had barely known each other for a month now, that things had started extremely fast and seemingly sped up a little bit more every second. And with those odds, Steven refused to crash his relationship against any tree, it’d simply not happen.

 The day went by too slowly after he left, promising that he'd see you that same night and sending good wishes for the rest of your workday. After that, you went home just to change the sweaty clothes you'd been wearing all day. You took a shower and rubbed some lotion on every inch of your body. And at the end of the routine, you openned your underwear drawer to find the most beautiful piece of lingerie you owned.

 Part of you couldn't help but wonder what Marc would say if he saw you wearing that, how he'd react, what he'd do; but you were mostly thinking about Steven both when you bought it and now that you were fastening the hooks of the lace bra behind your back. Shaking your head, you decided not to think about Marc anymore, it was simply not his business.

 When Steven opened the front door of his flat, dinner was almost done. You hugged him despite the baking powder on his apron, but he still refused to hug you back because he had food smeared all over his hands. You grabbed his chin to pull his face against yours and kissed him, but you shouldn't have. An explosion of flavour flashed through your tongue when you did, a bolt of white lightning suddenly appearing behind your eyelids. It made you moan, and in the middle of the fog, you realized Steven had sugar on his lips.

 He chuckled. One of his hands falling on your waist and keeping you against him, one of yours on his chest, your knees weak and your mind all groggy.

 "Woah... what was that?" he grinned.

 "You have sugar on your lips," you answered and squinted, pretending to be annoyed. "You did it on purpose."

 He shook his head, half incredulous, half amused.

 "No, I didn't, I was baking dessert for us."

 "...and what were you baking?"

 "Vegan cheesecake"

 You bit your lip at the thought and broke away, slowly, waiting for him to either tighten his grip against your waist or let you go. He finally opted for the latter but didn't seem entirely convinced about it. You dropped your purse on his desk without asking, as if it was already your own flat.

 "I'm going to-... yeah-the food..." he anxiously shifted in place, randomly remembering —finally— he had other things to do rather than just stand there and look.

 You couldn't help but chuckle as he walked to the kitchen space, not without looking back at least twice to check if you were following.

 "I got invited to watch you work today," you said, arms crossed over your chest. "Apparently one of the teachers is sick and they invited me to visit the museum with the ten-year-olds on Monday. They were very persistent about it."

 Steven smiled. "Sounds like good news to me."

 "Can I help you with anything?" you asked once in front of the oven, changing the subject, but he simply stirred the sauce for a second and rapidly focused his attention on something else.

 "No, no. Well- yeah... I mean, you can help me eat it-" he joked. "Not a good idea if I invite you for dinner and have you starving, right?"

 You took a spoon from one of the drawers, which seemed to catch his attention, and dipped it into the sauce. Even with the taste of sugar from his lips still camouflaging the flavour, it was delicious. You moaned for the second time.

 "Oh," he laughed. "Cheers, angel."

 All his body language shifted completely, while you stood there blinking at the new pet name, speechless. Steven squared his shoulders, looking proudly at the food, and turning off the cooker. He gave a long sigh and started serving the food.

 "I have to say I was a bit shook about this," he confessed while serving the chicken. "I've never cooked for anyone before, so I don't even know if my cooking skills are decent," he smiled. "I mean, most days I forget to have at least one of my meals, can't say that's good, can I?"

 He extended the plate at you and his smile vanished.

 "Did you just call me angel?" you asked.

 A pause, as if time had stopped.

 "Did I?" he said, leaving the plate on the counter, a nervous little laugh ripped out of his throat. "I mean- I know I did. You don't like it?" he had puppy eyes now, then turned and kept on serving the food. The plate trembled in his hand. "I won't say it again."

 "No, no. It's okay. I like it," you cooed as you caressed his cheek with your thumb. "It's okay."

 You took the plate from his hands and left it on the counter. Steven shifted in place, now facing you with sloping shoulders. The corners of his mouth turned down, his eyes glossy.

 "Hey, what's wrong?" your hands took his in yours and gave him a soft squeeze. He didn't talk. "Steven, please." he gave a long sigh and his whole weight fell against the edge of the counter. "This is not for the nickname, is it?"

 He shook his head, still with the same expression.

 "I mean-" he finally talked, his voice low. "That's part of it, yeah..." he took some deep breaths and you couldn't help but witness, your heart ached while you took his arm and stroked his forearm with your nails, then he talked. "I like you more than I should, I mean, it's only been a month and I'm all head over heels for you and I want to do so many things and- then- yeah... I don't know. I really do think you were sent for me, sometimes, like a blessing or a fate thing. I don't know. Call me cheesy if you want," he stopped, he was almost choking with his words, then he studied your reaction and resumed.

 "...after all, you appeared right in time. I was really, like really, freaking out about never being able to love anyone or never settling with anyone. I mean- I don't mean we will, I'm just saying..." he huffed, looking at the ceiling as if looking for answers. "I want to have a family, and how could I do that without a partner? And now I'm just... so scared of losing you," he brought both fists to his chest and closed his eyes "I don't know why I have this feeling that I'm going to lose you. And then I found-" he abruptly stopped and covered his eyes. He wasn't crying, not yet at least.

 "Steven. What did you find?"

 He shook his head, his fingers still covering his eyes. Then he sobbed.

 Panic surged through your veins. Your mind started rushing, a thousand questions running through it. You tried to have your breathing under control, after all, you didn't know yet what he was talking about.

 "C'mon," you felt as if an electric current had surged in your muscles and before you knew it, you were walking. You took two chairs from the table and placed them one in front of the other. Your voice shivered and broke when you said: "We're gonna fix this, Steven. I don't know what I did but," you were almost whispering to yourself, a hand ran through your hair, anxiously. “… we are."

 His cheeks were wet, yet his eyes were still fixed on yours. You tried to take his arm to guide him to have a seat but he just stopped midway and begged.

 "Please," he said, both hands on your cheeks, "calm down. Please. I don't wanna upset you. It's nothing, I just got all freaking emotional about nothing."

 His words were soothing, a sweet remedy for your nerves and doubts. If he had discovered Marc or your dealings with him, he wouldn't be caring for you the way he was .

 It felt like a bucket of cold water over your head anyway, because at that moment you realised that Steven might never forgive you if he found out about Marc. You would be losing forever the only two people you had ever loved. His words inadvertently had the opposite effect.

 You clenched your jaw and lips as your nose twitched and your eyes filled with tears. You tried to turn away so he wouldn't see you, and still, he wouldn't let you go. With his hands still on your cheeks, he forced you to look at him. He whispered words of reassurance, pleading while he asked for forgiveness. You closed your eyes tightly and the tears came.

 "Please don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I didn't mean to." he said, he took you into his arms and kissed your hair. "I can't stand it. Please."

 You finally started fighting against him, getting rid of his hands and hugs and kisses. He didn't let you go at first, but then he did. You wiped your tears and sat on the chair. The feeling of dread was still present, but you repeated in your mind that you wouldn't let it happen, like a mantra. You had to focus on the present. Steven hadn't found out about Marc, as long as that didn't happen, you'd be good.

 "What did you find? Explain it to me." Your voice was so steady and cold that you surprised yourself.

 Steven nodded and went to his desk, then came back with one of his hands turned into a fist and took his seat right in front of you, his fist tight on the table.

 “I was cleaning before you came,” he said. “Before you see it I want you to know that I might have thought something I shouldn’t have when I saw it, that’s true, but I trust you. Always have. I just tend to overthink constantly and then I saw it and I shouldn't have.”

 Your breath was caught in your throat. You knew what it was even before he even showed it to you.

 Steven opened his hand and there it was, the post-it; the one Marc had left for you the first night you stayed the night in that very same flat, you had forget to take it with you when you left that day. Your eyes caught a glimpse of Steven and for a second everything felt unreal. The fact that he had cried for a note that his very fingers had written for you… and the fact that he thought you were seeing someone else, was simply overwhelming.

 Then something clicked in your brain. Everything came back to you in a second. You had to react somehow, or he’d think you were cheating on him.

 So you smiled, although you weren’t sure how it looked from other's people's eyes. You tried to chuckle, but it only came out as half a sigh, half a moan.

 “Steven… that’s what you were so worried about?”

 He didn’t look entirely convinced.

 We need to talk -Marc. The words, especially his name, felt like accusations; and wrong. They felt wrong in Steven’s hands.

 “I didn’t,” he said. “At first I thought the worst, but… it’s not what you think. I saw it and felt bad and then I realized that it was just my brain making up scenarios and giving me a sight of what I thought I was seeing, a sight that it’s probably not real. I mean- I don’t have the context…”

 You silently thanked that Steven took so long to say anything, because it helped your nerves and gave you a minute to think about what to say next.

 “… and you think I can give you context?”

 “I mean, no, you don’t owe me anything,” he shook his head. “I’d like to think that if you were seeing someone else you wouldn’t be here with me. I was… I am scared of losing you, that’s the thing. I have this sensation in the pit of my stomach that something bad is about to happen, like something really bad. And I found this and I wasn’t in a good place, mentally. That’s what I’m saying. I’m scared, but I don’t think you’re cheating. Well, would it even be considered cheating if we’re not officially dating yet?” He laughed it off, but you saw the hurt in his eyes. “I hope I was clear, because I’m not very good with words.”

 “Yeah, you were” you answered and took one of his hands in yours. You sighed happily, relieved. “Marc is a friend of mine. He’s my best friend, actually. We met in high school. He thought I was mad at him because he’s been a bit of an asshole lately. He barely answers my calls anymore and he’s one of those people who has trouble speaking his mind, being honest… the whole lot; and he left that in my purse a few hours before our date because we had a fight. I’m sorry it triggered you so much.”

 Now he seemed convinced, maybe because a big part of what you’d just said was true. Maybe the timeline wasn’t exactly correct, but all the rest was true.

 “Did you two make peace?”

 Oh, Steven. He looked just so concerned about it for no reason. He was a real sweetheart.

 “Yeah, yes, kind of,” you responded. “We talked on the phone.”

 “I’m so glad. That’s important, to talk things through... pun intended” he chuckled.

 Steven kissed your knuckles and, in a swift motion, rose up from the chair. You saw him as he placed one of the plates in the microwave. Your heart ached at the sight, at the domesticity, at all the gestures and the kindness.

 You saw the face of Marc in his features as he reheated the food. It felt wrong, the fact that you had just explained who Marc was to the face that you had grown up with, the very same face and body you had associated with Marc Spector your whole life. You felt like saying it, the truth barely hanging from your lips.

 Steven deserved to know.

 Ultimately, you decided to give Marc an ultimatum.

   A radio station was now playing in Steven's flat. None of you gave much importance to it; it had just been Steven's way of lightning up the mood while both of you had dinner. It surprisingly worked, given the fact that both of you joked about hating BBC Radio One while neither made an effort to change it. Steven would mimic Nick Grimshaw every once in a while, making you laugh and therefore laughing himself too.

 For dessert, Steven turned on the television and put on a documentary about Egyptian history. Now two half-finished plates of vegan cheesecake were left alone on top of his coffee table, while Grimshaw's voice became white noise in the background. On the sofa, you had started by sitting next to Steven with one of your legs over his knees, leaning slightly towards him as you ate the cake. But half an hour had passed and now the monotone voice of the history channel couldn't keep your attention anymore, you had both legs over his lap now; and watched him silently while stroking his hair. Then you went down, your nails barely touching his flesh as your fingers ran down the length of his arm, from the shoulder to the wrist and back up again.

 After a while, he stopped paying attention to the documentary.

 "Am I boring you?" he asked, sinking into the couch and pressing his forehead against yours. "We can watch something else."

 You shook your head. "It's fine. I like to see you all invested on the ancient world," you answered.

 "Uhmm..." he closed his eyes and sighed. "I stopped being invested a while ago, love. Plus, I thought you fancied to learn a bit about it"

 That was true, you'd asked him to give you egyptology classes.

 "Yeah," you chuckled. "I wanted you to teach me because you put so much love into it, I didn't mean watching history channel; but that's okay, I can do that too."

 Steven put the TV on mute and patted your legs on his lap signalling for you to let him go. He took a book from the large stack on his desk and when he returned to the sofa, he wrapped his arm around your legs and returned to the first position. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held the book open with one hand.

 "Mythology’s fine?" he asked.

 You nodded. "Mythology is perfect."

 He started reading, and you occasionally stopped to ask questions. After a while, he simply opened a family tree on the first page of the book.

 "Let's get the basics first, shall we?" he mocked you, making fun at your lack of knowledge. "We can start with the Ennead. You remember what I said about it, right?"

 You nodded, he had complained profusely about the marketing campaign of the museum. It had so many gods missing, and he was fuming about it for three days.

 "Yeah," you kissed him on his jaw, unable to help yourself. "Who are they?"

 "There's nine of them," he shivered behind your touch. "Atum, Tefnut, Shu, Geb and Nut, Set, Nephthys..."

 With every name you planted a kiss on his cheek; and after a while, you realized you were now leaving kisses on his neck. Steven closed his eyes and shivered; then you stopped.

 "And the other two?" you asked him, with the most innocent face.

 Steven opened his eyes slowly, dizzy and astonished at the same time.

 "Are you having a laugh?"

 You smiled and shook your head. "Not at all, I'm interested. I really am."

 He squinted at you, then he pointed out some drawings on the family tree.

 "As I was saying... Atum, Tefnut," he said, you resumed your kisses on his neck and he made a hissing noise. "Geb, Nut, Isis... ugh." he pushed the book aside with closed eyes and you stopped.

 His eyes shot open and you asked him:

 "Why are you stopping?"

 He huffed, "I don't know, I seem to have a leech on my throat."

 A laugh erupted from you.

 "Oh, thanks for that. Really, cheers," you answered. "I wanna know the other names though. Poor deities, they are not important enough to be named."

 He squinted at you, making a face as if he had been insulted.

 "Atum, Tefnut, Isis..." he spoke quickly.

 "You already named those," you crossed both your arms. Then you started to hear new names and you brought your lips to his Adam’s apple. Steven groaned, his body trembling under your touch.

 "Alright, that's it."

 With the arm he had around your shoulders, he pushed you against him; his other palm cupping your cheek. Soon, you were breathing the same air, or rather not breathing at all. Steven kissed you hungrily, intensely. His tongue still tasted like blueberries and cheesecake, and under it, the own taste of his mouth. It sent a lightning bolt to every nerve ending of your anatomy; a single wave of pleasure straight to where you needed Steven the most. Your knees sank on the couch when you got on top of him, both of them at each side of his hips; Steven grabbed yours with a slight touch at first and nailed his fingertips on your thighs after. His kisses stopped for a second, his breath loomig over your throat. He looked at you through his eyelashes, seemingly asking for permission; just to leave a trail of lazy kisses down your throat a second later.

 Steven reached the hollow space at the end of your throat. He wetted his lips and left a kiss there. As a consequence, your hips rubbed against him, and for the first time, you noticed the prominent bulge growing against your inner thigh, dangerously close to your entrance only hid by your jeans.

 Steven groaned, his brown eyes rolling into the back of his skull for a split second.

 “Don’t stop,” you begged when his sight came back. His breath hot against your collarbone.

 His puppy eyes looked at you through his eyelashes, and his jaw tightened.

 “It’s been a long time since…” he whispered, gasping. “I’m sorry, love. I don’t know what to do.”

 His voice came out low, weak. He looked almost miserable.

 You took his face in both your hands. Steven didn't get his eyes out of you, admiring you with such love in his dark gaze that you wondered if you were seeing things. The way he eyed you, as if you hung the moon, made your heart ache.

 "Steven, your body is asking for something; give it to it," you whispered. His lips parted as he watched you, he was full of desire but unable to move. "Don't think so much. Just get what you want."

 He was trying, you could see it in the way he planted another kiss just above the neckline of your top. He was really trying; but you needed him quicker. Before he could get his hands on you, you were already taking your shirt off.

 You heard Steven's breathing change when your covered breasts fell right in front of his line of vision, the lace bra catching his attention. He swallowed loudly, his lips parted at the sight.

 "Do you always wear these?" he asked.

 You lightly chuckled, the reaction was better than anything you'd imagined. "I wish I could say I do; but no, I'm wearing it just for you."

 He bit his lower lip right before burying his face in your cleavage, leaving wet kisses on his path. One of his hands slid under the bra, your skin erupting on goosebumps all over your body; and he squeezed, applying the right amount of pressure. You took his other hand and placed it under the other side of your bra. You gasped for air and moved your hips, trying to get some relief inside your drenched, ruined underwear. Steven cried out at the contact.

 You couldn't stand the position anymore and got off, laying next to him on the couch just a second later. Steven, still fully dressed, rushed over you like a hungry beast; positioning himself between your legs and throwing the book somewhere behind him. He kissed you, wet tongue heavy inside your own mouth; oxygen kept inside your lungs because you couldn't quite breathe. Your chest seized, but you didn't care. You grabbed the dark curls at the back of his head, pushing him further as if it was possible. It was almost a breath-holding competition. And he lost, gasping for air while resting his head on your collarbone.

 "You're too dressed," you complained, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt. He took it off in one swift motion.

 When his skin made contact with yours, you realised how hot it was. He was warm, comfortable. The star of David fell cold on your skin, hanging from his neck. You ran your fingers down his chest, touching soft body hair, and became perplexed at how his muscles seemed to be both soft and rigid at the same time. He was sweating and you couldn't think about anything you wanted more than to lick the tears of sweat out of his flesh.

 Steven licked your pulse point in your neck, and you couldn't help but let out a cry.

 "You alright?" he asked, appearing again above you, fear staining his face, but you couldn't do anything else than nod. His features softened and he leaned in to taste your lips again, He was careful and tender this time.

 "Tell me what you want, Steven," you sighed, your mind clear for the first time in minutes as you realized he needed another push to keep going. His eyes lit up at the nickname. "You can have everything you want, touch anywhere you want, I'm yours tonight."

 Steven hesitated, but something awakened in him nonetheless. You saw it in the way his gaze darkened even more. He kneeled on the couch, straightening his back above you. He watched you as he slowly unbuttoned your jeans, waiting for a reaction that signalled him to stop. Your breathing became ragged and your eyes got stuck in the way he unzipped your trousers.

 "Look at me, angel," he whispered.

 His features appeared again in your field of vision, but your focus remained where Steven touched you. He slid his palm over your wet underwear.

 "Bloody hell, you're drenched," he said, his flat hand cupping all of you. "I want to touch here, can I touch here?"

 You tried to take a deep breath. "Yeah. Please, do."

 He didn't waste time. He took both your jeans and panties off, completely, without so much as getting a quick glance at the lace. He threw them somewhere on the floor. Your knees were on either side of him, so he had full access and nothing to stop him. His thumb drew circles on your clit without warning, slow-paced and watching your reaction. Steven could not, for the love of him, do anything without making sure you were okay with it.

 He then pushed a finger through your entrance, his breath getting stuck on his chest as he wondered at the sight. You were so wet that he added two right away and pumped.

 "Harder, please, Steven.”

 He obeyed, fingering you with passion. He made a face, his eyebrows frowning and his lips parted. His eyes back at you soon enough.

 "Better?" he asked. "Is that good? That's how you like it?"

 "Yes, yes," you answered, watching his perfect fingers disappear inside of you.

 Steven accommodated himself, his free hand now next to your face, supporting himself on top of you so he could be closer. His fingers reached all the right places, the exact perfect angle inside of you.

 "C-can I have another one?"

 You couldn't help but think that you sounded like him now. He chuckled softly and another finger got in. Steven had them all the way buried to his knuckles, you could feel it.

 "Of course you can," he said. Then he leaned in at your quivering form, he kissed your temple. "You look lovely right now, with my fingers inside of you. Wish you could see it."

 The words sent another wave of pleasure right to your core. The man was really good at dirty talk, even if he had barely opened his mouth. He must have felt it too, because he smiled as if he remembered an inside joke.

 You exhaled with difficulty as he moved them again, slower but deeper. You buried your nails in his shoulder, not realizing you could hurt him until he hissed. At some point amidst the fog of pleasure in your mind, he intertwined his fingers with yours, the back of your hand now useless against the fabric of the sofa.

 "I wanna taste you.”

 You thought you had imagined the words that fell from his mouth, a hallucination, although a pleasant one. After all, you couldn't quite form any rational thought at the moment. But then he stopped fingering you. Steven kneeled on the floor, took both your thighs and put them on top of his shoulders. Before you could even get adjusted to the idea and the perfect sight of Steven Grant between your legs, he gave a long lick and sucked.

 "Steven!" you cried out, getting his attention.

 He gave you a look asking for permission. Your face said it all.

 His fingers were buried in the flesh of your thighs to keep you in place. His tongue flat against your core until he started licking and doing circles, and you needed him closer. You tried to reach his hair, his face, anything, and lifted your hips slightly to meet his tongue; but he was having none of that.

 "No" he mumbled, hungrily, his breath hitching against your most sensitive part. "Stay still, please."

 One of his palms extended over your abdomen. Your orgasm starting to build up, right below his touch and threatening with tearing you apart. In the back of your mind, you marvelled at the thought that he was doing all the right things while —most probably— not having the faintest idea of what he was doing.

 You quivered as he ate you like a starving man.

 "Don't stop," you moaned, your voice strange to your own ears, an octave higher. The heat was unbearable, your orgasm making its way afloat, threatening to wreck you from the inside out. "Steven..."

 All your muscles got rigid in an instant, locked in place. A blast of pure bliss extending through every inch of your body. The ceiling vanished as your vision got clouded with black spots. The man between your legs kept his pace even then, guiding you through it, until you couldn’t keep it anymore and, becoming aware of your struggling, he stopped.

 The sight was the most twisted and beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Steven leaned his head and kissed your inner thigh with his eyes closed, the wet mark he left there, a ghost of his own lips. He rested his head on your lap and you saw it, his chin glistening with the mix of fluids under the dim light of the living room. He thought you looked lovely? He definitely did.

 “Sorry, got a bit carried away there. You taste like heaven,” he said. “Was that good?”

 Oh, this motherfucker.

 “Oh, cheers, those are lovely words” he laughed. You’d said it out loud, hissed it under your breath. “I’ll take that as a yes”

 You smiled, exhausted and satisfied. The baby hairs sticking to the surface of your skin, drops of sweat on your temples, your collarbones, the back of your knees. Steven looked down, just to close his eyes and curse under his breath.

 When you looked at him properly, you realised he was stroking himself. His black boxers down just enough to free his boner and take it into his hands.

 "Steven..." you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, as if you were trying not to scare a wild animal. "Come here, let me touch you."

 He let out a pleased sigh, his cheeks blushed. "You don't have to, really. You don't owe me anything.”

 Not only his chin was glistening under the light now, but the tip of his member was also wet enough not to need any kind of lube. Steven was big, as you had already noticed, but it was impressive to see him that way: naked, flustered, needy.

 You shook your head.

 "You're such an idiot sometimes," you responded, and pulled his arm so he'd get into a seating position next to you. "Come here, let me see how pretty you are."

 Steven held his breath even before you took his member in your hands. You stroked him once, slowly, all his muscles relaxing at the same time, his eyes rolling back into his head just to close them shortly after. He moaned your name in such a way that you wondered how he had kept himself from fucking you when he did it to you. Your own pulse throbbing in your most intimate part with every moan of his.

 "Stop, stop," he whispered, almost as if he didn't mean it; but you obeyed, even though you were just about to put him into your mouth. "I'll cum if you keep doing that."

 You softly chuckled, looked at him with the most innocent face you had, "but babe… that's the point."

 He smiled with his eyes closed, "I want to... I want to be inside..." he timidly requested, not finishing a single sentence. "Can we do that? I have condoms."

 A warm sensation filled your heart. All you did was brush Steven's hair back, he was sweaty and just like that he looked amazing. He was the most angelical, sweet man you'd ever met.

 You stood, waiting for him to do the same. You took his hand when he did and walked to his bedroom space. He let you go just to get to the bedside table and fetch a condom. Your feet accidentally stood on the sand, but you didn't give importance to it and laid on the bed.

 "Should I be jealous?" you asked, as you buried your elbows on the mattress. "Who are you using them with?"

 He smiled as he walked his path back to you.

 "Well, hopefully, you." he joked, his feet covered in sand when he finally got to your spot. "I bought them this morning if that's what you're asking."

 Steven stroked himself twice before putting it on, one of his knees on the edge of the bed. And you took the opportunity to finally remove your bra. You watched him fascinated and so did he. Once he was done, you backed up on the bed and he followed, grains of sand over the white sheets. His thumb touched your entrance and circled around your clit when you gave him access. He took his member, the tip barely touching your entrance.

 "Are you sure?" he asked, mindlessly caressing the top of your thigh while he read your body language. You smiled, nodded and cupped his cheek, hoping that gave him some kind of reassurance. "Alright, stop me if it hurts, or anything, really."

 Sparks of pleasure exploded and expanded through your veins as Steven pushed slowly into you. The impossible pressure building up around your walls, knocking the air out of your lungs despite the sluggishness of his action. Closing your eyes you tried to take a deep breath.

 "...alright?" you just heard the last word of what he said, focusing on the sweet pain surging through you. He was big, indeed. And when you didn't open your eyes he ran his thumb over your lips and called your name.

 "I'm fine," you huffed between breaths, annoyed at him for stopping.

 "Sure?"

 "I can take it, Steven," you said, your heels digging into his backside, urging him to follow.

 And so he did. With one last swift movement he was completely buried in you. You watched him trying to regain his composure, but he was gasping for air as if any breath could be the last; and so were you. He bowed his head to look at the show, the place where his body and yours became one, and his lungs deflated as he groaned.

 He gave you time to adjust, barely a few seconds as you revelled in between pain and pleasure. Meanwhile, Steven licked his own thumb, circling and pinching your left nipple a moment later, the gesture sending shivers to your spine. He kissed you one last time and he pulled his hips back.

 Steven began pounding into you, slow-paced and sweet first, squeezing his eyes shut while he kept your knee around his waist. Frenetic and mindless later. With each thrust, you felt as if he could split your body in two, but you could take it, you could. You repeated it in your mind, sometimes mumbling it in a low voice as he kept his rhythm. His whole studio was filled with the noises of both your bodies crashing into each other; it was disgusting, dirty, obscene, all in the best of senses.

 Your vision became blurry at some point, and you couldn't see anything else beyond the spots in your vision. Your eyes were filled with tears; he was hitting right into your g-spot. And he clung to you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to this cruel earth. His hands were stuck in your waist, just below your ribs. You were certain you'd have bruises tomorrow, you thought as you gasped, unable to form a word or take a breath.

 "Oh, lord, look at you," he hissed as if he had cut his finger with a piece of paper. "Look at you, my goodness, look at you."

 He was completely out of his mind, repeating your name and the exact same three to four words time and time again.

 "Steve- Steven," you gasped between thrusts. "Shut up. You're-You're hyperventilating."

 He slowed his pace, finally, just for a second. He bit his lower lip and pounded once, hard; and kept the intensity.

 "Let me hyper- ugh... in peace," he said, he let out a moan that sounded like half a laugh ."You look so perfect right now, my angel, my piece of heaven...

 An orgasm was building up once more, warming every single inch of your insides. Steven drew circles over your clit as you watched his desperation, his despair, trying to get you closer. He pounded twice more and his whole body went rigid, pressing his hips against your core as far as possible, deeply buried in you; your own pleasure slowly fading as his body collapsed.

 He fell almost like a dead weight over you, somehow getting enough strength and willpower to prevent his body from crushing you.

 "You were so good, baby, so good for me," you muttered as he closed his tired eyes, his cheek against your stomach, drops of sweat falling from his temples and on your naked body. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. "You're okay, I got you," you said, stroking his dark curls. He smiled through the pleasure. "I got you."

 "I'm sorry," he mumbled after a couple of seconds. You got annoyed at just the thought of how many times he had apologized in the last hour. "I told you I wouldn't last much."

 You shook your head and stared into his saddened eyes.

 "It's fine darling," you said. "It's our first time together, we got ourselves all worked up-... ah…"

 You sighed at the loss of contact, Steven backing up and getting himself out of you. The condom was soon tied and back into the package when he said, "let me make it up to you."

 It didn't take you long for you to come again, also in his mouth. It was difficult not to when he put so much effort into it, barely breathing through his nose. Steven didn't let go this time either, hungrily eating you out until the tears you had left in your eyes wetted your hair and stained his sheets.

 He stroked your hair, laying next to you, as you made it back from your high; hugging you and admiring you with that look of amazement perpetually on his face. He covered your naked body with his sheets and buried his nose in your neck, his breathing hot over your pulse.

 "That was so good," you gasped, looking at him as he still ran his fingers through your hair. "You're so good at it, it's mental."

 He chuckled. "Don't say that after what happened," he said, his cheeks blushing again. "I swear I'm not letting myself cum before you ever again."

 "I swear I'm gonna slap you if you don't shut the fuck up," you said.

 Steven made a gesture of zipping up his mouth. He kissed your shoulder and one of your cheeks as he cupped the other, and kept talking nonetheless.

 "Remember when I said I wanted to do so many things?" he asked. "I thought maybe we could have a weekend together. I got a flyer promoting Brighton from the museum," he said, a pang pulsed in your stomach. "Must be somewhere, probably on my wallet. I'll show you tomorrow..." he stopped then, noticing your frown. "What's wrong?"

 You shook your head slightly, your lips a thin line on your face. Your fingers played over his chest, your legs entangled with his.

 "Not Brighton, I don't wanna go there."

 His gaze softened, his gentle touch placing the baby hairs behind your ear over and over again, even though it was a lost cause.

 "Not Brighton, not the beach, or not anywhere?" he asked.

 His words directly translated into your brain, he was wondering if you simply refused to go on a weekend getaway with him.

 "Just not Brighton."

 He gave a long sigh. "We can easily fix that, I've heard Bournemouth or Torquay are really nice at this time of the year."

 You smiled, your eyes half-closed, and he mirrored you.

 "You might not want to hear it," he said, slurring his words. "Because it's too soon, whatever people mean by that, but I really do love you and can't wait to see what we build together."

 You giggled softly with your eyes closed, your mind quickly drifting off and into the darkness.

 "I love you, Steven Grant."

 His fingers drew circles on your back, half your body on top of him. You felt him shift underneath, kiss your temple one last time. Then you noticed the warm heat of his comforter above your naked shoulders.

 "Sleep tight, love."

   Next thing you know, a loud thud woke you up.

 Your eyes opened to Steven half-dressed, a pair of navy boxers hiding his perfect arse from you. He muttered something under his breath, his voice an octave deeper. You saw him intend to pick up the books he'd just knocked off, but left them on the floor just before he reached them instead. He put one of his fists between his teeth, you saw it in the reflection on the window. The muscles in his back trembled as if he was silently crying.

 "Steven..."

 He jumped in place, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists. He didn't turn.

 "Put your clothes on and get the fuck out of my house," the American accent harsh, his voice even deeper than Steven's usually was in the morning.

 But he was not Steven anymore, and it was certainly not morning yet.

 Your heart sank inside your ribs, the air suddenly knocked out of you. You jolted upon a seating position, dragging the white sheets to your chest so you didn't feel as exposed as you were. Marc let out a sarcastic laugh from where he was, walking toward the living room. When he came back he threw your clothes on the bed without saying a single word. If you weren't awake before, now you were.

 "I don't know why you're even trying to cover yourself," he said, words sharp like a knife.

 Pain flooded through your veins, a knot growing in your chest and throat that didn't quite let you breathe. You let the sheets down and they fell off you. Your jeans were cold when you reached for them, the fabric suddenly felt dirty on your hands. All your limbs were heavy when you got out of bed, your own weight too heavy for your knees to hold.

 Marc didn't even give you a glance, he just took a pair of grey joggers from a drawer and stood there, eyes fixed on the door, hands on his hips, while his mind sailed far away from that room. With a new pain blooming in your chest now, you guessed that was how getting shot must have felt.

 "No words, uh?" he turned finally, just when you had finished zipping your jeans, only the bra covering your breasts. His face was red and contorted into a grimace, half pain, half disgust.

 You clenched your jaw until your teeth hurt. You hadn't said anything because you didn't find the words, and couldn't figure out what he was thinking either. It hurt even more that fact, to realize that the person you had known your whole life, the same person you shared so many memories, inside jokes and a whole inner language with, the best friend you once only needed a look to share an opinion with, was now unreadable to you.

 The sole idea that he woke up and, oblivious to him, you were naked laying on his bed was horrible, to say the least. He'd said once, a long time ago, that he considered you the sister he never had. You couldn't even begin to think how violent it was for him to be in this situation.

 "I- I don't know..."

 "Don't cry," he said, a disgusted look on his face as he turned away from you. "Don't do that, seriously. It's pathetic."

 You touched your face to find that your cheeks were wet. Somehow, you hadn't noticed before. His words, on the other hand, felt like a knife impossible to escape from. Your tears were obvious and falling without control now. If he was planning to murder you with insults a disgusted looks, you'd rather have the final blow now.

 "Marc," you said, following him as he walked to the living room and then, the kitchen. "Let's talk about this."

 "No."

 First, he turned off the radio, the low whisper of music coming to an end.

 "Marc, please. I can explain..."

 It didn't matter how much you begged, because he wouldn't hear you. A hot rush of adrenaline ran through your veins before that realization, your fingers trembled over your arms while you hugged yourself. Marc circled the sofa and took the remote of the coffee table, the history channel finally turned off.

 "What happens when he wakes up in the morning, uh?" you tried to reason with him. "He's a human being, Marc. What happens then?"

 "That's the only thing you care about, uh," he said, jaw clenched. "Him. Well, I don't fucking care. You didn't care about me either."

 "You know that's not true."

 Marc pursed his lips, taking his angry stare away from you. His pupils danced around the empty space, as if he was trying to find somewhere to hide. Then he saw something, his whole face shifting to one of pure disgust once again, his kuckles turning a concerning shade of white as he clenched them. Your heart fluttered in your mouth when you followed his eyes, finding a wet stain on the fabric of the couch.

 Your whole perception of reality was shattered as you covered as much of your exposed flesh as you could. It happened so quickly that your mind didn't even acknowledge his actions until all of it was over. When you opened your eyes again, the couch was upside down, the coffee table shattered, the floor covered in sharp pieces of glass. He had throw it as if it was as light as a feather.

 Taking as many steps backwards as you could, you hit the kitchen counter. All the scene felt like a nightmare, in fact, you prayed that it was a nightmare. There was no way in hell that was Marc, Marc would never be so violent, but the other option was even more impossible.

 It was as if time had stopped. Marc turned around, looking for you, his whole body visibly less tense. And he found you trying to hide yourself, become one with the black shadows of the kitchen.

 "(Y/N)," your heard him mutter. "(Y/N), what are you doing? Come here."

 "You're out of your mind, Marc," you said.

 He stopped in his tracks and put a hand to his stomach, as if he had been shot. "I'm sorry. I really am. I blacked out. It's just a couch, I'd never hurt you. I won't hurt you."

 Tears streamed down your face, worse than before. You tried to cover them up just as faint sobs arose out of your chest, and Marc sprinted to your spot in the kitchen. He hugged you, his strong arms embracing all of you, his warm calloused hands on your back.

 "I'm so sorry," he said, his chest trembling behind your ear, his heart on a cruel race without a finish line. "Don't be scared, please. Don't be scared of me."

 His beg awakened something in you, the part of you that had always wanted to protect Marc Spector from everything and everyone. It was a silent throb in your chest, a painful one. It had always been like this, after all, you were his protector even if it didn't look like that.

He had always been there for you. He picked you up with his dad's car when you went out partying, he made sure you didn't drink too much when both of you hanged out together without other people, he was the shoulder you'd cry on when something bad happened, even if he could only speak on the phone because he was so many miles away from you. And still, you were the only one who saved him; even if you didn't know that yet.

 His sobbing eventually came to a stop, the same as yours. Your fingers were buried in his curls, running your fingers through his hair. Your cheek was against his chest, listening as his heartbeat slowed. The star over the hollow space between his collarbones shone.

 "Can we talk now?" he pleaded, to which you just nodded.

 He took a step back, his face a sad stare far away from where his body was currently standing. He blinked a few times, his eyes fluttering as if he was trying to see something in the darkness.

 "Oh, god. I'm so sorry."

 It felt like magic at the time, because as soon as he said it, a burning but faint pain crawled up on your shoulder. Marc stretched his arm behind you, reaching for the light switch in the kitchen. Bright yellow light engulfing the whole space. Then you pulled your stare back down at your shoulder; there were small cuts there, maybe a handful of them barely bleeding, a single drop of blood in many of them. Some glass splinters must have grazed you, but nothing was stuck there and you almost didn't notice, so that's what's important.

 Marc, on the other hand...

 "Marc, look at you..."

 You couldn't help but stare at his arms, he had at least a dozen of them, not bleeding enough to bleed out or get stitches or staining the floor, but enough to have a few paths of half-dried blood down his arms and definitely worse than the ones you had. Even though this was without a doubt his fault, you couldn't bring yourself to be mean to him; and Steven didn't deserve waking up with infected cuts, so you got a first aid kit from the bathroom and two pairs of flip flops because you were both still barefoot and half naked.

 "Where's your shirt?" he asked when you were back, gathering everything from the kit and arranging them while he was sitting and resting his arm on the dinning table. "I didn't see it."

 Taking a look around, you saw the piece of fabric on the floor. It was barely a dark stain under the couch.

 "Shit, I didn't see it there," he said, then got up. "I'm goona get you something."

 "Sit down, Marc."

 He's not one who likes orders, never has been, but the look you gave him said it all. Marc didn't even think about it, he just sat down again as if you had hit his rewind button. His lips parted, he breathed in, as if to say something, but then his mouth shut again and he allowed you to patch him up.

 The cuts weren't deep, and there was only a single, small shard on his biceps not deep enough to worry about. He took it out with his fingers before you could get the tweezers. You bandaged his arm in white gauze while scolding him. A little smiled appeared on his lips while he watched you get all worried for him.

 "Steven's gonna freak out when he wakes up," you said, finally breaking up the uncomfortable silence after a couple of minutes.

 "Yeah... he will, in a couple of days," he watched you frown and explained. "I have somewhere to be over the weekend. I'll be back on sunday, probably."

 "With Layla?"

 He huffed throuh the nose. "No, not with Layla. Why does everything have to do with Layla?"

 "I don't know," you shrugged. "I really don't have any idea of why you'd have to be anywhere. You quit the military, Steven provides for you, and you don't talk to Layla anymore-"

 "It's complicated."

 You pressed the cotton harder against the last cut visible. He hissed.

 "You always say that."

 He bit the inside of his cheek, in his face a look of desperation.

 "I said I'll tell you, can't you trust that either?" he said. You watched him hesitate for a second, but finally talked. "I did trust you, though, and look where it got us."

 You had just finished putting on the last band-aid, his left arm half covered in white gauze. Your body jumped out of the chair, unable to keep your muscles still anymore. The moonlight kissed your features as you supported yourself against the closed window frame.

 Guessing it made no sense to hide anything anymore, because you'd lost them both either way, you decided there shouldn't be any more lies between you and them.

 "Can you blame me, Marc?" you gasped, turning back to him and suddenly out of breath at the thought of what you were about to do. "Can you blame me for falling in love with someone who's charming and fun and looks exactly the same way as you? Someone who, apart from being a wonderful person, has all your best characteristics and isn't even a fraction of how much of a prick you are?"

 You ran a hand through your hair and pulled your stare away. Your chest was tight, but you refused to cry anymore. It had been enough.

 "I've loved you for so long... I've loved you for so long" you repeated, looking up at the ceiling of his home; you weren't sure you could bear the look of pity in his eyes.

 The weight fell from your shoulders inmediately after your confession. You felt so light that you wondered how had you lived until then with such a heavy burden on your back.

 "How did any of us expect this to work?" you asked, but didn't think he'd answer.

 "I wonder the same thing."

 Even if you thought he meant he regretted asking you for that favor, that arrangement, when you looked at him you bumped into his sorrowful gaze; he wasn't blaming you, he was genuinely wondering.

 "He loves you so much, and I should have known." he said.

 You crossed your arms in front of him, his sight back up again to meet yours. Curiosity and bewilderment loomed over you, there was something you were not seeing, something he was not saying.

 "You couldn't have known, Marc," you reassured him, although you guessed he didn't deserve any comfort right now. "You couldn't."

 He chuckled. It was a bitter one, little more than a long, defeated sigh. His face contorted into a grimace, his gaze turning into a thousand-yard stare, looking at the couch on his left side. His jaw clenched, the jawline sharp and visible.

 "Are you not going to ask me how I know how much he loves you?" Marc asked, eyes still unfocused as he watched you. "I told you last time I saw you, but you didn't listen."

 Memories flooded in front of you, your grasp on reality leaving your mind. Last time... what had he said last time?, you asked yourself. The whole interaction happened again, the angry stare of his, the accusations, the rain soaking his jacket and wetting your hair. He had said he knew how he felt, because he could feell it too.

 "I did listen. You said you could sense his feelings."

 Another laugh without humor, without sense. He stood up, walked a few steps in your direction almost in slow-motion, as if he was trying not to scare a wild animal in need.

 "I did not say that."

 The realization hit you then, and everything made sense in your mind. It was so sudden that you felt absolutely overwhelmed. All the worry, the threat of him, all of it made sense, like some kind of twisted puzzle whose image you couldn't make sense of before.

 You backed off, your back hitting the closed window. Marc's features shifted from sadness to concern in a split second as he tried to make his way to you. He whispered your name.

 "Marc?" you said, as if you were threatening him with his own name. You pointed at him, your index finger jabbed him in his chest once he was mere inches away from your face. You could feel his warmth, his smell the same as Steven, the red-stained bandages rubbing your hip by accident when he went to cup your cheek. You got out of his way, almost smacking your head against the window by accident. "Have a long, hard think about your next words. I mean it, Marc."

 His lips parted, his breathen uneven, his face turned into a look of dismay. He looked miserable from where you were and after all he had done and said tonight, you still wanted to comfort him.

 He watched you as if he was a lost man and you were the only map he could find, but also the only one he wanted.

 "I don't have to think anything," he said. "I've thought about my feelings long enough, I'm tired. I just want to feel them, not think-"

 Your palm burnt when you slapped him, his face turning an angry red almost instantly. You were certain it had hurt you more than it'd hurt him.

 "You piece of shit," you spat. He turned his face back to you, licking the blood flowing from his lower lip. "Who the hell do you think you are? You come here, you insult me, and now this."

 You turn away from the window, practically pushing him away as you walked. He follows you with his eyes, a hand wiping off the blood from his face.

 "If this is you trying to-"

 "This is me trying nothing," he said, stern look on his face. "This is me trying to be damn honest."

 "This is you trying to get me away from Steven, that's what it is," you said, walking back to where he was. "This is not funny. Do you have any idea how much I've suffered for you?" you anxiously ran a hand though your hair. "Why do you hate me so much, Marc? When I'm finally happy again, you try to take that away from me. What have I done?"

 He clenched his jaw for a few seconds, and you waited with your hands turned into fists. Under the yellow light of the kitchen you witnessed how his eyes welled up with tears.

 "Why do I even try?" he breathed, a single tear falling from one of his eyes. "You don't understand anything, do you?" he asked. "I've loved you for so long, and I couldn't say anything. I thought this was what you wanted..." he stopped, mindlessly biting the wound on his lip and grimacing. "Steven and I might seem like different people but we are actually just a fracture of the same mind. He loved you from the very first moment he saw you, because I loved you too. He's just better at showing it than I am."

 You shook your head, your heart sinking in your chest.

 "That's not true."

 "He did say you felt familiar, right? Why do you think that is? He's seen you before."

 "No." you shook your head again. "Shut up, I don't wanna hear you."

 Your stomach flicked in it's place, the room suddenly too small. You walked back to the bedroom, looking for another window that you could open and try to get some air into your lungs, some logic and reasoning into your mind if possible, too.

 "You remember him, don't you?" he shouted as you walked away, the sound of his voice following you. "In Brighton, do you remember him?"

 The final blow was brutal, merciless. You barely reached the wall when your knees started trembling. Brighton was the place where everything started to go wrong. It was the night when your life and Marc's separated, the day you stopped almost instantly seeing your best friend everyday. The day your plans for the future were wrecked, the day your Marc left and never came back the same, the day you became lonely and grew up into an even lonelier adult. If he already was a somewhat timid and quiet person, he came back from war even worse, but also as a dark, sarcastic and stubborn man. You had dreaded that place and that day for years, decades. You had cried and mourned the person you could have become and the happy memories you would never have.

 "Breathe," Marc said as he caught your shoulders, hugging you from behind. "I know it's hard but you need to breathe."

 A sob broke out of your throat, and he held you as your knees gave up. Rather than try and pick you up, he kneeled on the floor too. The sand became an uncomfortable pain on your flesh, but it didn't hurt as much as you heart. Marc kissed your hair, your temple, he whispered something you could not hear above the blood running behind your ears. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears rolled down your face.

 "I can't breathe-"

 "Yes, you can. Look at me," he said, but you didn't.

 He manoeuvred your body so that you were now sitting against the wall. He put your head between your knees and stood up for a millisecond to open the window. Then he sat in front of you.

 "In and out, in and out" he squeezed your hand, trying to give you some kind of comfort through the attack, while he himself breathed loudly trying to guide you. "That's it, baby. You're doing so good."

 A long and painful minute followed, but even though he himself had been the cause, in a way, the fact that it was Marc who helped you was enough to make it a little bit easier. At the end, it eased enough to for you to look at him again. Your lashes were wet and full of tears, but you could finally talk to him again.

 "That's good," he muttered to himself. He gave a relieved sigh. "You're okay now."

 "When did you realize?" you finally whispered, feeling your whole body numb and tired, but you needed to know. The need was stronger than the tiredness, and you deserved it after so many years.

 "What thing?"

 Your words came out barely a whisper.

 "...that you loved me."

 He shook his head, his frown a concerned one. "You don't need to hear that now."

 "I deserve it Marc," you said. "I deserve it."

 He looked at you as if asking for permission to an unconscious part of your brain, seemingly making sure that you were not going to break again.

 "In my wedding with Layla," he said, he bit the inside of his cheek. "I married her because I thought I had finally met someone I liked more than I liked you, but all I felt was affection; not love," he said. "I was full of guilt and I thought that if I couldn't have you, I might as well mary someone who I owed something to. I was convincing myself that I loved her because of that, but I didn't."

 "What did you owe her, Marc?"

 "(Y/N), please..." he begged. "It's going to hurt, and you're going to hate me."

 A wry laugh came out of your mouth. "I already hate you." you said. "And I'm already hurt."

 A solid minute passed in silence. Marc knew he would earn your hatred for life after that, he knew you would never want to see him again. And you had been the only constant in his life for so long that he couldn't bring himself to face those odds. But in the end, he did.

 "I went work-for-hired after I got discharged from the military, for my old commanding officer. The job was to raid an Egyptian tomb. Layla's father was an archaelogist there, and my superior changed his mind and wanted no witnesses. I tried to save them all, but I couldn't."

 Every word felt like a stab, but tonight you seemed to get used to that, and you were so tired that you couldn't feel anything anymore.

 "You lied to me. You never told me you got discharged. Marc, you became a mercenary."

 He seemed not to react at the word, but you knew it hurt him. Good.

 "You would have asked me why, why I was still out of the country too," he said. "And I didn't wanna lie to you so I just omitted the truth. After what happened in that tomb, I was so... just so tired... I almost died, he shot me and I was in the middle of nowhere with a pile of bodies around me; but I survived," he said, then his eyes looked at you with longing and tears. "All I wanted was to come back to you, and I did. It was your birthday," he smiled and the tears fell from his eyes. "I hated that music but you loved The Killers and I loved being there with you, and I loved being alive."

 You got flashes of that day. You had always wondered why he had suddenly decided that he liked that music, and how clingy he was for weeks after that. He said they had given him another job in England.

 "You've lied to me... for so long?" your voice almost a whisper.

 "I am so sorry."

 "You keep saying that, Marc," you said, your voice with so much disgust and hatred in it that it surprised even yourself; but you couldn't help it. "I felt dirty, all this time lying to Steven, and then here you are, telling me all of this and saying how much you love me as if it mattered now."

 The expression in his face changed, and even then you weren't angry, because you couldn't bring yourself to feel anything.

 "I hate you, Marc," you finally said. "You ruin everything you touch. You ruined Layla's life, you ruined mine, and you're ruining Steven's. You should be ashamed of yourself," then the final words came out, as a wrecking ball ready to end it all. "This is all your fault, Marc. You got yourself into all of this. I hope you die with the guilt."

 His body froze. You saw it, the exact second in which his mind stopped functioning like a toy being turned off. He fell backwards, his back hitting the bed behind him. He gasped for air, his lips parted while he was still looking at you, with those dark brown eyes devoid of all life.

 "Steven and I..." you muttered. "...We could have been happy. Tell him that when you talk to him, he will hate you as much as I do."

 You weren't sure how, but now you seemed to have enough strength to maybe get home. You were certainly not staying there with him. And with that in your mind, you stood up from where you were and walked to the kitchen for the last time; leaving the limp body of Marc Spector behind you. Silently looking at everything, you tried get that flat burned in your brain as much as you could, because despite all of your plans for the future with Steven unravelling and ending out of nowhere, you still had your best memories in that flat with him, with Steven.

 But you couldn't do that anymore.

 On the chair, you took your jacket; you didn't want anything that belonged to Marc, not even if his shirts smelled like Steven. And before putting it on, you walked to the window and had a glance at the night sky; the full moon shining up there.

 "Oh, my, god."

 The british accent felt like a punch to the gut. The words reverberating in all the walls and into your ears made you uneasy. Was this nightmare of a night ever going to end? Your stomach turned at the thought of seeing Steven now, you wondered if you'd be able to look him in the face, to see past Marc's features staining his face like bleach. It made you wonder if you even had food in your stomach to throw up.

 He ran, literally ran to the kitchen. His eyes shot open before the debris of the coffee table and the couch; but his expression seemed to get relieved at the sight of you. He took your hands in his once he was in front of you. You felt disgusted at the thought of those hands with weapons and blood in them, but didn't have the heart to do anything else than let him hold them.

 "W-What happened?" he said, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

 He was frightened, that you could tell; but you couldn't do anything about it. You couldn't tell him it was okay, because it wasn't. It would never be okay again. You had dreaded this day for a month, and in every kiss you found the bitter taste of the future, but now you couldn't do anything else than leave Marc alone to fix his shit. Maybe then he would become a person again, maybe even a decent one.

 "Please say something," he begged, tears in his eyes; but you didn't know what to do, what to say. You didn't want to hurt him, it wasn't his fault to be a part of Marc's fractured mind. "Please tell me you're okay, tell me I didn't hurt you. Please."

 Then, his eyes caught a glimpse of your wounds, those that were not covered yet, on your shoulder for everyone to see. And you were suddenly walking to the door again.

 "No, no, no," he said, following you and pulling your wrist gently, gentler than anything Marc had done.

 "Let me go, Steven, let me go." you whispered, it sounded more like a plea, like a cry, than anything remotely close to what you intended.

 "Listen- Listen to me, listen to me for a second, will ya?" he said, now in front of you, his eyes locked on yours, both his hands in your cheeks. "You can hate me all you want. Bloody hell, you can leave now and I won't bother you ever again. I just need to know you're alright, love. Please, I only care about that. Please."

 Your chin trembled, the wound in your chest open once again, bleeding and with no sign of getting healed ever again. He was so desperate, and he had no idea what was happening. You felt devastated at the thought that he had simply fallen asleep after an incredible night with you, and had woken up to find his arms bandaged, his flat wrecked and his girlfriend dumping him.

 "I'm fine, baby," your voice broke, your tears fell again.

 He hugged you tight, his strong arms trying not to hurt you, his face trying not to touch the small cuts in your shoulder.

 "I'm so sorry-" he cried. "I'm so freaking sorry. I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot the restraints, I'm such a fucking mess."

 You pulled away from the hug, just enough to kiss his temple, squeezing your eyes shut because you knew it would be the last.

 "Let me take care of that, alright?" he said, getting your hair out of the cuts. His fingers trembled when he did. "I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry," his breathing uneven.

 "I have to go, Steven. Please, let me go."

 He covered his mouth and sobbed. His chest inflating and deflating as he weeped; and you couldn't help but keep crying with him. You hugged him, because he needed it and you did as well, and all of this wasn't even his fault.

 "Please tell me this is a nightmare," he begged, looking for answers in your eyes. "...or a joke, anything. Just-"

 You shook your head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry this happened to you, but I cannot stay. I can't do this anymore."

 Despite the whimpers and the harsh truth, he still nodded.

 “I understand,” Steven said, calmly, so calm that you feared for his psyche. “You can’t do this anymore, I understand.”

 “Steven," you begged. "Don't do this to yourself."

 "No, but I do get it," he nodded again. "I do get it, love. I knew this would happen. It's just... we could have been happy, you know that, right?"

 It was karma, it had to be. Steven had hurt you with the same words you had hurt Marc with. There was no other way, one in which it wasn't whatever god out there giving you back all the pain you had caused him. But you didn't need to be punished, your torment was already this whole mess of a situation.

 "I know," you said.

 He took your hands in his, kissed your knuckles; and then leaned in and kissed your shoulder.

 "I promise you, I'll get help, I'll get rid of this curse. And then, if you want, I'll come for you. I'll give you the happy ending you deserve. I'll give you all the kisses and all the happiness, all the memories and all the kids if you want that too. You're the only heaven, the only one out there for me. I hope you know that."

 Your lips parted, the knot in your throat tight and relentless. You didn't know what to say, except the only thing left.

 "I love you Steven Grant."

 Only twice you had ever said those words. The first, happily in his bed, making plans for the future, loving him in every way a person can be loved. The last one, you were breaking his heart; leaving him behind with questions and doubts, believing a lie that he had told himself so many times throughout the years that he had finally believed it: that he didn't deserve to be loved.

Part 2

[magpie-to-the-morning]

Stone Heart - Part Two

Moodboard by @acrossthesestars

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Steven Grant x Demisexual!Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Tags: Fluff, Friends to lovers, Demisexual reader, Passing mention of unwanted sexual advances (not from Steven)

Summary: Maybe Steven’s one-sided friendship isn’t so one-sided after all… AKA a Moon Knight Pygmalion AU

Author’s Note: The response to Part One has completely blown me away. You can thank @letterfromvienna for encouraging me to turn this silly little idea from a throwaway idea to a two part bit of self-indulgent, romantic fluff, and for contributing some wonderful ideas and bits of dialogue. Thank you also to @acrossthesestars for endless support in the form of proofreading, hand holding, and mood board making. I love you so much, my crow. 🖤

Your heart thunders in your ears as Steven steps into view and oh, the sensation of having a pulse again is nearly as dizzying as being close enough to touch him.

“Hello, Steven.” The words weigh on your tongue like honeycomb, sweet and strange. This isn’t your mother tongue but it feels right to greet him in the language you’ve gathered over the centuries.The one he makes sound so dear.

“Uh, hiya,” Steven manages weakly. His eyes dart between you and the empty plinth beside the bench, uncertainty in every line of his body. Jackal-headed soft toys litter the marble floor between you. They’d gone tumbling from the box he’d dropped upon seeing you but he doesn’t stoop to gather them. 

“I know you might not believe me, but… we’ve met.” You rise to your feet, legs wobbling only a little as you stand and hold out your hands soothingly. You know what you’re about to say will sound like madness, that he may bolt from the impossibility of what you’re about to tell him. If that’s the case, you want to memorize everything you can in these last moments. His gentle, careworn features. Those wide, dark eyes. The wild curls tumbling over his crinkled forehead that you ache to smooth. 

With a deep, final breath, you gesture towards the marble platform you’d stepped off of moments before. “I’m the statue.”

Silence. 

You wonder for a moment if you’ve been turned to stone again, all that newfound air pressed from your chest as you wait, helpless. Of course he won’t believe you. Why should he? He’ll laugh, or worse, look at you like you’re some poor madwoman. He’ll - 

“Er, yeah, obviously.” He sounds almost irked, as though you’ve pointed out that it’s daytime or that the bench you’d been sitting on is made out of wood. As if some cautious spell were broken, he kneels down and begins to gather the scattered Anubises. You make your way over and help him. The toys feel unbelievably soft, your fingers lingering over their plush coverings as you place them back in their box. 

“Wait, you… believe me?” A tentative smile, dawn soft and trembling, spreads over your lips. “I’m not sure I believe me.” Rising, you settle back onto the bench. 

It’s all so impossible, even now. The hundreds, no, thousands of years you’ve spent half awake, half dreaming, trapped in that floating space between awareness and sleep. You can still feel those years pressing down on you, the weight of them threatening to push you back down into the dark. 

Steven’s awed voice breaks through that darkness, just as it had so many times before. “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, wow! You look the same. Can I - ?”

He’s taken a step closer, then stopped, waiting for your nod. Joining you on the bench, Steven leans in close enough for you to count his thick eyelashes, to feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek. It’s this, as much as the sudden ability to move and speak, that makes you realize I’m alive, I’m alive, I’m alive.

“This is incredible,” Steven breathes. “You’re really her. I mean, you. I mean - did I make you real?” The look on his face is so awe-tinged that it makes you laugh, though not unkindly.

“No,” you tell him gently. “Or at least… not exactly.”

He tilts his head curiously. Expectantly. You’re so used to his easy, one-sided rambling that it takes you a moment to realize he’s waiting for you to speak. To tell him your story. 

The thought makes your palms tingle, your throat go tight. As if sensing your unease, Steven reaches out to take your hand. He nearly drops it when you gasp, the warm shock of his palm the first touch you’ve felt in this new life. Lightning crackles in your veins, making you intensely aware of the boundaries of your own skin and every place where Steven’s body presses against yours. It’s how you feel him shift, his thigh withdrawing and his fingers already loosening.

“Wait. Don’t let go?” Your words take both of you by surprise. Steven gives you a reassuring smile. He doesn’t let go.

“It’s alright,” Steven says. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

The gallery is still empty but you know it won’t stay that way forever. Better to tell him now, before you’re interrupted or your courage fails you.

“No, I want to.” After another deep, steadying breath, you begin.

You tell him everything. About the village where you were born. The woods and fields and little rivers that were your world. The garden you’d made for yourself there, and the stories you returned to again and again. 

You hadn’t married or taken a lover, never felt the same urge that made the other village youths sigh and pant after someone’s pretty looks or strong arms. You thought you had felt the stirrings of it once, with your closest friend, but they had grown impatient with your slow-building fire and gone to warm themselves at another’s hearth instead.

So you had tended to your modest villa, your rambling garden. It was a small, simple life, but it was yours.

Until someone stole it from you.

The golden-haired youth had shown up at your door one night, all smooth promises and flashing smiles, a lyre in his hand and a song on his lips. He’d asked for a seat by your fire and you didn’t know how to refuse without giving offense.

How does one refuse a god?

“I knew he wasn’t mortal even before he said his name was Apollo. And I was… It had been so long since I had anyone else to talk to. I thought perhaps I could try to step outside of myself. To be brave. To accept what he was offering. To… want what everyone else wanted.” You glance at Steven and the understanding in his dark brown eyes eases some knot deep inside you.

“What happened?” He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, that small, light touch enough to bring you back to the present. To him.

“I made him a meal, knowing he wanted more. He kept telling me that he would give me anything I asked for: riches and fine clothing and jewels. That any maiden should be flattered by his attentions.”

Steven snorts. You smile. “The gods are never subtle. But then he kissed me and I… froze. Pulled back. He grew angry at me for denying him, for ‘leading him on.’ Told me that I would never find love with such a heart of stone, and that the rest of me should be made to match so that no one would ever be taken in like he had.”

Steven is indignant on your behalf, incredulous at the god’s entitled behavior. “He turned you into a statue because you wouldn’t sleep with him?”

You shrug. “You know the old stories. It could have been worse.” Steven opens his mouth to splutter further protests but you forge ahead, afraid to lose your nerve now.

“He said that I should be as stone until I found someone I loved. That I would be as cold and distant as I’d been to him, as untouchable as I seemed to wish.” 

Steven gives a low, incredulous sound of disgust but doesn’t interrupt again, though his grip tightens ever so slightly on your hand.

“It happened the next day, when I was cutting roses. One moment I was admiring their red blooms, trying to forget the previous night, the next I was frozen in marble. The next thing I can remember, I was posed in some nobleman’s garden - so at least I had a decent view.”

Despite your lighthearted tone, Steven still looks appalled. 

“It wasn’t all bad,” you say in a rush. “There were different villas, a castle once, and then, I think, a ship. I’ve been in your country for some three centuries now, much of it here. There were a few years in the dark, explosions reigning overhead, and then they brought me back to this gallery.”

Steven starts as if coming out of a reverie of his own and asks “You remember the Blitz?”

“Oh yes, that was what is was called wasn’t it? During the Great War. Or maybe the second one - I only know as much as I could gather from the conversations around me.”

Steven stares at you in amazement for a few moments before asking “So, why now? Did you - oh, did you fall in love?” He looks around as though expecting to spot the person who drew you back to life. It’s so sweet, so unassuming, that you feel a rush of affection for him. It gives you the push you need to reach out and gently turn his face back towards yours.

“I think maybe I have.”

He blinks, comprehension dawning slowly. “What, me?”

You give another throaty chuckle, slightly rusted from disuse. “Is that so hard to believe? After all the hours you’ve spent telling me about your life, your work, your golden fish. I see you, Steven Grant. You’re sweet and passionate and so, so kind. How could I not begin to fall for you?” 

Steven looks at you like you’re offering to pluck the moon from the sky and hand it to him. Like he doesn’t trust himself not to fumble and drop it.

_____

Shadows lengthen and shift across the marble floor as the morning wears on. Steven asks you all the questions he’d wished you could answer (“What did you used to do for fun?” “Did you dream?” “What do you want to do now?”), and answering your own (“What are those little mirrors everyone seems so taken with now, the ones they keep in their pockets and speak into so loudly?” “Where is Donna from the gift shop for I have much to say to her.” “Can I see your flat?”) 

When you brush a wayward curl from his forehead, an ember you’d thought long doused flares to sudden, hungry life inside you. All sensation narrows to the points of your fingertips as they trace Steven’s sleepy brows, the palm of your hand as it skims his cheekbone. When you slide your hand into this thick, curling hair Steven leans into the touch like a cat, sending a thrill licking up your spine.

His forehead pressed to yours, your noses brushing, Steven finally asks “Can I kiss you?” 

He rushes to assure you that it’s alright if you don’t want to, that he’ll help you find your footing in this world regardless, but you hush him gently.

“Yes.” You close the distance between you, excitement thrumming in your heart like beating wings. Steven’s lips are soft, a little dry but so warm. So alive. His palm skims your jaw, comes to rest at the nape of your neck as you shiver and deepen the kiss. 

Heat surges through you, heady as summer wine, making you lightheaded and heavy-limbed. You press closer, craving closeness. It’s only when you straddle Steven’s hips, his chest heaving against your own, that he stops you. 

“People,” he murmurs, a dazed apologetic look in his eyes. His voice is deeper now and it rumbles through you with all the crackling anticipation and dark promise of an approaching  storm. “We shouldn’t - “

You nod and slip out of his lap, your heart racing when he makes a little noise of regret, though he releases his hold at once. 

It wasn’t that you had meant for anything to happen here, or so quickly. It’s just that his touch had been so intoxicating. It’s not just the years of solitude either. His hands awaken some slumbering beast beneath your skin. She stretches and yawns and purrs, already demanding more.

The tension breaks when your stomach rumbles, reminding you that it’s been millennia since your last meal. 

“First things first.” Steven rises from the bench and extends a hand to you, that shy, eager smile back on his face. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat. We can figure everything else out after, yeah?” 

The two of you walk out of the sculpture gallery hand in hand, heads bowed together as you fill the silence that had stretched out for so long between you. Steven pauses on the way out to glare sidelong at a statue of Apollo and grumble something about him being a “knob.” Agreeing with his sentiment, if not entirely clear on his meaning, you’re nevertheless glad to be stepping into the sunshine here, now, with Steven’s hand in yours and a whole new world to explore.