#Time Together Part 2

[parisoonic]

pals drinking together (hand practice that got out of control)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 3: Enveloping Feelings.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4 (soon))

[choccy-milky]

herbology class 🌹🌿 (from chap 2 of my fic!)

[buckera]

EVAN BUCKLEY + always going back for seconds + bonus he's thinking about it

[soybean-official]

Compiled the Disco Elysium style MGS2 portraits into 1 post!

[hairmetal666]

Read Part One here

cw: implied child abuse

Eddie's coming over for coffee. Not Eddie with Nancy and Robin or Eddie with the kids. Just Eddie.

They haven't been alone in 9 years and now Eddie is coming over for coffee.

They're friends, of course. After Vecna they didn't have much of a choice, but they've never talked about it--that they used to be something.

After Steve kissed Eddie goodbye for what turned out to be the last time, they didn't see each other again for months and months, except for a devastatingly fleeting moment in the Family Video parking lot. And the next time after that, Eddie's pinning him to the wall of a rickety boathouse, a broken bottle to his throat.

What's going through his mind, his body, at that moment is relief. For days, weeks, months, he ached for Eddie's touch again, and even though he was in danger, he relished in the push of their bodies together. Thought, if this is how he dies, he won't mind going.

But they don't talk about it, about them, because Eddie is on the run and Max is going to die, and they have to save the world, so there's no time. In the aftermath, it's the least of their worries, and now it's been almost a decade and Eddie is coming over for coffee.

The thing is, it's not like Steve has been pining away for a love long lost in the intervening years, and neither has Eddie. They've both had longterm, serious relationships; Steve almost got married. But for Steve...Eddie is the one that's lingered, the one that knocks around his ribcage on late sleepless nights, the one that makes him dream of what might have been. Because Steve truly loved his other partners, but Eddie--nobody will ever compare.

Someone is knocking a rhythm at his front door, and he can't stifle his smile even as his heart runs riot in his chest.

"Hey, man," he says, remarkably nonchalant as he takes Eddie in. Still beautiful, still brimming with energy; his smile wide and dimpled, bouncing on his toes.

"Harrington!" Eddie grabs him into a quick side hug, slapping his back. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

Steve chuckles, touching the horn-rimmed frames. "Oh, god, Robin forced me to get them back in '87? Too many concussions." He touches his forehead. "I usually just wear contacts."

"It's a good look," Eddie says. He's very much not looking at Steve, eyes roaming around the Chicago apartment he's been to many times before.

He watches as Eddie spots the display of his own books, index finger slowly slipping across the spines in a way that makes Steve remember when those same fingers would slide down his spine. He stifles a shiver, turns towards the kitchen.

"So, how's New York? How's the book coming?"

"Livin' the dream." It's not flippant, not like how most people mean it. Eddie leaks genuineness, always has. "The book though...it's a little rough."

Steve sets the coffee maker going, brings fresh pastries and a couple plates over to the table. "I can imagine. It doesn't--it doesn't have to be the same, you know?"

"Yeah, if only I hadn't written three other books leading up to the evil mind wizard," Eddie chuckles. He grabs a croissant and tears it in half. "It'll be alright, Harrington. I'll figure it out. I lived through it the first time, after all."

Steve doesn't remind him that he almost didn't, that they almost didn't. Instead, he pours coffee, listens as Eddie talks about how to fictionalize the worst month of their collective lives.

He splashes milk into Eddie's coffee, taps in three scoops of sugar. He carries it to where Eddie waits, still talking about the logistics of Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One in his novel, but his words abruptly stop as his hands wrap around the porcelain.

"Steve?"

It's only then that Steve realizes what he's done--made Eddie's coffee like he took it back then, made it without thinking, totally on muscle memory, when the best of his mornings were spent in Eddie's arms.

His cheeks glow crimson and he grips at the back of his neck. "S-sorry." He says. "It--is this still how you take it?"

"Yeah." Eddie's eyes fall from Steve's face, his own cheeks pink. "It's--yeah. Still the same."

"I'm sorry--"

"--Steve, I--"

They don't laugh. They both stop speaking and look at each other, faces still red. Steve thinks there's nothing for it but to get it all out now.

"I'm sorry, Eddie." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I never came back. I'm sorry I didn't explain why. I'm just--really, really sorry."

Eddie's eyes are hooked on the table top, fingers twisting and twisting his coffee mug. "Can I--why? I waited and you--why?"

Steve swallows, but it gets stuck in his throat, and now he's the one who can't look up from his hands.

"My parents got home early," he manages. "My dad, he was waiting for me. I guess one of the neighbors thought it best to tell them who I'd been spending my time with."

Silence falls over the table, and he chances a look up at the man across from him, the one whose knuckles bite into his lips, whose eyes shine with unshed tears.

"You should've called me. You should've--you could've stayed with us. We would've kept you safe."

"Eddie, I couldn't. I physically couldn't," the admission costs him so much.

"Steve," Eddie chokes on his name, voice nothing but anguish. "Did anyone--You could've--you were all alone."

He shakes his head. "Robin knew. She snuck through my window to take care of me, but my parents--I couldn't--" This time the words really won't come. "We made a plan. We started that job at Family Video, and we saved up our money."

Now, Eddie's face is creased with grief. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."

Steve shakes his head, smiles despite the wreckage around his heart. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I left you with no explanation. I broke your heart. And--and--" He thinks, what does it hurt to say it at this point. "I love you. I love you so much. I convinced myself you were better off without me, that we could have a clean break and you could get over me."

Eddie's hands cover his face, muffle the sob that slips out. "Get over you?" He whispers. "There's never been one like you, sweetheart."

He slides around the table to kneel at Eddie's side. "Hey." Deep brown eyes stare back at him, Eddie's face wet with tears. "It's always you, Ed. Always. I didn't want to say anything, if you had moved on, but--"

There's not really any transition from them talking to them kissing; Steve slips into it like he did all those years ago, when he first asked for Eddie's kiss. Their mouths slot together, their bodies fit like they always used to, perfect puzzle pieces. Steve's knees give out at the first brush of Eddie's tongue, and they collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor. Even then, they don't part.

Eventually, Steve does break the embrace, face flushed and hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear. "Okay, trying to be responsible here. Should we take a pause, go on a date first? Slow down?"

"Nine years isn't slow enough?" Eddie's pupils are blown, hair frizzed around his head.

"When you put it that way," Steve can't help but laugh. "I just want to do right by you, Eddie. Make up for--everything."

Eddie grins down at him, that sunshine beam smile where his dimples pop. "Tell you what, how bout you take me to bed now, and I'll let you take me on a date tomorrow?"

"Oh, you'll let me?" Steve rakes a hand through Eddie's mane of hair. "I don't think you'll have any choice."

"You sure about that, Stevie?" Their lips are so close, the brush with every word.

"Uh-huh," Steve's having trouble keeping his eyes focused, overwhelmed by the sheer force of Eddie Munson. "Never letting you go again, Ed."

Surprise! Part 2! I genuinely had no intention on doing a follow-up, but so many of you asked so nicely that it gave me this idea. Sorry if I miss anyone in the tag list and thank you for reading! @everywherenothere @tiny-enthusiast @emma-elsa-0000 @fuzzyduxk @moonythepluviophile @anaibis @rhapsodyinalto @bunk12bear @tillystealeaves @velocitytimes2 @s-trawberryv-eins @marklee-blackmore @ignoremyworld @its-a-me-a-morgan @goodolefashionedloverboi @starman-jpg @djohawke @adaydreamaway08

[sheena-isa-punkrocker]

he truly fell inlove at first sight didn't he

[demonic-dorito]

One of the most underrated aspects of the Kirkwall crew dynamics is the fact that Hawke is likely the youngest person in the group canonically

Isabela and Varric are about 30. Anders is in his late 20s or early 30s. Merrill is in her late 20s. Hawke is 24 or 25. The only thing saving Hawke from being the youngest is the fact we don’t know Fenris’ canonical age.

Hawke really went from being the Grown Up in their family to being the youngest in their friend group. Isabela has definitely told Hawke “I’ll explain it when you’re older.” Hawke comments on Fenris being a little slow in battle and he quips back “my knees aren’t what they used to be.” If Hawke gets more kills than Varric, he hits him with “back when I was your age-”

This is canonical untapped comedy gold. Why aren’t we talking about this

[angy-grrr]

spoilers for chapter 429

idk if you guys remember but ochako does have parallels with All Might, specifically as the side who saves. It’s not that he feels the same for them both or something like that, they serve to represent the type of heroism he naturally goes to; his friend is not his love interest, from his perspective she’s out there having a crisis over not being able to save her, and Izuku reminds her that she is a hero bc she is his hero -she saved him multiple times, and she should be able to feel like a proper hero.

This conversation is not about the nature of their relationship, is about heroism; Izuku relates to a conflict between being a hero who saves and failing to save someone, and doesn’t want to see Ochako ending spiraling because she couldn’t also fulfill that role as expected. She’s his hero not because he loves her romantically -he’s a nerd I’m sure he would be way more nervous and blushing if he was confessing anything he thought was romantic- but because she’s able to go and do what All Might does to Izuku, save him physically and emotionally.

He knows she hides her feelings in order to not be a burden, yet he doesn’t talk about his own feelings outside of his guilt in heroics -what does he feel about losing OFA? About his own failures? About the people he personally lost? He can’t talk for others and claim Ochako is everyone’s hero, but he can speak for himself, and that’s his personal perspective -she is a hero to him, she’s his hero. And then the class appears to make sure she’s able to get support and understand she’s not alone, and she’s important to them too.

but Izuku doesn’t get support. Izuku cries a little and talks a little about himself, but he doesn’t get supported. If this was meant to be romantic, I don’t understand why he would hold back what’s inside of him.

the end of the chapter reveals that boy is going to be helped by that woman who regretfully ignored Tenko, and they both witness it and are happy about it while hearing izuku inspired that change, and iida wonders what’s up with them -this is the conclusion to their relationship. In their hearts these two are saviors who struggle to be heroes who save others, and they are happy there are appearing more people who want to be heroes like them. Heroes who save. Save like All Might.

That grandma for example, interpreting the narrative as what I think is intended, would be that boy’s All Might; she’s his hero.

Izuku and Ochako are heroes who save, and Deku is here to remind her at least she did save him many times, that she is still a hero because she is his hero. I don’t believe is meant to be interpreted as romantic, not that Izuku sees that phrase as it neither -after all, he said he does want to be like All Might and feels good to imitate him, but he doesn’t love him.

Ochako’s All Might hair moment, the parallels with Toshinori telling him he can be a hero, the trying to save from black suffocating quirks, the we can do it and do your best…

Do I need to remind you heroes arent a romantic thing for Izuku Midoriya?

[mewtwo24]

Not to be That Guy but like.

Am I the only one that can't stop thinking about how Tianlang-Jun says about Luo Binghe that he pretends to be cold-hearted like his mother. The hint of fondness there, the heartache in that utterance.

Like it drives me absolutely insane. Imagining her putting on a front of strength, cold and driven and unrelenting. Why does TLJ say that about her. Did she secretly look for solutions that meant reconciling with demons instead of hurting them when her sect wasn't looking? (I wonder this because I feel like his weird fondness for SQQ would lowkey track if it's connected to the woman he once loved.) Did he mean that she was tasked with basically assassinating him and she fell in love with him instead (re: failed step one)? Did he mean that she was fond and doting in her own way (e.g. conceding he was attractive, paying for his exploits and humoring him)? Did he mean that, like LBH, she thought that power would be the thing to protect her--and that it was disguising a person who was deeply and privately wounded? All four????? I don't need sleep I need a n s w e r s

Did she know about the Huanhua Palace Master's skeevy ass intentions before she met TLJ? Or did those only come to significant light after she fell in love with TLJ? Is that why she never anticipated that level of betrayal, because initially she had no intention of being with anyone romantically? And HHPM just assumed she would be under his thumb forever?? Was she furious at her own indiscretion or did she try to use the pregnancy as a bargaining chip, a way to try to stop the immortals of Cang Qiong Mountain from attacking TLJ (plus the bonus of marriage entrapment no takesies backsies this is where LBH gets it from)? Did she try to use that claim on her to dissuade HHPM from his covetous advances, framing herself as tainted so that she could finally escape? Did she dream of a life by TLJ's side, far away from Cang Qiong Mountain?

Like. Literally every single permutation of what this could mean guts me to hell. Do you ever just cry about tianxi because I--[loud bawling noises]

[starry-bi-sky]

realizing i have. a lot of untapped trauma potential for clone^2 danny because i just Fully Processed Four Months Late the fact that his parents were capturing and torturing ghosts in the basement before he became Phantom. and the fact that he was on house rest for 2 weeks. during that time period. and he wasn't really leaving the house. he could hear their screaming through the floorboards

*points at clone danny* i can give you suuuuuuch a bad time babe ahaha. i've got two untouched years before you meet damian what fucks you up before then

[accirax]

with many people speculating that the identity of the culprit will finally come to light next episode and many theories running abound, i'd like to make a masterlist of all of the theories people have written out guessing who the culprit will be. that includes the main murder of Arei, the attempt on Ace, and any theories synthesizing the two. i think it would be fun to read up on before the episode, and fun to look back at once all is said and done :D

so, if you've made a theory speculating about the murder, please leave a comment on this post (preferably with a link to the theory)! i'll only be adding the theories of those who comment on the post, just so that i don't accidentally make anyone feel excluded/highlight someone's post that doesn't want to be shouted out.

all i ask is that you only submit whatever the most current version of your theory per character/combination of characters. for instance, if you wrote a theory based on the evidence from part 1, but wrote a new version taking into account what happened in episode 12 or 13, i'm only going to add the newer one. if you only have a version from part 1, though, that's fine!

(also, for all theoretical theorists out there, a reminder that i made an episode guide that breaks down all the episodes into easier-to-find sections. i just updated it for 2-13!)

[stardustinthesky]

It's my first time in Venice. Mine too.

[arieswritez]

me & you; i do | perfect fiance!mark x lovesick gn!reader

cw; DARK CONTENT!! MDNI! rape, drugging, cucking, non-con bondage, gun play, death threats, degradation, cum play, manipulation, blackmail, sacrilegion (?), religious trauma, non-con filming, somnophilia, the graysons are normal™ (aka nolan never tried to murder mark el oh el), one (1) mention of undereating due to stress, breeding mention (more or so in a petplay context), so, petplay (if you squint), unspecified genitals for reader, this one's crazy nasty sorry xx

about; you & mark are perfect for each other. newly engaged, the two of you are starting your perfect, little lives. you've moved in together. you're looking into buying a home once the two of you marry. of building a home. unfortunately, his job interferes with your picture perfect fantasy. (3.6k words)

each day you wake next to mark is a good one.

you find yourself waking before he does just to have enough time to analyze his features: softened with sleep.

does he know he sleeps with his mouth open? is he embarrassed when he comes to, and finds crusted spit from where he'd been drooling on his side? does he find his hair - sticking out at every angle - annoying to style in the mornings?

you wish he knew. and you wish he wasn't embarrassed. or annoyed. because to you: mark is absolutely perfect.

mark is divine.

you've known it for a very long time. and it's been something that many have pointed out to you: you were built to worship. you knew it early in childhood: when you'd kneel in corners until your blood pooled, dark and tender. when you'd walk in the downpour and beg for mercy. when the wooden crosses above your bedroom door burned into your retinas: so much so, that to this day, you swear you still see their silhouette before you fall asleep.

mark is worth worshipping. and you make it so he feels that way. each morning, you sneak out of bed hours before he does. you brush your teeth and slash water on your face, you make sure to spritz on some soft perfume/cologne and slip back into bed. refreshed. watching.

he lays on his side: eyes closed in blissful sleep, but still, eyes on you. always, always, always. and your stomach feels fuzzy with the feeling that your worship is reciprocated. even subconsciously. you watch as mark's shoulders slowly go up and down with his breathing.

you don't know how long you watch.

long enough for him to stir.

you and him play this little game each and every day. a little tango, as to say. but you're the only one dancing. because, when mark stirs, he hums sleepily, then he slowly cracks his eyes open before letting out a loud yawn. you've memorizes his route. stir. hum. open. yawn.

stir: gives you enough time to wriggle into a flattering sleeping position (mirroring him. hands folded beneath your head, lips parted).

hum: you snap your eyes shut.

now, you assume, his open. your heart races with anticipation.

yawn. a stretch that moves him closer. a wet press of a kiss against your forehead. and you pretend to fuss at first when he peppers your face with kisses. playfully pressing the palm of your hand against his face. but you don't want him to stop. you want him to keep going. forever, and ever. ever and ever, and ever and ever. and sometimes, you wish you didn't have to play coy. because you know he'll have to crawl out of bed. because you'll have to face the day.

you'll have to wait. countdown every second, minute, hour until you see him again. but you play your part in your daily routine. and he murmurs, good morning, and rolls out of bed. and when the door to the adjoined bathroom shuts: your eyes snap open. wide awake. and stare at the indent he's left on your now empty, cold bed.

superhero life is hard.

you knew what you were getting yourself into. you knew. still, it doesn't calm the knotting in your stomach when mark comes home later than usual. when he's gone for days and no one will tell you where he's gone. not even cecil. well, specially not cecil.

but the two of you are engaged now. you deserve to know.

it's not fair.

it's not.

and you spend days in the grayson household, hoping his parents have heard something from him.

nothing.

you can hardly sleep.

you wish you could.

every waking moment is misery. a tightening in your chest. a paralysis in your stomach. a seizing anxiety so great it threatens to make you sick. you try to swallow it down, but the lump forms anyway, and your eyes grow tired of checking your phone for messages or missed phone calls from him.

nothing.

zero.

nada.

you can hardly eat.

you wish you could.

you love the graysons' cooking.

debbie's bibimbap got more delicious each time she made it and nolan's chili was to die for. but everything tasted bland without mark there.

you couldn't make light conversation and laugh alongside him as debbie talked about how mischievous he was as a child.

it's not the same.

you find yourself picking at the food. wishing mark was next to you, his hand on your leg, acting as if he wasn't tracing patterns over your clothing beneath the table. you touch yourself, instead, as debbie's usually exciting stories begin to sound more and more like background noise.

you try to concentrate.

no.

it's not the same.

a break-through in the form of a vision.

you hardly believe it's him.

your bed shifts with the weight of a body, crawling, softly, slowly, as not to rouse you. your eyes snap open, unaware of when you'd passed out from exhaustion. you're sure your eyes are swollen from all the crying. and you don't dare speak, less your voice is hoarse from un-use.

you wish you would've known. you wish someone would've warned you. then, you realize, you only have yourself to blame. you should've been awaiting his return: polished and pretty, presentable. not a shell of a person.

not this pathetic thing, who's eyes immediately fly open. who's lower lip quivers with emotion. who lunges towards an exhausted mark, who welcomes you with open arms and a soft, hey.

a muffled laugh.

your stomach twists.

you don't know why.

is it you?

it's you.

he's seen through the facade. finally, he's seen through the facade you've put on for him all these years. through college: the chance meeting that wasn't really chance. the re-occurring running into each other that you'd carefully put together. your likes, that so happened to be his likes. your friends, who so happened to be his friends.

it took one mistake.

one moment of weakness. of distress for your facade to crumble.

a laugh.

he's laughing at you. at how pathetic you are.

you're sure of it.

you find your tears dry as you hook your chin over his shoulder, listening to his voice in your ear, sounding so far away now that you know. your fingers curl into his worn shirt - he's changed out of suit. . when did he? why hadn't you noticed? idiot. idiot.idiot. - and you hope your grip isn't so hard to give away your panic.

your anger.

at him.

at yourself.

you have to make sure this slip up isn't the end to you.

you have to find a way to make sure mark never, ever thinks about leaving your side.

not again.

mark's had a good childhood.

you've seen the pictures. changing seasons, and growth spurts. gummy smiles turned into slightly filled out smiles, some teeth missing. before they turned into broody looks at the camera. before, once again, they transformed into bright grins. a full set of teeth this time, of course.

you? not so much. which explains a couple things, maybe. but still, this explains a certain behavior that's more fitting for you than it should be for him.

despite his superpowers, mark's paranoid. he's got motion sensitive lights and cameras out on the patio of your apartment. front and backyard. there's a ring door camera. cameras in the home. . even a few weapons locked away in a safe. you'd teased him about it once, finding it silly. saying, you do know you're the weapon, right?

but despite all your teasing, you found it cute: how mark was taking every precaution in the world to make sure nothing ever hurt you. his protectiveness was one of the many things you loved about him.

you also found it annoying.

you found it inconvenient.

so you knew you had to do something about those. you had to make sure nothing got in the middle of your plan.

as the world knows him: invincible, they would've never imagined him to be malleable. an intimidating figure, capable of destroying enemies 10x stronger and bigger, no, malleable wasn't something that the public would describe him as.

but they didn't know him as you did.

they didn't know a goddamn thing.

mark wasn't intimidating. not to you. he took everything you gave him without worry. without a care in the world or a question. he was too kind to hurt your feelings. which is why he doesn't say anything when his drink tastes funny.

you had a taste yourself, from the spoon. too salty. still, he doesn't even pull a face.

the two of you are watching television on the couch. . just some new horror movie everyone's been raving about. it's his day off and you begged and begged to stay in. so, he stayed in.

you barely paid attention to the movie, disinterestedly listening to the protagonist's screams while you stared at mark through your peripheral vision as he took tentative sips of his drink. perhaps you added too much and the taste was obvious. maybe he wouldn't drink enough because it was nasty and it wouldn't do anything to him. maybe his powers made him build a tolerance and it wouldn't do jack shit at all but make him sick.

you fidgeted. your eyes flickering towards the tv. back to him. tv, mark.

tv, mark. tv.

mark: his head fell forward slightly before he caught himself.

tv. the corner of your lips quirked up.

mark. sway. tv. mark. tv. mark. tv.

mark: red illuminated the otherwise darkened living room, undoubtedly caused by a spray of blood, if the ear aching shriek of a character on the screen was anything to go by. not that it mattered much, as mark's head had lolled back, resting against the backrest of the couch.

out for the count.

perfect.

an awful sound.

an injured animal? a sob. a mewl. a squeal.

a cry of his name, soft, whispered: a secret. it's you. his vision swims when he opens his eyes. a wave of nausea as the room spins, tilted on it's axis. a piercing pain at his temples. then, the darkened edges of his vision begin to clear. the small pinprick in which he'd been seeing through expands until he can finally take in the entire room.

the first thing to become clear - or at least blurry, instead of pitch black - is you. you're on the couch, terrified, shaking, tears streaming down your face as you try to speak between babbles. mark realizes he's not next to you, head swimming, as if remembering being moved elsewhere, and now his body is making up for the vertigo the movement should've caused at the moment.

then, more of his vision returns. slowly, an oozing crawl of throbbing colors, the room illuminated a strange greyish blue (the television?). behind the couch, behind you, is a massive, masked man with his hand on your shoulder. more of his vision comes back. and there's another.

mark immediately thrashes, wanting to be near you. but he's bound. he won't budge. and his vision returns enough for him to realize he's bound to a chair: hands tied behind him in a thick rope. and his brain is far too mushy to do a goddamned thing about it.

he can barely let out a let them go, without a stream of saliva dripping from his lip.

someone - something? - speaks. maybe it's one person speaking. maybe the strangers speak in unison. the voices are jumbled together, identical, despite the changes in tone. a clear voice, an echo, a wave of sound, faint and booming all at once. as if. . harmonizing.

yes, that's exactly it.

a maddening, harmony. an echo of voices.

whatever it is, the sound is otherworldly.

his thoughts feel as if they're sliding on oil. he has to fight his failing senses in order to understand.

"i hope you're comfortable. you'll be there for a while.-i hOpE yOU'RE coMForTabLE. you'Ll be tHerE foR A whILE.-i hope you're comfortable. you'll be there for a while~"

mark thrashes again, despite the vertigo that wracks through him, and a massive mitt clamps down on his shoulder, squeezing, keeping him in place. there must be another man.

his head lolls to the side, confirming his suspicions. but this time. . his eyes catch sight of something strange.

off in the distance, is a blinking, red orb.

on and off.

off and on.

he doesn't know what it is.

or why it's trained directly on him.

but the echoing cry that comes from you drags him back down to reality.

mark helplessly watches as your clothes are torn off. as you're pinned by a large hand: smothering your face into the couch the two of you were just snuggled up on. mark thinks the stranger has his fingers inside you. your face screws up in pain. the stranger only begins shoving putting so much force into fucking you with his fingers that your body jerks back and forth.

"i'll - kih-ll - you-" mark manages to drawl, eyes rolling, head lolling, fists weakly clenching behind himself. if he tries, really tries to concentrate, he could be on them in a second. he just needs a minute, he just needs-

a hand closes around his jaw in a vice grip, forcing his head upwards. forcing your attention back towards your limp body. his vision swims. the whiplash blinding him for a second. his face is held so roughly his lips are smushed together, forced into a pout. if he were lucid enough, he'd be able to tell the moan you let out at seeing him like that was of pleasure, instead of a cry from pain. still, you manage to play it off with a sob.

something glints before mark's eyes, the item winking against the pale, barely there lighting of the television, close to your head. it takes a couple of blinks to realize it's. .

"be good, pretty boy, or you'll have to clean their brains off your walls-be goOD, pReTty boy, or yOu'lL hAVE tO CLEAN tHEIR bRAINs OFF yOUR waLlSS-be good, pretty boy, and you won't have to clean their brains off your walls~"

a gun. their finger's on the trigger.

and there's nothing mark can do.

he'll never be fast enough. not like this, anyway. and he's forced to watch. his face is held in place so hard his jaw aches. and when he tries to shut his eyes, their actions become so violent, he opens them back up just to slur at them, trying to get them to stop hurting you.

he's forced to watch as you're pinned down by a hand at your nape. as your underwear is shoved down and tangles at your ankles. as you cry out and babble. as these strange men drape their bulk onto your back and hump into you like savages.

he's forced to listen to the harmonizing voices, making bets on which one of them can make you cum. and mark has to concentrate on trying to hear your screams over their voices. over their sounds. over the sounds of skin slapping against skin. because if you're screaming: you're alive.

he's forced to watch as one guides his cock into your mouth. as they spit roast you. and your gags and retches are so loud in his overstimulated mind he flinches at each one, they might as well have been gunshots. like fireworks to a veteran.

they pinch your nose shut and force you to swallow their spunk. only pulling out once they're done and shoving your face into the mess when you cough up the slime.

the intruders threaten to fuck him. even undoing his bindings and bending him over the coffee table. they bring you down with him, over the coffee table so the two of you are face to face.

mark doesn't even know when he stopped fighting. a fist is in his hair. they mock you. they tell you they'll fuck mark if you don't beg them to cum inside you nicely.

if you don't beg to be bred like a bitch in heat.

and you're so sweet.

you're so kind when you don't need to be.

and they keep mark on his knees, bent over the coffee table, as you beg to be used over and over and over again. begging the strangers to leave mark alone.

they still shove mark's pants down, but he doesn't feel an unwelcome press against his ass, instead, he feels a rough hand close around his soft cock.

and the worst part is, mark finds himself twitching at the sound of your begging. he feels a breath next to his ear, flinches away from it, but a hand stops him from getting too far. the voice whispers, finally one now that it's close enough to really listen, "i'd put on a good show if i were you. i dont want you boring me when i watch this back."

mark knew he wasn't crazy. his vision might swim. nausea might wrack his body. but he's technically a celebrity now.

he's able to tell the flashing - off, on, off, on, off, on - of a blinking red light in his peripheral vision anytime.

one of the men gets on his knees right behind you, and mark can tell the moment he forces himself inside of you by the way you whimper.

mark doesn't know when he's started crying. . when tears began to roll down his face but he can taste it: intermingling against your lips when they force your heads together in a brutal kiss. your teeth clang against his, bite into his bottom lip, and he pulls his lips back in a snarl, angry, anguished, disgusted, when the hand pumping his cock starts to get him hard.

the two of you cry in unison. sobbing. then. . moaning.

whining.

harmonizing voices, echoing.

mark cums at the same time your rapist does. spattering across the floor, spraying some on the coffee table, as the stranger finishes deep inside your hole.

they shove mark to the side.

and he takes the beating with empty eyes.

he hardly feels it.

you should be catatonic.

but you still cry out and beg them not to kill him over the white noise in mark's ears.

when they relent, the last thing mark hears is the harmonizing voice saying, "don't come looking for us. we'll leak the video."

superhero life is hard.

you know that.

mark's meant to take a punch and then smile with blood stained teeth.

he does just that.

they're gone.

and despite the drugs, he tries to help you. he's still really fucked up on them but he manages to guide you to the bathroom, one arm placed around his shoulder and one of his arms around your waist.

he manages to draw a warm bath for the both of you. he slips into the water and sits behind you, kisses your wet shoulder as you sniffle and cry and pretend to flinch away from him.

mark mindlessly, numbly, follows your every command. when you tell him to help you wash up. when you lead his hands to your used holes and ask him to get rid of all their cum. to make sure you're not soiled from within.

mark wordlessly scrapes the cum out of you. he wipes wet hands across bite marks and scratch marks. his fingers drunkenly rake and dance across blooming contusions.

mark takes you to bed and lays you down.

the two of you are silent.

he's the first to speak.

the slurring is slowly getting better.

the panic's not yet set in. you're not sure it will tonight. maybe not even tomorrow. maybe not even a week from now. but it will.

he says, "i'll get a doctor from cecil. he'll check you out in the morning."

because, really. . what would everyone think of him if the compromising video leaks. if a headline drops reading:

invincible?

superhero lets significant other get gangraped.

no.

you won't go to a hospital.

he won't go to a hospital.

you both can't.

he gets into bed alongside you.

and for the first time, mark turns away from you. he gives you his back. vulnerable. tired. a trusting pup: sleeping belly up.

you sidle up behind him and feel him flinch. suck in a breath. he's drawn so tight he's shaking. but you hook your chin over his shoulder and shush him.

the panic sets in.

mark cries, sobs, retches, heaves until he exhausts himself. until he panics himself to sleep.

and you're glad he let you get this close.

you're glad he's tuckered himself out because, now, you can slip your hands into his clean underwear and make him cum again. you can convince him he came in his sleep, thinking about the rape of his significant other.

you can roll over once you finish and make a money transfer to a bank account for a job well done.

the two of you are bound by tragedy now. mark will never be the same. no one will get him like you do. no one will be able to understand why he is the way he is . . or why he does what he does. . without learning about you first.

it'll take time, but he'll learn to appreciate this night as the night that bound your souls together. as the night that showed him how important you are to him. how dependent. how weak. you've successfully planted the seed of making him feel guilty about leaving you alone. about not protecting you enough.

anxiety will grip him whenever he's away on a mission.

and just like you, he won't be able to think about anything, anyone, else.

his brain will blank, conjuring up only images of you.

he'll fidget and count the seconds, minutes, hours until he sees you again.

and the thought makes you so, so happy.

[doverstar]

actually I love Tentoo and he is the Doctor and it was the only ending for Rose that worked and it is a huge gift to be able to have the man she loves grow old with her, they were always heading for that, y'all be quiet. I 100% understand the angst but it's okay, they're okay, good ending-

[skrunksthatwunk]

leaving home