#marc puts phone in storage

[antstarion]

sometimes I sit and stare at the wall and think about the voicemails layla left on marc’s phone. then i imagine marc waiting for steven to sleep before taking control. he’d walk over to the kitchen and retrieve his phone.

he'd sit in an apartment thats not his, in an armchair thats not his and listen each voicemail she had ever left. from the messages left months ago to the ones left only hours ago. he listens to her promise several times that “this is the last one”. listens to her rants and her laughs and to everything, because it all serves as a reminder to why he needs to stay away. why he cant let himself be with her, or live a proper life.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Harvest Moon

Steven Grant X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 4: Sex Pollen

Summary: Being Khonshu's avatar has some... unexpected effects.

A/N: I'm so sorry. Set before Steven knows about Marc.

Warnings: sex pollen - so dubcon (both sides are effected, Steven more than reader and both had a crush on the other before they were infected), love bites, cum eating, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, cream pie, cuming in troursers, so much cuuuuummmm, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 4073

Steven couldn’t concentrate. 

It was strange, a fidget just below his skin. Like every muscle was contracting and relaxing at random intervals.

He took off his reading glasses and sighed, rubbing his eyes to try to shift whatever was going on. Maybe he was tired. 

Which didn’t make much sense. He was always tired. 

Perhaps this was the accumulation of trying to survive on three hours of sleep or less every day for most of his adult life. 

He tried again to focus on the book in front of him, leaning an elbow on his desk. The words twitched on the page, flickered as if they were going to jump up and run off the paper at any moment. 

The strange thing was, he didn’t feel tired. Quite the opposite in fact. He was full of energy, jittery as if he’d just downed five coffees made with Red Bull instead of water and a handful of Pro Plus. (Though, he usually steered clear of coffee - for some reason it made him sleepy.) 

Still, the fidgety, restless energy seemed to only build. Grow deep in the pit of his belly and squirm around like he’d swallowed live eels that were now making a home in his large intestine. 

It almost burned, the blood in his veins boiling from the inside. He stood up, agitated and restless. Maybe, maybe he just needed to go for a walk. Use up some anxious energy, yeah, that was it. 

Steven glanced at his phone, it was 19:54, not late. He could maybe walk to the corner shop and back. The fresh air would help. Surely that would put him right. 

He stood, fighting the urge to shake his muscles, and put on his trainers. 

Yeah, go out, go to the shop, come back, he’d feel better. He’d feel so much better. 

“I’ll be back in a sec' Gus.” He gave the goldfish a little wave as he put on his jacket and checked that he had his keys. 

That restless energy, the burn of it seemed to increase, grow even as he moved. Buzzed behind his eyes. 

Slowly, Marc was pulled forward, woken from deep down. He watched Steven move from the reflection in the fish tank, confused for a moment until… he recognised that energy, those sensations that were running along their nerves. 

Panic gripped hold of him as he tried to force his way to the front, to push Steven back. 

But… nothing. 

He swore and tried again, not caring if Steven heard him, he needed to take control, get the body to the storage locker, steal the door and take those medical-grade tranquillisers he hid under the mattress. 

How could he have been so stupid? How could he have lost track of the days so badly? 

He pushed forward again, trying to seize control. But it was hopeless like he was separated by a thick layer of glass. 

This was bad, this was bad, this was bad, this was so very, very bad. 

There was a small breeze, cool air that made Steven turn, look over his shoulder and glance about the flat for a window he had left open. Nothing. 

Marc swore loudly. This was Khonshu’s doing. It had to be. 

The god had been uncharacteristically silent the last few days, and quiet the previous couple of weeks. Luring Marc into a false sense of security and letting him give more and more time up to Steven. 

Poor Steven, who had no idea what he was in store for. 

The first time it had happened Marc had thought he was going to die. The way his heart beat, his blood burned, every single muscle crying out at once. He’d had enough panic attacks in his life to know that this certainly wasn’t one, and for a brief moment, he thought that he had been poisoned. 

It wasn’t until Khonshu appeared and explained. The phase of the moon at that time of the lunar year. It had been a cause of celebration, festivals honouring new life. And due to Marc’s role as an avatar, he was ‘gifted’ with the effects. 

A gift he would very much like to return and never see again. 

Khonshu had been… displeased by Marc’s rejection, by his unwillingness to observe the traditions of the old ways. But had stayed quiet when Marc sealed himself away and knocked himself out.

Marc had wrongly assumed that the moon god had got over it. Realised that there was no way his avatar would take part. 

He didn’t think he would use Steven instead. 

Marc had to take control, had to stop him from going outside, from running into other people and experiencing the effects. He tried to push forward again to no avail as Steven stepped out of the flat, his mind buzzing. 

Steven blinked heavily, trying to shift the little spots of light that had started to dance just at the very corners of his vision. He fumbled with his keys for a second, sweat beading on his forehead. When had the corridor become so hot? He pulled at his collar, trying to cool himself. 

There was a warmth growing in his lower stomach, and heavy an uncomfortable weight, like lead straining at his muscles. He needed… something. There was an odd carving at the back of his throat, a constriction of his windpipe that seemed to pull at-

“Hi Steven.”

He turned suddenly, his body moving well before his mind had even caught up. 

You smiled at him from the other side of the corridor as you stood outside your flat, your bag pulled over your shoulder, keys in hand.

Oh no, oh no, oh no, no, no. Marc screamed inside the headspace. Not you, not you, anyone but you. 

You had moved in a little over three months ago. Had smiled and chatted briefly with Steven when you both ran into each other in the lift. 

It was only four weeks ago when Steven had found himself outside in the streets of London late at night (sleepwalking again). He had managed to get back to the flat with the help of city mapper and it was only when he was outside the block of flats that he realised he didn’t have his keys. 

After a few nervous minutes, he had pressed your buzzer with shaking hands and stumbled out an apology. To his absolute shock and dizzying relief, you can come down to let him in with a kind smile. You had even invited him into your own home while he waited for the 24 locksmith to arrive. Served him cups of tea and vegan shortbread biscuits while you both talked. 

Steven had been quietly remorseful when the locksmith finally arrived. 

As he was leaving you had invited him to a live music event you were going to at the Fox and Firkin, but sadly Steven had been working that weekend. 

He had been steadily working up the courage to ask you out, something casual. Relaxed. Informal. So you both could talk and maybe he would get a chance to judge your interest on a proper date. But the longer he left it, the more awkward it seemed. The more nights he spent in the shower fisting his palm and moaning your name behind his hand. 

Marc pressed harder against the mental block, swearing under his breath as he fought for control. 

Steven’s pulse quickened, heat prickling all over his skin as blood rushed downwards. He swallowed, the embarrassment that he would normally experience completely swept away by a deep mind-numbing ache. “Hi.” He whispered. 

You frown a little. He looked like he was in a daze, his skin flushed and pupils wide. “You okay?” 

The softness in your voice, the genuine concern for him made Steven snap. A small growl escaped his chest. It was like all his senses had heightened and pinpointed, narrowed. He needed you. 

“Ste-”

He moves faster than you thought possible, surging forward and pinning you to the wall with a bruising strength that knocks the air from your lungs. You don’t even have time to gasp before his lips are on yours, his hands on your waist as he pushes his thigh between your legs.

You murmur his name into his mouth, your surprise cut off by the glide of his tongue and how his body presses into yours. 

Marc smacks against the barrier fruitlessly, unable to do much more than watch as Steven’s sensations begin to bleed into his own muscles. 

Steven’s skin is feverish, heat rolling off him in waves as he grinds against you. The hard outline of his cock presses against your stomach, you can almost feel his rapid heartbeat through the denim of his jeans. 

Instinctively you react to him, grabbing hold of his shoulder and neck as you kiss him back and slide your tongue against his as he kisses you greedily. For a second you’re sure you're dreaming. It’s the only possible explanation. There’s no way that your lovely, and seemingly oblivious to your every attempt at flirting, neighbour would suddenly jump you on a Thursday night and snog the life out of you.  

You pull at his hair, lightly at first, but increasing the pressure when that does nothing. You barely manage to yank his head back an inch before his lips are on yours again, all tongue and teeth as he nips a trail down to your jaw and sucks a messy bruise just below your ear. 

Somehow you manage to hold down your whimpered moan and speak, “Steven, what’s… I mean-oh shit-” You cut yourself off, biting down on your lip as his hand slide up to squeeze your breast, his thumb brushing over your hardening nipple. 

There’s a faint ghost of a breeze, though from where you’re not sure. For a second a small wave of dizziness and heat run across your skin. 

“Steven,” you try again even though you're pressing up against his every touch eagerly. “What’s going on?”

He groans against your neck. “I’m-I’m so sorry, I don’t know, I can’t, I need you so badly, I just,” he tries to halt his movements, to take his hands off your body, but the second he’s a fraction of a millimetre away from you an intense pain drills along his spine. He whimpers and presses closer, continuing to rub his heavy cock against your thigh. 

“Did you take something?” You gasp, breathless as you try (and fail) to not grind your hips in time with his. It’s the only explanation, right? Though if there was a drug that made someone intensely horny you were sure you’d have heard about it by now. 

He shakes his head, his mouth too preoccupied with sicking more love bites into your neck to speak. 

“Do you think someone could have drugged you?” 

Steven mutters something intelligible as he sinks his teeth into your skin and a strangled moan escapes your lips. This wasn’t right, none of this way right. Heat, stronger than anything you’d ever experienced before, began to burn in your lower belly. You had a crush on him, sure. You’d happily go on a date with him and be down for more after but this… You’d never been so desperate to fuck someone in your entire life. 

It was like you were starting to lose the ability to think clearly, and you were worryingly sure that if you let this go on much longer you wouldn’t have any issue with riding Steven right there in the middle of the hallway. 

“Steven,” you yanked his head back again by his hair, using an amount of force that would have normally been painful. 

Instead, Steven groaned, closing his eyes as he arched back exposing the taunt lines of his neck for you. 

“Love, please.” He whispered, though what he was begging for exactly, neither of you were sure. 

“Let’s go inside.” You muttered, rushing your words together in an effort to hold yourself together for a little while longer. 

You turn, just managing to struggle out of Steven’s grip to put your keys in the lock and open your front door. 

Steven moans as you move, but quickly goes back to grinding against you. Pressing himself up against the swell of your ass and sighing as he kisses your neck. 

You practically fall inside from Steven’s weight pushing against your back. But his strong hands on your hips keep you upright. His fingers slip under your top, greedily searching for your soft skin as you manage to close the door before he’s on top of you again.

He pushes you against the door, your chest pressed up against the wood as he pinches your nipples through the lace of your bra. He growls as you moan and arch back into him, your nails digging into the wood grain. 

He ruts against your ass, rubbing his clothed erection against your soft flesh with a burning vigour. The weeping head of his cock is soaking into his boxers, but he can’t stop himself, can’t break away for a single moment, can’t spare the few seconds it would take to undress. 

His little gasps and whimpers of air as he picks up his pace sends a flood of heat to your core and you gasp as he bites down on your neck hard. His left hand continues to squeeze your breast while his right snakes down and pushes under your leggings and underwear. 

There is the tiniest voice in the back of your head, a worry that you would normally have that things are going too fast, but Steven’s moans in your ears, the feeling of his hands on you drowns everything out. 

He presses his forefinger against your clit and moans at the wetness that he finds between your legs. Quickly, he circles your bundle of nerves over and over in time with the manic grind of his hips. 

His breathing stutters. Just being pressed up against you like this is too good, the burning along his veins turning into molten lava as he continues to buck like his life depended on it. 

The coil in his stomach starts to tighten uncontrollably, pressure at the base of his spine exploding outwards and-

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He moans loudly as he cums in his trousers, the pleasure whiting out all other thoughts as his hips falter. 

You slow your movements down, coming to a stop as Steven breaths hard against your back. You open your mouth to speak, to ask him if he feels better. But you never get the chance. 

In a blur he’s spinning you around, kissing your mouth harshly enough to knock your head back against the door with a thud. You barely register that despite obviously cumming, (the wetness on his jeans that press into you) he’s still rock hard and sweaty. His pulse thumps under your hands, so fast that you can barely distinguish each beat. 

He pulls you to the ground, practically lifting you off your feet, and tearing off your clothes as if they had personally offended him. You try to undress him, barely getting his jacket off his shoulders and not even starting on his t-shirt before he’s kissing down your body and shoving his face into your core. 

You gasp as he places a long flat lick through your folds, groaning at the taste and grinding his cock against the carpet. 

“Steven-”

“Need to make you cum, please,” his voice is gravelly and wrecked, burnt out and desperate but he doesn’t stop the movement of his tongue, ending the lick by sucking at your clit and quickly slipping two fingers inside you. 

He curls them perfectly, looking up at you with dark, pleading eyes. Pleasure sparks along your nerves as he fucks you hard with his fingers, watching your every reaction as he keeps his lips sucking firmly against your clit. 

You moan loudly, enough that you’re probably going to get a noise complaint, and screw up your eyes, your back arching off the carpet. 

The stretch of his thick fingers makes you whine as they work you open, finding every spot to make you fall apart as quickly as possible.

You grab hold of Steven’s hair with one hand, pressing him firmly against you and another low growl erupts from his chest as he pulls your left thigh over his shoulder and picks up the pace. 

His tongue and fingers move in a hypnotic tandem, dragging you closer and closer to the edge with a dizzying speed. Your toes curl, your breath catching in your throat and all you can do is just feel that mind-numbing pleasure he is pulling you towards.

His name falls out of your mouth in a repeated jumble as you move against him thoughtlessly, your hips chasing every touch. 

Steven moans against you, flicking your clit with the very tip of his tongue before sucking on it ruthlessly and stars explode behind your eyes.

You cum against him with a sob as your strength rushes out of you like a dam has been broken, your muscles clenching around him in utter bliss. 

But all too quickly for your liking his pulling his fingers out of you and sitting up. You’re barely back to thinking straight as you lean up on your elbows, about to question him when you stop in your tracks, your mouth hanging open.

Steven groans as he shoves his fingers into his mouth, lapping up your creamy release. He pushes at his aching cock with the heel of his free hand, his hips jerking up into the touch. He looks like a god, skin flushed and sweaty, his hair dishevelled and sticking out at windswept angles. Your cum all over the bottom half of his face. 

He gives you a dark look, his eyes almost blind with lust as he struggles to undo his fly without taking his fingers out of his mouth. 

You lean up and quickly help him, marvelling at the strength in his thick thighs as he kicks them free of his jeans and boxers. 

Your mouth goes dry and you swallow at the sight of him, the tip flushed and needy. Thick and long and you pause. Fuck. He was big, really big. Clarity seems to flash in your mind for the first time since you both went into your flat. How the hell were you going to fit that inside you?

Steven growls, kisses your neck, scraping his teeth over your pulse point and already edging forward as you lift up his t-shirt over his head. 

Being away from you for a second hurts. Makes his stomach twist and nerves scream. His dick twitches impatiently, already smearing precum (and his release from before) all over your thighs as he pushes himself between your legs. 

“Steven,” you start to say. The needy whine in your voice hampering your words. 

“Yes love?” He forces you back down and takes himself in hand. 

“I just, I’m-oh!” 

He’s not even thinking about his actions before he’s already sheathing himself inside your tight, wet heat. 

You gasp loudly, grabbing hold of his shoulders as he pushes impossibly deep, making you fuller than you have ever been and still he’s pressing deeper. 

You whine out his name in a sob as he bucks against you, pulling out a little before he pushes further in, stretching you wide. 

He swears under his breath, his eyes closed, brows furrowed together as he pulls out a centimetre before sinking deeper. Out, in, out, in, out, in, until finally he bottoms out. And it's heaven.

Steven doesn’t even give you a second to adjust to his size before he’s fucking you hard, bucking his hips like he wants to completely destroy you. Needs you to shatter under him. 

You’re so full you can practically feel him in your throat, the stretch so deep that it’s like he’s pushed all your internal organs higher, limiting your lung space and not letting you take a full breath. 

He grabs hold of the backs of your thighs, snarling as he forces them towards your chest, his fingers pressing bruises into your skin as he positions you into a mating press. His hips never falter, continuing their deep, hard onslaught that hits at a part of you you didn’t know existed. Every thrust sends a wave of pleasure up your spine, so perfect that it’s almost inhuman. Your slick coats his cock, smearing on his thighs as he fucks you within an inch of your life. 

“Steven,” you whine, your eyes rolling back as your second orgasm hurtles towards you. 

“Fuck, love,” he growls in your ear, biting at your neck. “So wet for me, so needy, I’m gonna break you, I’m gonna make you all mine.”

You moan loudly. Pleasure beginning to drown out every thought. His public bone grinds against your clit, making you want to scream.

“You know how many times I’ve cum thinking about you and what you’d taste like?” He growls as he snaps his hips in a relentless rhythm. “So fucking better than anything I could imagine.” 

You grab hold of him, your muscles tightening as his words send you over the edge. You cum hard, crying out as he ruts into you through it. 

He snarls as he cums, but his hips don’t stop as he pumps load after load of his spend into you and fucks it deeper until you're completely full. 

Your breathing starts to recover momentarily, but Steven is still rock hard and hitting that devastating spot inside of you so perfectly that it makes your head spin. 

Pleasure starts to creep back into your stomach and you whine, sobbing at the overstimulation. 

“Love, I’m so sorry,” he bites his lip, trying to slow his hips to no avail. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

“It’s okay,” you manage to stammer out as his thrusts punch the air from your lungs. “Don’t stop.” Tears start to form in the corners of your eyes. Too much, but you needed more. The idea of him stopping now boarding on painful. 

“Won’t stop, promise.” He moans against your lips, pushing you closer to the edge again. “Fuck!” He pulls out quickly and you whine. 

But you're barely given a second to lament the loss before Steven’s pulling you up with him. Your limbs are like jelly and you’re thankful for his surprising strength as he turns you around. 

You expect him to enter you doggy style but instead, he kneels down, his hands on your thighs and under your knees, and lowers you onto his cock with a dizzying speed. Your moan catches in your throat as he fills you. The stretch of this angle is intense as the head of his cock presses perfectly against that sweet spot inside. 

Steven groans as your walls clench around him, your own slick mixing with his cum to let him glide in. 

He places your legs outside of his and grabs hold of your breast with his right hand, kneading and squeezing it in time with his deep thrusts as his left toys and circles your clit. 

He bounces you up and down on his cock as he mouths at your neck, adding to the love bites from before, his chest pressed flush to your back. 

“S-Steven,” you barely get the word out, your nerves flayed raw with pleasure as he keeps pushing you higher and higher. You’re weak, light-headed and desperate as he growls in your ear; as he plays your body, brings you closer again like he had every cell memorised. “I’m gonna,” you sob. You don’t even get to finish the sentence. 

Another deep trust and you cum, squirming on his lap in bliss as your orgasm overtakes you. 

Steven swears, bucking up into you and biting his lip as your wall clench around him, trying to squeeze out every last drop as he follows you into that mind-shattering ecstasy. 

He cums deep, some spilling down his cock despite how tightly he is pressed inside, your pussy just too full to hold anymore. 

As you breathe deeply, trying to recover he holds you tightly, his hips still bucking upwards. His hard length still pushing firmly inside you. 

“Love,” he whines, reaching down again to stroke your clit. “Please, just one more, just one more.” 

How could you ever deny him? 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading! I'm not doing my normal tag list for kinktober as to not overwhelm anyone, please let me know if you'd like to be added/taken off.

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moon @campingwiththecharmings @minigirl87

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[iscarosaac]

It's 3am and I just can't stop thinking about how Marc literally hid his super secret and important items, including his phone and storage key,

in the fucking kitchen.

He could've hid these items literally ANYWHERE. But no. THE KITCHEN WAS THE BEST PLACE MARC COULD THINK OF

Anyway look at this for reference okay

Basically, Marc consistently came home after every missions and just shoved his shit above the kitchen and hoped for the best. And it worked! Until it didn't and he forgot to put the plank fully back into place.

Now to explain further, what makes everything slightly funnier about Steven finding Marc's stuff later on, is the fact that not only did Marc obviously slip up after all these years, but Gus is the reason why.

Like, I imagine Marc getting home after acquiring the scarab and climbing onto his little table stand and just putting his shit away in the kitchen like normal, only to glance down and see poor Gus just belly up in his tank (which is literally right next to the kitchen as you can see in my example). So in a panic, he just haphazardly puts the little plank of wood back and rushes to the nearest fish store to find a replacement. And we all know how that goes from there.

Anyway, all of his years of secrecy and perfect planning were thrown out the window because he couldn't think of literally ANYWHERE ELSE to hide his shit.

So yeah, that's my ramble for the night. Thank you for listening to my ted talk

[tiptapricot]

Ahem. I present to you all, the best mock up of Steven’s apartment I was able to glean from obsessive screenshots and combs of episodes 1 and 2. It is not exactly to scale bc I was just trying to get stuff down, and if there is a “?” next to something that’s because I couldn’t find a point to see it clearly enough to know it’s placement/what exactly it was, but I think this is pretty good all things considered.

This obvs doesn’t include all the scattered books and shelf knick knacks, or a few things that aren’t 2D, such as Marc’s stashing nook to the right and above Gus’s tank in the kitchen, or the storage loft above Steven’s bed which the wooden supports hold up and the ladder to the left of his bed reaches.

A few fun scene placement moments below cut! (Sorry for weird video format!)

Steven grabs the masking tape from the “tape table?”-ish area when he puts up tape, and regularly tosses the tape into the “tape bin” near Gus’s tank every following morning (the roll is also seen placed somewhere else later but a few things move around and these were the solid points I saw)

We don’t see a closet and we don’t know what’s in Steven’s drawers, but a lot of clothes are hung up by his bed (left) and near the bathroom (left). Looks like coats and shirts? But I also swear I see a sock

Steven gets dressed for his date not in the bathroom but with the sink and mirror left of his bed by his drying clothes. We see him uncover a mirror in the scene, as well as the tube light above the fold out and the top of a counter, both of which we see in passing as he’s looking for Marc later (the bathroom also only has the small circular mirror).

ID: A video clip from moon knight. It begins with Steven Grant pulling a piece of cloth from a mirror, which we watch him through. He is wearing a black suit jacket, yellow tie, and a white button up shirt, and soft music plays in the background as he straightens his tie and checks his waist under the coat. We then turn with his view to a three paneled mirror, which he looks at himself through before sighing, and shaking his head slightly as he says: “Look like a knob…” He then turns and takes the suit jacket off as he walks out of frame. For a moment the clip cuts to him in front of a red lit fancy restaurant, before the screen is swiped up to stop screen recording. /end of ID]

The couch exists! This is the area right behind the entry table (which is where Steven sits down to scroll through the burner phone, as well as where he puts the duffle bag of Marc’s things while talking to Layla). While this is near where the TV is, Steven never actually sits on the couch, but! It does mean fics of sitting on the couch and watching TV are in fact still canon.

Just a good shot of Steven’s kitchen, which is where he had his sad chocolate moment, and where he pushed the table over to find Marc’s stash. That table is visible in the lower back left, and the area he climbs up to is above that.

The flat actually makes no sense for the space we see it inhabit. Steven is in a hall but has windows in both walls, and when Layla goes outside through the far back window there are markedly not enough windows or wall space on the outside for the flat it contains. Which is goofy n dumb n I love it, but you could also spin in a weird god magic way should you want to sidestep the continuity error :-)

(ID in ALT for all)

Please let me know if you can find any big errors, or if you have somth to add!

[romanarose]

Marc calling you a dumbass as he fingers you to a babbling incomprehensible mess. Says your little brain is empty 🥲

Written in the Olive Garden dry storage just for you

Marc Spector X reader

Sexy Dentist

*****************

The man was getting on your last goddamn nerve.

Marc Spector was finger fucking into you at a rapid pace, harsh and steady, making you practically see stars. You try to say something, tell him how good he feels or how hot he looks as he bares over you, sweaty and strong and self assured. Marc wasn’t the most confident men you knew, but when it came to this? Marc knew he knew what he was doing, any words you tried to say came out as moans and little ‘uh, uh, uh’s to the pace of his fingers.

“What the matter baby? Can’t form words? Pretty baby too fucked out to speak?”

He knew damn well you couldn’t properly reply.

“I asked you a question”

You tried you best “m-mar-uh mmmph” it didn’t work.

Wicked grin on his face, Marc sat up beside you, still knuckles deep in your pussy “Why even try talking at this point, clearly there’s nothing going on in there” he taps your head and you can’t help moan at his degradation

“Ohhh, your pussy liked that, felt you clench down hard. Do you just need your mouth busy? Is that it?” Without waiting for a reply he shoves three finger in your mouth, and groans as you start sucking with closed eyes “is that? Little fuck toy wants to feel useful? Wants to be a good toy and get all used up?”

You attempted a little “mhm” around his fingers, drool dribbling down your mouth

“My good little whore likes all her holes filled?”

You make an attempt again, not getting far, but he pulls his sloppy fingers out of your mouth and slaps you, putting his fingers back in before you can reply “I asked you a question, say it, saying your my whore”

You were close, and his words were only bringing you closer, so you tried again “I-ur-oo-il-or” was all you were able to get out

“Good little fuck doll, so good for me, letting me use her up, dumb little toy with nothing going on in her pretty little head except my fingers and cock?”

You came all around him, liquids all over your mouth and pussy.

*5 minutes later*

Marc is cleaning off your face, frowning, you reach up for him “what’s wrong baby boy?”

He pauses before answering “you know I think you’re smart, right? And I don’t think you’re my sex toy. I love you, and I value you”

You’re heart melted for your sweet man “I know, baby, it’s just dirty talk, I love you”

Visibly relaxing, Marc bunched up the wash clothe, and tossed it toward the bathroom before laying down next you to you, interlacing his fingers with yours. “My pretty girl”

You kiss his cheek “and you’re my sexy dentist”

He was greatly confused.

You clarify “the way you ask me questions with your fingers in my mouth”

His beautiful face splitting into a grin, Marc pulled you into his arms, giggling as he called you a brat, and you spent the next few minuets rolling around on the bed trying to escape his arms with targeted tickles.

**********

On mobile and I can’t type for shit and my phone is wild with auto correct so forgive me

Tagging a few

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @kittyofalltrades @jake-g-lockley

[myfandomlikesandstories]

Contained - sequel

Marc Spector x gn!reader

Genre: angst, comfort

Summary: after the events of contained by @luke-o-lophus , Marc gets a call from the reader insisting he comes over for a heart to heart conversation over tea.

Warnings: heavy angst, talks of suicide and self harm, mention of cum, mention of childhood abuse.

Word count: 2020

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

Marc was woken by the shrill ringing of his phone. Usually, he wouldn't bother to pick up in a mood like this, but his sleep clouded mind had the upper hand. By muscle memory alone, Marc answered you.

"Hello?"

"Hi! Um, how are you doing?"

"What?"

"I asked how are you."

"Why are you calling in the middle of the night?"

"... I'm... Not? Marc it's 11 PM. Are you okay?"

There was an uneasy silence on his end of the line. He hated lying to you.

"Okay. I see. Will you come over please? I can pick you up if you want."

"No, no, I'll... I'll come." Marc knew there was no way to avoid you. You had a sense for people's trouble, especially his. And for some reason you wouldn't let him go. After some long years of friendship, he still struggled to understand why you care.

"Alright then. See you soon?"

Marc cleared his throat. "Yeah. See ya."

You felt as if it was one of those nights, and asked: "Do you promise?"

He gathered every crumb of strength he had left in him, and painfully declared: "Yes. I promise."

The call ended, leaving Marc with the impossible task of moving himself to your house. He felt his breath quickening as he realised just how monumental it seemed at his state. He was panicking. There was nothing he wanted more than for you to magically appear in front of him, help him clean up and carry him with you. To see all his pain, but not see it. Understand him but never think he is as damn pathetic as he felt.

At that point, every movement was a risk. Marc felt as if any little thing could start a chain of events and leave his body on autopilot. He was scared to stand up. He was scared to get his bag, the gun was there. He promised you he'll come. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He couldn't do it. He'd disassociate. He can't leave Steven here, no. He promised you he'll come.

Marc forced a slow breath in through his teeth. What would you do? What did you tell him to do? Come on, come on, think! He was getting frustrated with his brain, working so slow. Trying to think was like connecting unrelated pieces together. Pieces... YES! That's it! Do things in small pieces, break them down. That's what you told him.

Just one step at the time. He put his feet on the floor. ONE. He cleaned off the sticky remains of his cum from his belly. STEP. He put on his shirt. AT. Shoes. A. Bag. TIME! And he was out of the storage complex and briskly walking towards your apartment in the cold night air.

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

You heard a knock on your door and quickly came to open it. You were expecting Marc rather anxiously, you could admit. The kettle was on, and a mug with his favourite tea already stood on the counter waiting for the water to boil.

You opened the door and examined him. He was looking down at his feet, but you could see his nose was a little red from the cold. Why the hell wasn't he wearing a coat?

"Hey," you softly said.

"Hi." He replied with a shaky voice.

"Come in." You extended your hand to him and moved out of the way. He stepped into your flat and was pulled into a hug as soon as you closed the door.

He froze for a second, not totally prepared for the affection thrust his way, but relaxed and wrapped his arms around you. He laid his head on your shoulder and stayed there for a few breaths, then let go.

Marc stood in front of you, uneasy. You gestured to the couch. "The water just boiled, let me get you some tea?" You asked when he sat down.

"Um, uh..."

"Okay. I'm getting the tea."

You brewed two mugs and brought them to the coffee table, along with a box. "I made chocolate chip cookies," you said and opened the lid. Those were Marc's favourites. "Have some."

He was now sitting in front of you, tea in his hand and nibbling on a cookie. A lovely sight, agreeably, but the look on his face still bothered you. He was incredibly tense, as if he might crumble if he breathed too deeply.

There are things in Marc's life that created an almost perpetual hurt. Thrust from trauma to trauma, all that pain has crested and fallen and spiralled down under it's own weight, pulling Marc with it and drowning him. It just never stopped. Life didn't stop. More things happened and more things hurt, he thought he'd seen rock bottom from beneath. There was so little to feel good about, too little light in the darkness. He wasn't even looking up anymore - "how happy can I get" turned to "how much more hurt can I possibly withstand?"

"How much longer can I do this?" he thought. "Is it going to become bearable soon? At any point? Or will it only stop when I stop altogether?"

Marc was terrified of death. Even when he harmed himself, he was meticulous. Careful. He never left scars, always cleaned his wounds. He lied a lot, well enough to fool the army and definitely to fool his dad. Maybe he just didn't care. Maybe he wanted Marc to finish the job himself and leave Wendy "off the hook". Marc would always shudder at the thought. Scared to death of death. Scared and suicidal.

"Marc?" You roused him from his thoughts. "What happened?"

You took the mug from his shaking hands, not wanting it to spill, and set it on the table.

"Talk to me, dear." You leaned to scan his face with your worried eyes.

"Ehh... I don't know where to start." He said quietly, almost ashamed.

You took his hand in yours, as if to strengthen him. "Start from the chronological beginning. What triggered this chain of events?"

"It's, um, it's a long story," he patted your hand and shifted in his seat. "You know what? I'm fine. It's fine. I'm gonna go now, yeah? Feeling great!" He spewed anxiously, but you didn't let go of his hand.

"Sit down, Spector. I'm not done with you."

Marc was wholly taken aback by your stern response. In his shock, he obeyed.

Your eyes softened upon meeting his, and so did your tone.

"I have all the time in the world for you. There is no place I'd rather be, nothing I'd rather do, than sit right here, right now, with you. Tell me."

Marc drew in a shaky breath, exhaled deeper, and spoke.

"You know... For a while, I thought I could put an end to this. If I managed to do this or achieve that... I'd finally be free. My mind would stop... being this way. But it fails, every time. I fail every time. It's all back to ground zero. And I'm just so tired-" his voice cracked and he inhaled sharply.

"I'm so tired of trying. I wish I could just fall asleep and... And not wake up for a long time. A really long time."

You squeezed his hand. "Go on," you told him. "I'm listening." He squeezed your hand back and continued.

"I just wanna be good. It's... It's all I've ever fucking wanted. But nothing I ever do is good enough. I'm running out of ideas, and I wanna be prepared when I run out completely. What do I do then? I wish there was something good I could do. Something I could add to the world. God, I wish it so damn much!" Marc's eyes glistened with tears.

"And... And I'm not even supposed to be here. I'm not supposed to be this way. Marc... 9 year old Marc is the person the world asked for. Nobody asked for me. I'm twisted, I'm a product of circumstances, I'm a parasite who took over an innocent kid's life. I'm not supposed to be here. Not this way." His voice was chocked and cracking, so he took a few deep breaths to steady himself.

"I can think of at least three ways of... ending this. I'm scared. I'm scared that if I'll get up nothing will stop me. I know exactly what I'm gonna do but I don't want to do it! I don't wanna do it!" Marc's tears were flowing freely out of his wide open, terrified eyes. He pulled your hand to his chest, intertwined in his.

"I don't wanna go," he mumbled. "I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go, I don't wanna go!!!" Marc was openly sobbing now, shaking and swaying back and forth trying to self sooth. You let him rock for a minute, but when his grip on your hand became painful you leaned back on the couch and instructed him to lay on you.

He burrowed his face into the crook of your neck, and you started to run your hands through his hair, scratching gently at his curls.

"It's okay, dear. It's alright. I'm here. You're not going anywhere, I'm not letting you go. It's alright. I've got you. I'm holding you and I'm not leaving. We're okay." Your grip on him never loosened, not even after your shoulder was soaked and Marc had been crying for over an hour. You just held him, stroked his back and his head, planted little kisses on his hairline and never stopped talking. You wouldn't let the silence consume him.

"You're good, Marc. You deserve to live. I love you. I'm here. It's okay. You're safe. Everything will stop hurting eventually, I promise. It'll be okay. I'm here for you. I care, and I'm listening. Yeah, let it all out, I've got you. It's okay. You're good and you're loved and you're worthy. The world will be good and kind and you will be happy. There will come peace and surround you and it'll come from within. I love you."

You continued that way for a long time, him crying and sobbing and weeping and wailing and you - containing. Encompassing. Embracing. You were grateful for the trust he had in you, and for the opportunity to help. You held him until his sobs subsided, his distress dying down, but didn't let go even then.

When his all consuming sorrow had showed itself as only sniffles, when you've been cuddled together so long you'd become one, when you were absolutely certain he wouldn't disintegrate when you looked away, you relaxed your grip on him, and suggested a hot shower. He was too exhausted to argue, so you led him to the bathroom and put out a change of clean clothes for him.

"Stay the night," you asked. "Stay with me."

Marc obliged. He was still scared to be alone. In the shower he eyed your shaving razor as if it was staring at him, asking to be abused. Asking to abuse him. He washed as quickly as he could and practically burst out of the bathroom, towel around his hips and breathing heavy. He heard you faintly humming to yourself from the other room and relaxed, dressed himself and came to meet you.

"Hi." He said, tapping on your shoulder.

"Hey there. How are you feeling?"

"Much better. You were right about the shower."

"Glad to hear that. You must be spent, eh?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking exhausted. You're too, right?"

"Yeah. But I'm alright. I'm happy you're here."

"Thank you." He says shyly. "Do you want to go to sleep? I'll get a sheet for the couch-"

You stopped him. "What couch? No, Marc, I have a bed that we both happen to fit in. I said I'm not leaving you. I mean it. Come sleep with me tonight."

Marc was more grateful than he would ever admit. "Okay, thank you," he said. A few minutes later you were both warm and cozy in your bed, bodies tangled together.

"Thank you," Marc whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too, dear. Forever."

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

Tagging some mutuals: @ivystoryweaver @romanarose @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @spider-starry @eyelessfaces

[pleasurebuttonwrites]

Hung the Moon (Chapter 7)

Chapter 6 | Masterlist | Chapter 8

Pairings: Marc Spector x f!Reader, Steven Grant x f!Reader (blink and you’ll miss it), Jake Lockley x f!Reader (mention)

Summary: Mile high with Marc.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content: Angst, smut, fluff. Mentions of blood. Allusions to childhood abuse, but no detailed descriptions. Smut content: restricted hands, edging, technically public sex but no voyeurism

Word count: 5.2K

A/N: I did not expect this part to be so long, but I guess I really did try to pack so much into it. Btw I made up one of Khonshu’s abilities out of convenience, which as far as I can tell is what they do in canon.

Tags: Going to put tags in the comments this time to see if they work better that way. If you want to be tagged just lmk!

~~~

The airport is packed when you and Marc arrive later that morning. By the time you get through security and make it to your gate, you have little time to spare. There aren’t any seats left, so you both sink to the floor next to the moving walkways for some rest before boarding begins. You lean your head back against the plexiglass guardrail and close your eyes. It’s the first moment of stillness you’ve had since you received that life-altering text the night before.

It feels like ages since you had knocked on Steven’s door and broke his heart with all the secrets you’d been keeping, though it had really only been mere hours. The situation had quickly gotten out of hand from there until you were hiding behind a desk watching four dead bodies slowly seeping on the floor. Marc had helped you come out of your shock with reassurances that everything would be okay, he was going to help you. Then he had asked if you were squeamish with blood.

Marc had lent you some of his clothes, a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, so that you wouldn’t ruin your own. While he took care of the bodies, you had the job of cleaning up the mess left behind: scrubbing the floor and the cabinets and counters and anything else that got bloody. It was…unpleasant. But you imagined Marc’s job was worse, so you didn’t complain.

One by one, Marc singlehandedly shouldered each body - wrapped in a tarp by you and Marc - and carried it out of the flat. Exactly what he did with them, you didn’t know and you didn’t ask.

The only thing you did ask was how you and he weren’t already being arrested. Surely someone had heard all of the commotion and called the police? He had turned before he reached the door, body on his shoulder and told you that Khonshu was using his power to hide your activities, but that it would only last as long as the moon was out. Giving Marc only until morning to get rid of the bodies before he lost the god’s protection.

Dawn broke as you finished your last inspection of the kitchen. You could only hope that your cleaning had been thorough, since your vision was going double and your brain refused to focus on the objects you had stared at all night. 

Marc still hadn’t returned. There wasn’t much you could do about that, seeing as you didn’t know where he went and he had intentionally left his phone behind. You couldn’t just sit there and wait either. Your skin was crawling and you needed more than anything to get clean. You jumped into the shower, scrubbing your skin so hard the water stung where it hit you.

Marc was walking through the front door when you exited the bathroom with a towel wrapped around your body. He gave the kitchen a cursory glance and nodded his approval. He didn’t say a word to you as he moved around you and entered the bathroom. After Marc had showered - and he had put the fish in the care of a neighbor - you both went to your hotel to pack a suitcase.

As you threw your things into your bag, hardly noticing what you were shoving in there, Marc grilled you about your assignment. You told him about Jake being your contact. How he let you search the flat and a couple of storage units. And when those were a bust, you had approached Steven, but tried to stay under Marc’s radar at the same time. He listened to it all with an impassive face that somehow still managed to seem angry.

From the hotel, Marc took you to a storage garage where he had a car stashed. In the trunk was a suitcase packed and ready to go. He drove to the airport, and on the way, he told you more about Khonshu - the healing armor, how they summon the suit, and their duty to protect the travelers of the night. You asked him how he became the god’s avatar. He ignored your question.

You were no longer worried that Marc could get himself - and Jake and Steven - killed with his insane plan, not with the powers of a god behind him. You merely had to worry that you wouldn’t be able to find your sister in time due to your limited knowledge of your boss’s operation. You had voiced your concerns to Marc, earning you a sigh followed by patience-worn-thin reassurances which failed to be reassuring. Still, his offer of help was your only option, so there you were, hopping a flight with him.

Sitting there at your gate, with nothing left to do but wait to board your flight, your mind wanders. The images that form behind your closed eyelids are unsettling, the way they cut between the events of last night to your worst fears of what’s to come until they blend together and you watch yourself wrap your sister in a tarp and scrub her blood from the floor.

“What’s on your mind?” You don’t even realize you’re chewing on your nails until Marc looks over at you and asks you that.

You pull your fingers away from your mouth and hug your legs to your chest. You’ve already argued enough with him about your fears regarding your sister, and you really don’t want to cry about it at the airport. He actually seems willing to talk, though, so you don’t dare squander the opportunity to ask him something else that’s been weighing on you. “I fucked things up with Steven, didn’t I?”

Throughout the morning, you had repeatedly asked Marc if you could talk to Jake and Steven. After your last attempt, he had appropriately put you in your place. “You can’t just summon one of us at will,” he’d said in irritation.

You had flushed in embarrassment, muttering your apology. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” But you still sort of suspected that Marc simply wouldn’t let you speak with either of them. Or maybe they didn’t want to talk to you. Or even a little of both.

In the absence of getting to ask Steven directly, you figure Marc might have some insight. 

He doesn’t answer you right away, just squints out at the terminal. You’re sitting close to each other, but he’s careful not to brush against you. He’s got the knee closest to you up - the other on the ground - and his arm casually resting on top. 

“Let me ask you something,” he finally says. With a tip of your chin you gesture for him to go on. “What was the plan with Steven? How did you think it would end?”

It’s a good question, and not one you’d asked yourself. “I hadn’t really thought about it,” you admit. “I just…liked spending time with him.”

“Yeah, I bet you did,” he says under his breath. You pick up on his disapproval but also something else: a hint of suggestion, very subtle, but unmistakable.

You blush at the implication, and turn even redder from anger. “That’s not what I meant.”

He nods, chastened, and gazes out through the wall of windows that overlooks the apron. “Steven’s pretty forgiving. You’ll be alright.” He turns his head, catching your eye. “He may not like that you kept things from him, but if you ask me, Steven’s relieved you already know about us. Not everyone…accepts it.”

You’re a little bit stunned by how open Marc is being. Some part of you understood that, given the way the world is, they likely struggle with having DID. But other than Jake’s issues with Marc, he and Steven never showed signs of that struggle. At least, not that you’d noticed.

“Do you accept it?” you ask him quietly. 

He sighs deeply. He doesn’t seem offended by the question, but he doesn’t give you an answer either. “Why? Are you worried about him?” he asks you, and there’s something mocking about the way he does it. You know he’s talking about Jake.

You ask him the question that’s been weighing on you. “Was he just using me?”

His mouth sets in a hard line before he says, “Probably.” That hits you right in the chest. “I can tell you he was never going to help you get the-” he stops himself before he says the name out loud - “amulet. He just needed to get close to Big Man’s operation and there you were.”

That’s the last thing you want to hear. But you might have expected it. The low opinion Jake has about Marc seems to be mutual.

You just can’t make sense of it. If Jake just needed you to get to your boss, fine. And if that came with a side of sex, even better. But he didn’t have to treat you like he - like he…well, like he really cared about you. That would just be cruel.

And what did Marc know? He hadn’t even met Jake until last night. That means you know Jake better than Marc does…right?

“Did you really not know about him?” you ask. You know he heard you but with the way he just stops responding you’d think he didn’t. “You know this thing we’re doing? It’s called a conversation. You kind of have to talk to keep it going.”

“I…” Reluctantly he continues, “In a way I did.”

“What does that mean?”

“I saw what he would do when he had the body. I knew what he was capable of.”

“Hold on. I thought Jake wanted to stay hidden.”

He shifts in his seat, but remains silent.

“Did you ever try to talk to him?”

Silence. 

“Did you think you could just ignore him and he’d go away?”

Silence. 

“Unbelievable!”

In a low voice he says, “I haven’t…wanted to face him.”

It’s all starting to fall into place. “Are you kidding me? You were shutting him out? You have no idea, do you? All he wants-” You stop yourself because you realize you shouldn’t speak for Jake. “It’s just not fair.”

“I don’t know why you’re defending him. He’s not a good guy.”

“You’re wrong.” You just can’t bring yourself to believe that about Jake. No matter how he may have hurt you, you don’t think he’s a bad person.

“I’m not,” Marc says.

“Then how about you let me talk to him and I’ll find out for myself?”

“No.”

Never in your life have you ever met anyone as stubborn as Marc. You’d known him for less than 24 hours but that was long enough to know there was no changing his mind.

You fall silent. More late stragglers crowd in around you, and you and Marc squeeze together until your shoulders are pressed flush against each other. You look around the gate at the people you’re going to spend the next nine hours with in the sky. You wonder what they are traveling for. A vacation? Work? You doubt any of them were going to attempt to rescue their sister from one of New York’s most vicious crime lords.

You feel Marc jostle next to you and when you look over at him, he’s laughing quietly to himself.

“What?” you ask.

He shakes his head but he tells you. “Both of them?” You can only assume he’s referring to you being involved with both Jake and Steven.

You’ve had just about enough of Marc. “Yeah,” you say forcefully and give him your most withering look.

That sobers him up a bit, but the intensity of your response surprises him first. He looks like he’s about to say something to you when the boarding announcement comes on over the speakers. He rises quickly and extends his hand to you to help you up. You take it and give him a begrudging thanks.

—

Marc doesn’t say anything to you during the entire boarding process. He barely even looks at you, even when he takes your bag from you and puts it in the overhead. As the rest of the plane boards he sits still and stiff, staring straight ahead. Gee, you think, this will be a fun flight. At least you’ll be able to catch up on some sleep. Thanks to being in first class - which was all that was available on the next flight out when you booked early this morning - the seats are actually comfortable. You’ll be catching z’s just as soon as you’re in the air and you can recline your seat.

It’s exactly at the moment after take-off when you’d settled back in your seat and closed your eyes that Marc speaks to you. “Why does Foswell want it? The amulet?”

You wonder if him knowing your boss’s real name is Jake’s intel or his own.

“I don’t know,” you say as you raise your seatback. “Probably something to do with the stupid war he’s trying to wage against Fisk.”

“Wilson Fisk?”

“Yeah.”

“Kingpin.”

“Yeah.”

He lets out a low whistle at that. Your boss is ambitious, but not very smart.

“Can it really do what they say it can?” you ask him, referring to the Siege Perilous’s mystical abilities. “I mean, I didn’t believe that it could before, but after seeing…well, all the stuff Jake could do, I guess it’s possible, right?” 

You don’t know what it is, maybe something about the way his shoulders relax, but Marc seems to soften a bit. “You mean can it really give someone a brand new life? I have no idea. It’s not like I ever used it. But I have no reason to think it can’t.”

“Were you ever tempted to? Use it, I mean?”

He looks out the window next to you as if considering your question, swallows, then says, “How’d you get started with Foswell?”

You roll your eyes. That one was on you for expecting a straight answer from Marc Spector.

“I was young. Stupid. Broke. And I didn’t know any better.”

You actually get a smile - albeit a small one - out of him. He nods. “Sounds about right.”

You shrug. “I left home when I was 16. Dragged my little sister with me. God, did she not want to go. I had to promise her that we’d live a glamorous life in the city. She was so pissed when she found out we were broke as fuck.”

“Why did you take her with you?”

“If she had stayed, she would have been next.” You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, painting your face with the shame that doesn’t belong to you but you carry all the same.

You can feel his eyes on you and you dread the look of pity you’ll find there. You hadn’t told too many people about your past but every time you had, the pity was the worst part. Reluctantly you meet his eye and are nearly overcome when the only thing you see is understanding.

You’re caught in a moment with him. It’s fitting that you’re in the sky, crossing the Atlantic because whatever oceans were between you and Marc, there were fewer of them now.

“How did you keep her from going back?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You’re relieved to be released from the intensity of the moment. “It wasn’t too hard, actually. She liked her freedom. I couldn’t look out for her as much as I wanted so she got to do pretty much whatever she liked. I doubt she would have even finished high school if it weren’t for all the friends she made - and all the people she dated.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s your story after you left home?”

“Uh…well I thought I could finish high school, too, but it turns out stuff costs a lot. I had to drop out and pick up whatever work I could. I waited tables for about a month - that didn’t end up working out.”

“Why not?”

“I spilled hot soup in the lap of a guy who grabbed my ass.”

That earns you a smile - a real one.

“Then I started dating this guy and, well, he got me a job with Foswell. The guy didn’t last, but the job did. I worked for him for a few too many years. But the money was good.”

“Why you? Foswell has some heavy muscle. Why send someone like you for this job?”

“I’m usually pretty good at persuading people to give me things,” you say pointedly.

He gives you a quick eyebrow raise and says, “Yeah, I can see that.” He stares at you in a way that makes the back of your neck heat up. It’s not lascivious by any means. But Marc Spector’s full attention on you has basically the same effect.

You clear your throat. “Um, anyway, once I had some money saved up I wanted out but I was too ‘valuable’ to them, so, you know…”

“Your sister?” he guesses.

You nod. “I didn’t even know she was seeing someone. She didn’t fucking tell me. He’s one of Foswell’s inner circle. I found out after they had eloped. She was 19 and he was already in his 50s.”

“Jesus,” he breathes.

“And he doesn’t give one fuck about her. They’ve used her against me ever since.”

“Why’d she marry him? You ever try getting her to leave him?”

“She doesn’t want to. She doesn’t believe he’s part of the mob. And as to why she married him, well…she thinks I’m just jealous that she has nicer things than I do. God, she’s such a fucking brat. If they ki-” You swallow thickly and fix Marc with all the threat you can muster. “If anything happens to her…”

You’re not sure what you could possibly do to him since you’d be doing it to Jake and Steven as well. But you need him to know how you feel.

“And all because you won’t just give me the stupid fucking piece of shit amulet.”

He starts breathing heavy and at first you think you’ve made him angry. But then you notice that his eyes are darting around in this kind of lost way and he says, “I had a younger brother.”

That’s not what you expected for him to say. His face is screwed up into a grimace and he’s nodding to himself like he’s trying to get the words out. “He died.”

Your heart skips a beat and your hands go cold. All that worry you have about your sister and Marc has experienced it firsthand. “Marc…I’m-”

He shakes his head, stopping you from saying anything. He turns to you and his eyes are intense. “I’m not going to let anything happen to her. Your sister. I promise.”

You know he’s serious, that he means it. You hold his gaze until you can’t anymore, turning away as the tears fall. You nod to him and try to swallow, but you have to work your throat in order to.

You feel him take your hand and give it a gentle squeeze. You squeeze it back and peek over at him. He seems completely different, a tender, beseeching look to him. It takes you a beat to realize why.

“Steven?” you ask incredulously.

“It’s alright, love,” Steven says. You’re beyond relieved to see Steven again and his comforting presence washes over you.

You wonder whether it was Marc or Steven who was the one to take your hand but you don’t ask.

Instead, apologies fall out of your mouth. “Steven, I’m so sorry. Really, I didn’t mean-”

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he tells you. With his free hand he wipes away your tears. “Don’t worry about that, now.”

He pushes his seat back and gestures with his chin for you to do the same. You lay your head on his shoulder, reveling in his warmth. You close your eyes, the relief of at least one thing in your life being righted relaxing you into sleep. Before you drift off, your last thought is how you can’t help but wish you’d been able to finish your moment with Marc.

—

The plane dips from turbulence, waking you up from your nap. You raise your head, horrified to find you’d been drooling. Thankfully most of it is on your lip not on his sleeve. You try to subtly wipe it away.

As you’re doing so, Marc says, “So that’s what you look like when you’re asleep.”

For one embarrassing moment you think he’s talking about the drool. But then you remember: the night before last, your sleepover with Steven when you’d pretended to be asleep when Marc had shown up.

“You knew?” you ask him.

His lips curl into a satisfied smile that lights up his eyes.

You give him an annoyed tut with your tongue but you find yourself smiling too. “How long was I out?”

“About two hours.”

You think about that but your sleep addled brain can’t do math. “So, how much longer?”

“Five more hours.”

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. You press your back into your seat and try to breathe. You just want to be there already. And off this plane. It’s driving you crazy to have no control. It feels like you’re standing still. You feel so helpless up in the sky, at the mercy of time. Anything could happen to your sister while you’re up here. Your mind can’t help but catastrophize what would happen if you fail.

Marc reaches over and places his hand on your leg, which you’ve been bouncing in your antsy state. His hand, firmly pressed against your thigh just above the knee, presumably was meant to calm you down. But it does exactly the opposite. It is, however, successful at distracting you from your thoughts.

You turn your head to him and accidentally catch yourself staring at his lips. With the heat of his hand on your thigh, you want it to creep up higher, you want-

“Can you get back to sleep?” he asks.

You shake your head, your thoughts heady, and you know you’re not hiding them well. You drag your gaze away from his lips but there’s nothing you can do to disguise the heat in your eyes.

You can tell the moment he realizes it. After a beat, he looks away, but doesn’t remove his hand. You swallow and your pulse rushes in your ears.

Then he squeezes your thigh, leans over and says in a low voice, “Meet me in the bathroom in a minute.”

You’re so shocked, you wonder if it’s even still him. “Marc?”

“Come on,” he says. “It’ll distract you.”

You feel a rush deep inside as you think of all the ways this man could distract you. You remind yourself that he’s not Jake. And he’s not Steven. But that’s not really the problem, is it? The problem is you want Marc.

You stammer a response, “I-I can’t… just, Jake…Steven…”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” he says evenly.

“What does that mean?” you ask, confused.

“It means, we’re all in agreement.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re all in agreement.”

You try to think of another objection.

He rises from his seat and tells you, “One minute.” Then he leaves you there.

You’re not sure you’re going to do it. You could just stay in your seat. Then after a few minutes, he’ll come back and you’ll say nothing more about it.

Then you’ll spend the rest of the flight next to him squeezing your thighs together to relieve the pressure.

He opens the door a split second after you knock and pulls you in. There’s hardly enough space for both of you and every part of you that’s touching him is lighting up. He gets right to work undoing your pants and you start in on his, your hands sometimes at odds with each other in the cramped space.

He tells you a safe word and makes you repeat it and tells you to use it if you need to. You wonder what he could possibly have in store for you to need a safe word - especially in an airplane bathroom.

He’s managed to get your pants down over your hips and his hand dives between your legs, gently exploring and spreading your wetness. You’re embarrassingly soaking wet already and his soft strokes make you shiver. You only just get his pants unzipped, when he grabs both of your wrists with his free hand and pins them to the wall over your head. At the same time he slides two fingers deep inside you. You arch your back toward him with a breathy whine.

“You have to be quiet, alright?”

His silky voice isn’t helping, but you nod as you fight back more sounds. He’s slowly fucking you with his fingers, curling them to hit the spot deep inside you. When he pushes them all the way in, his palm grinds on your clit. You thrust your hips at him in small pulses trying to get to him, trying to regain any control, but you have none.

Any time you make a noise he stops, sometimes stilling his fingers, sometimes removing them entirely. He reminds you to be quiet and he doesn’t start up again until you are.

He watches you the whole time, soaking in the effect he has on you. As he works on you, a snarl tugs at his lip on the left side of his face. He only looks away once, when he turns his head to the mirror as if called. He gives it a brief acknowledging glance before returning his attention to you.

As you’re approaching your orgasm, you try so hard - so, so hard - not to make a sound. And right when you’re so close that just one more touch would do the trick, he pulls out of you. That elicits a groan from you louder than any other sounds you’ve made. It goes like this, no matter how good you are, as you hurdle toward your release, no matter how you bite down on your lips and swallow your moans, he just won’t let you finish. After the fourth or fifth time - you’ve lost count - you close your eyes, feeling something like defeat. You wonder if this man is going to let you cum at all.

“Open your eyes, baby,” Marc whispers to you. “You’re not here with them. You’re here with me.”

You comply and the intensity with which he looks at you, combined with what he says, pulls another whimper out of you. He goes still again until he’s sure you can keep quiet.

It’s subtle, but you realize that after each time he stops, he goes a little bit faster, a little bit harder when he resumes. His fingers piston in and out of you now, the squelch of your pussy taking his digits louder than any sounds you’d been making.

You whisper, softly so as not to make him stop, “Marc, please.”

“Do you need to use the safe word?” he asks without slowing down.

You shake your head.

“I need you to tell me.”

“No,” you breathe.

You’ve never been this frustrated, never been denied an orgasm so many times or for so long. Tears slide down your face as you mumble weak pleas for Marc to give you your release. Something within you clicks into alignment in that moment. You feel like you’ve been put together as you’re falling apart. It feels good, it feels right, to openly be a mess. To show all that pent up frustration and ugliness you’ve felt for far too long. To have someone witness it and to give your trust over to another to pull it out of you. To have the outside of you match the inside.

Finally, finally, finally he lets you cum. You almost can’t after being denied for so long, as if your body doesn’t trust it. But he’s relentless with his fingers, the way they pound and press and massage into you and demand your release. He lets go of your hands so that he can clamp his own over your mouth. 

The relief you feel is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. It’s not just an orgasm - felt in every single nerve in your body - it’s a cleanse. It’s a promise.

He hasn’t even pulled his fingers from you when you toss your arms - that you can no longer feel - around his neck and push your lips into his. He doesn’t miss a beat, placing his free hand on your lower back and pulling you to him, kissing you back with a passion that surprises you, but you lean into trying to keep up with his lips and his tongue.

You hold onto him as you catch your breath, your pussy still clenching around his fingers. When you’ve regained most of your senses, he gently pulls out of you and guides you over to the toilet. He sits you down and tells you that you should pee.

He turns and busies himself washing up in the sink. It gives you a modicum of privacy, even though his leg is currently touching yours. You’re not sure that privacy is even needed anymore, not after he laid you so bare in front of him, but you appreciate it all the same. After you relieve yourself, you gently dab to wipe up, your bits are still so sensitive.

He dries his hands while you wash yours. When he’s done he zips up his pants.

“What about-” you start to ask him, but he cuts you off.

“I’ll be out in just a minute,” he says.

You push your paper towels in the bin and before you can protest, he gives you a brief kiss on the lips and opens the door.

You have no choice but to walk out. You almost run right into another passenger, a man, tall and wide and towering above you, waiting for the lavatory. You really hope he hasn’t been waiting there long.

“Is there someone else in there?” he asks you, pointing to the “occupied” sign by the lock.

You muster all the affront you can. “Excuse me? Why would there be someone else in there? What are you trying to say? It’s clearly just broken or something.”

You scurry away to your seat, not wanting to still be there when Marc comes out. In your seat, you can’t help but nervously watch the door to see how it all plays out. 

A minute later, Marc exits and before the guy can say anything, Marc fixes him with a dangerous looking glare. The guy backs down and enters the lavatory without a word. The whole exchange makes you ridiculously giddy - or maybe that’s just the effect of the mind blowing orgasm you had not five minutes ago.

Marc settles in next to you, giving you a little conspiratorial glance. He has you rest your head on his shoulder and makes sure you’re comfortable. It’s not even thirty seconds before you’ve drifted off to sleep, not waking again until the wheels touch the ground.

~~~ A/N: Part 8 coming soon!

Chapter 6 | Masterlist | Chapter 8

[joyful-soul-collector]

6 Voicemails from Steven + 1 from Marc

Summary: @little-cereal-draws wrote a fic for MKtober2022 Day 2: Laters Gators that was made up of voicemails Steven made to his mother (which you can and SHOULD read here), and it made me wonder: what voicemails would Steven have left for his mother during each episode of the Moon Knight tv show?

This fic answers that question. 

(It also answers this question on Ao3 and Wattpad)

Here we go:

Voicemail from: Steven Grant

“Hello, Mum. It's me. Just checkin' in. I got your postcard, putting it up on Gus' tank now. Yeah, it's very nice. He’s fuming, though. Keeps asking why I don't take him anywhere nice. Maybe one day, right? He'd love to get out there, but it's a bit hard with one fin, innit? Anyway, Mom, all's well here. Not too bad. Still wake up every morning still feeling like I got hit by a bus. And if you…” 

He pauses, and when he speaks again he’s talking to someone else, his voice muffled. There’s the sound of cars going by, and people bustling. It’s calm, and he’s okay. Then Steven’s voice returns clearly, speaking to his mother again. 

“Anyway, sorry I missed you, Mum. I'll try you again tomorrow. Laters, gators.”

~~~

Voicemail from: Steven Grant

“Hiya Mum. Sorry I didn’t call earlier, I woke up rather late today. Yeah I dunno what happened! I had the weirdest dream last night, I was in the Alps, and there was this man who did something… something weird and killed this woman? And then it got really weird, I kept missing chunks of the dream, and there was a whole thing with a cupcake van and--Agh, anyway, I just er, slept the day away yeah? I’m er… well I’m lucky I didn’t miss my date! It was with Dylan, you know, the girl I told you about? Yeah, you know, I think she really liked me. She loved the flowers. Yeah. Yeah, well, I'm gonna bring her around soon, I think. Yeah, I think you'd love her. Yeah, she's got a great sense of humor. So... Anyway, I'll tell you more about it tomorrow. Love you. Laters, gators.”

~~~

Voicemail from: Steven Grant

“Hey, Mum. Could you erm… just call me back, yeah? There’s… there’s something happening to me, I think. There’s something erm… something. That dream I had, the one I told you about in the Alps? Turns out it wasn’t a dream, right? Which doesn’t make any sense, but listen, I saw that man at the museum yesterday, the man that killed that poor woman? He came by, and then after work… well, that’s why I need you to call me back. It’s really hard to explain. Yeah, I’m going to work now, just feeding Gus before I go. Or erm… whoever this is. Need to er, talk to you about that too. Anyway I better go. Call me back please? Love you, laters ga--Oh hang on, I almost forgot! Do you know anyone named Marc? Or Layla? I found a phone in my flat, I thought you might’ve left it here. Why you put the phone in the wall I don’t know, but I found that and a storage locker key in there. So erm, yeah just, gimme a call? Please?”

~~~

Voicemail from: Steven Grant

“Mum!? Mum!? Listen, something is really really wrong, I-I can’t control my body, I can’t control my mind--I need help, please, I-I’m in Cairo right now, I’m in bloody Egypt, a-and I don’t know when he’s coming back. He could take over at any second--Shit, I… Mum I can’t speak Arabic, I don’t know where I am, where the airport is--god I hope the cabbie speaks English.” 

His breath starts to quicken, growing shallow and shaky. There’s the sound of cars going by, and people bustling. It’s unfamiliar, and he’s scared.

“Mum this is erm… this is too much, I think. This is too much, I can barely keep my thoughts in a row, I can’t do this by myself, please call me back, I just… I need some help.” 

He sniffs, and takes a few deep breaths. 

“I erm… I hailed a cab, he’s driving up now. I’ll call you once I get to the airport. I don’t even care how much it’ll cost to call, I just… I really need to hear a familiar voice right now. Please, Mum. Call me back. Love you, laters gators.” 

~~~

Voicemail from: Steven Grant

“Hey, Mum. I erm… I’m still in Cairo. I… I decided to stay. God I… I have so much to tell you, Mum. There’s so much that’s happened. I think I might come visit you when this is over, yeah? Tell you about it all. Maybe you’ll even get to meet Layla! Remember when I mentioned her? Yeah turns out that phone didn’t belong to you, it was… well, that’s a whole bit to tell you when I see you. 

“Anyway, Layla is this woman I met, yeah? And she’s just… she’s something else, Mum, I mean she’s just wonderful. She can read hieroglyphs, she speaks French, she loves Marceline Desbordes-Valmore, and she’s so strong and beautiful and--Oh god, look at me, rambling on like a kid, heh.” 

There’s a hesitant pause, Steven’s breath catching as he considered what to say. There’s no sound, and he’s not okay.

“Why didn’t you call me back, Mum? I’m fine now, but it’s been days since then and you just… were you even worried? That I haven’t called in so long? I only ever hear from you in your postcards, Mum. And you barely say anything in them anyway. I know you’re afraid of tele salespeople but you should’ve gotten my message, you should’ve called me. I really needed you, Mum, and you just…” 

He sighed, the second pause saying everything he needed it to. 

“Anyway I better go, I’m supposed to be looking for supplies before we go into this place looking for an ushabti. Again, lots to tell you when I see you. Call me back when you can this time, please. Love you. Laters gators.”

~~~

Voicemail from: Putnam Psychiatric Hospital

“Uh, hello, Mrs. Grant.” 

There’s a short silence, where not even death’s cold rattle could be heard. 

“Yes, this is Dr. Harrow. Mmm-hmm. Steven's here. He'd like to speak with you. Steven, would you like to speak to your mum?” 

There’s the soft sounds of the phone being passed from hand to hand. It’s possible to hear the sound of his tears when they fall. They make a small plink when they hit the tile floor. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s the only sound it could possibly be. It’s the sound of horrible, deep sorrow, the sound a life makes when it loses its tether to another life. The sound a wife makes when she loses her husband. The sound a boy makes when he loses his brother. The sound a mother makes when she loses her son. 

“My mum… My mum is dead.”

~~~

Voicemail from: Mum

“Hey, buddy. I uh… I guess you know by now that this is, uh. This isn’t Mom’s phone. Never has been, to be honest. Nah, this is a phone that I had in my storage unit. I wanted you to be able to call Mom, and uh… well it was a good way to keep tabs on you too. Make sure you were okay. I listened to every one of them, Steven. And I just… I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry I kept myself hidden from you all this time. I thought I was protecting you, I thought it would make things easier, I… fuck, I don’t know what I was thinking. 

“There were so many times when I wanted to just… come out and tell you everything. I knew you were alone, even when you said you weren’t. Knowing you were there, alive, and full of hope, like I said back in the Duat, it saved me. But you didn’t know I was there. You felt alone. Even if I was there, you didn’t know there was anyone looking out for you. You didn’t know that anybody cared. And I shouldn’t have done that to you. 

“But you won’t have to be alone anymore, alright buddy? We’re gonna get through all this together. You, me, and whoever else is in here, alright? None of us will be alone anymore. 

“Alright, I’m gonna go, we gotta get on the plane soon. Gotta get back home, see if we can get a real night’s sleep for once. Love you, bud. Laters, gators.”

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Home Sweet Tomb

Summary:  Marc thought everything was done that needed to be done. And then he got the call. How does one deal with the last of a family.

Warnings:  Grief. Pure raw grief. Death of Elias (nothing grafic). Hurt comfort.

Word Count:  4814

Word Prompt:   Tomb

--

Going back was never on the game plate. 

Getting away was the only thing to do. Get as far away as possible. And he did. It was easy to get lost in the crowds of South America. The sands of the middle east. The faceless and nameless bodies of the marines. The disgraced and shadowy nature of the mercenaries. 

Lost in love with Layla. Lost in everything. So long as he never had to go back. He had no reason to. He could pretend that the place had never existed except in his nightmares. 

When she had died, Marc had spent a day considering his options before he had gone back. The plane ride had been a lesson in what it felt like to have the longest and slowest panic attack. The kind that snuck up on you and left you wondering why you were clutching at your armrest so tightly and staring down a long dark tunnel. 

Getting off the plane had been easy. He had brought very little. A single carry on bag with toiletries and a suit. He had rented a car taken the familiar streets easily. No maps were needed. Very little had changed here. Nothing ever did. 

When he had found himself in front of the familiar house, he had stared up at it with a sense of dread. Tall and dark, it sat waiting for him with pain and nightmares he couldn’t face.

It was her house. Even dead, he could still sense her inside it. He could see her sitting in her front room chair, a can or bottle in one hand and the look of a predator in her eye. 

He had refused to return. Wandering off, he had at last released the hold on Steven that he had gripped so desperately all this time. Or perhaps, Steven had clawed his way out through the open wounds. 

It was done now. It was all sorted. He didn’t have to face those doors again. The endless staircase of pain. The sound of banging on the door. It was all in the past. He didn’t have to go back. 

Until he got the call. Why had it never occurred to him? Why had he never thought that someday it would fall on him? Did he just think that one day they would be in this world and the next they would just disappear? 

Perhaps it was because of how he himself had viewed his own existence at certain points. To exist and then just fade into black. No longer a scar on the world and nothing to leave behind. Only a memory that no one really could place. 

The phone call was brief. Informative. To the point. Less than a minute long. 

It was early morning. He had been woken by the call and he had simply nodded and thanked the person for letting him know. He had hung up and lay back in the bed, eyes closed as he felt the rush of responsibility fall on him. 

He needed to call the family. The Rabbi. The Neighbors. The landlord. Oh, and the utilities and insurance and bank and funeral home and… 

“Who was that?” Layla rolled over and draped an arm around him lightly. 

Marc put up a wall. “No one. Just… Uh… Go back to sleep. I have some things I need to do.” He kissed her hand and slid out of the bed. 

He went about his normal morning routine. He felt a pull and he put up another wall, blocking Steven and Jake out. They didn’t need to get involved in this. 

He went to the storage unit. His space. His space where he could work alone and feel connected to a time when he was anywhere but back there. He found the little book where he kept all the contact information. Things he had never felt comfortable throwing away. Things where a small part of him had lingered on hope that maybe someday…someday… 

But someday was gone. The last trace of it was fading and his fingers lingered on the edges of the pages for just a moment…just this one moment when he was still in the here and now… 

He opened the book and pulled out his phone. He did what he does best and got to work. 

“No. The spare keys are in the back. Third pot from the right of the door. Haven’t moved it in years so it’ll still be there. Uh huh. I don’t care. Maybe… Let them decide. They know the place better than I do. No no… I’ll take care of it. Just call this number if you need anything.” He moved down the list. Giving orders. Making decisions. Passing off the tasks to those that were there. Those that could take it and get it done because he wasn’t there. Because he had chosen not to go back. Because he had walked off and forgotten…

“No. I won’t be there. I…I have work.” He lied easily. “Go ahead and do it without me. There’s no sense of postponing it. He wouldn’t have wanted to break that tradition. Yeah…. I’ll be there later. The weekend I think. I’ll clean it out.” He could leave it to someone else. He could just call a team to go in and make it all disappear so easily. 

Another wall and he felt his resolve solidify. He bought the ticket before he could back out. Before the weight of it all could settle on him. 

Returning back home at the end of the day, he sank down into a chair and looked up at her. Her warm smile. Her soft hair. Her trusting gaze that he had struggled so hard to earn back. 

“He’s dead.” He stared ahead. The number of times he had said that in the past several hours had been ridiculous, yet it still failed to numb it. 

Her smile disappeared in a flash and concern flooded her face. “Elias is dead.” He dropped a wall and let the information spread. He said it again. “Dad’s dead.” 

There was a beat. A physical jolt through his system as first Steven then Jake received the knowledge. As each processed it. Processed what that meant to them in their place and memories and individuality. 

Marc still held a solid front. He could hear Steven crying. Somewhere inside Steven was crying for a father that he barely remembered or connected to, but had still known on some level. 

On the outside, he felt Layla gently pull him into a hug as she brushed his hair back in just the way he liked and whispered words of comfort. 

In Jake’s corner of their world Marc felt nothing. He had shut himself away. A brief burst of rage before he slipped out and there was only Steven, crying softly. 

Marc numbly nodded. To whom, he didn’t know. There was still work to do. 

“When are we going back? The funeral and all that… Is’t there something about the first twenty four hours? I read somewhere…” Layla fumbled with a culture she had never been properly introduced to. Marc had never felt the need. 

Marc simply shook his head. “They’re taking care of it. I’m not… I can’t… I’m not going to be there for the arrangements.” He left it at that. It was easier to speak formally. Detached. He was only following the list of things he needed to do. “I’m going back on Friday to take care of a few things. I shouldn’t be long. I think I can get it cleaned out in three days. Cleaned out enough anyway.” 

“Friday?” She chewed her lower lip then nodded. “Do you want me to buy us tickets?” 

Us. A plurality that he understood well. A path he had not chosen. “Just me.” He corrected. “It will be easier.” 

She didn’t like that. Boy did she tell him so. She never had any issues voicing her opinions when she felt he was doing something stupid. This was absolutely one of those things. 

He shuddered as Steven also started to voice his distress. “Marc how are you going to clean out a whole house alone in just three days!” She demanded. 

“You can’t go alone! You can’t do this alone! We’re going to need her! You’ll need her!” Steven decided he needed to take over. Buy tickets. Get there earlier. Do things properly. He wasn’t thinking straight. The plane ride alone would put them there too late. Things couldn’t be delayed. A glance at the clock and quick math confirmed it for him. His father would already be taken care of. 

Steven pushed for the front. Pushed hard. 

Marc pushed back. He stood up and started to pace the flat. He was very aware of Layla watching him and ready to argue more. She was used to seeing them hold conversations. She was used to seeing them have mild fights and disagreements. She had once had to break up an argument between Steven and Jake over the stupidest thing. 

This… This was not something she had ever seen. A one sided fight of emotion and something that built until it threatened to crash all around them. 

“No.” Marc cut the air with his hand. “I don’t care. I’ve already handled it. What the hell do you think I’ve been doing all day? I SAID NO. YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW HIM WHAT THE HELL DO YOU CARE? LEAVE ME ALONE!” He kicked over a chair. 

Steven made a grab for front. A bold move that failed as Marc picked up a glass of water from the table and threw it. He watched it shatter, spilling the water across the wall and down to the floor. It washed away the thin layer of dust that had once been there. A layer of dust no one had known about until now. The glass sparkled, in shards, glittering in the light both beautiful and dangerous. 

Steven retreated. No. He was shut out. A wall had slammed up with the shattering of the glass. Marc felt the silence. The emptiness. The sadness and silent weeping inside now gone.

No one in the flat moved. He could hear the dripping water off the wall. He could feel the rage leave him and be replaced with guilt. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. 

Layla didn’t move, her arms crossed over her chest tightly as she stared down at the broken glass. 

“I’m sorry.” He pleaded softly. “I’m sorry…” A child lost and begging to seek forgiveness for something so small. Something that meant nothing but that felt so big in their world. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry…” 

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath, shutting it all down before it could run out of him like a burst damn. “I just… I need to…” He looked up at Layla, briefly lost in what he needed. He needed to organize. He needed to call more people. He needed to make sure it got done. He needed to rent a car. He needed to check his passport. He needed… 

The phone rang. He glanced down at it. “I need to take this…” He picked up and listened to the most recent condolences. “Thank you.” He nodded. Foreign yet familiar words crossed the ocean and he realized it was a prayer. 

He looked at Layla, who still stood by and stared down at the freshly washed floor. A memory of a part of him that didn’t exist anymore stirred and he recited the prayer with them. A prayer for his father. A prayer for his soul. A prayer for the friends and family. There was a prayer for everything. His voice carried the old words, stumbling over the parts that had faded over time from lack of use. 

Steven would have remembered them. Steven would have found comfort in them. A brief look of distress crossed his face as he forgot the ending phrase. Steven would know. Steven should say it. Steven should say it for them… He needed Steven. He was sorry. He needed Steven to finish this for him. Then the words came and he breathed easier. 

The prayers done, he gave more instructions and made more decisions. At last the phone stopped and Marc felt a hand on his arm. 

“Marc… I don’t think you should go alone… But if you think you need to… I’ll be here. You can call me every hour of every day if you need. I’ll be on the first flight there if you ask. But please… Don’t shut them out. Don’t shut Steven out. Let him help you. Let them mourn too…Please. Don’t run away again.” Tears glistened in her eyes. She knew about the last time now. Only what he had told her, but she knew. She knew it was why he left. It was why he had given up. “Come back to me. Please.” 

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. “I promise. I promise.”

The next few days went by like a bad dream. He stared down at his phone until it rang and it was one more thing for him to do. One more thing and one more thing and then another and another. He collected condolences and prayers like baseball cards. Organized them and put them away into their protective sleeves. When not on the phone, he paced and flickered in and out. He was struggling to stay grounded and someone else, Jake or Steven he wasn’t sure which, took the hold until the phone would ring again and he pushed outward to answer. 

Steven must have been out because his face was wet and Layla was gently stroking his back. Marc didn’t know. The wall was too thick and he was missing time. He had shut off communication. 

Jake had been out. He knew this because he came to in the corner, his back to the wall and palms bleeding from clenching his fists too hard. Layla was out. Jake would not show his pain to her or anyone, but the signs were there. The body was in distress. The body was tired. The body was in mourning but could not decide how to follow through. 

By the time the dreams hit, the phone had stopped ringing. There were no more condolences to give. No more prayers to take. 

The Shiva had passed and Marc at last left the flat. Perhaps he had conducted his own Shiva. One to match the sort of life they had lived. Denial and failure to thrive. 

The dreams were simple. Standing in a room until Elias walked in. Silent with nothing to say, yet he knew everything that had ever been said. He would wake breathing hard and clutching the sheets tightly. They were not his normal night terrors filled with screams. These were slow and quiet. Easy enough to hide. 

On Friday, Layla looked up at the airport, her eyes scanning the sky as if she might be able to pick out his plane if she tried hard enough. She gripped his bag tightly. A single bag. A single set of clothes and essentials. Just enough to disappear into. 

“You promised.” She clutched tighter. “Remember that. I’m here. Call me. Okay? Every day. Every hour. Every minute. Just call me okay? Come back.” 

“I promise.” He hugged her and slipped the bag from her fingers. “I promise.” 

She whispered something softly not meant for him. Marc felt his head nod and he shook it to clear it. Whoever had heard it had responded and Layla watched him enter the building. 

The plane ride was a blur. He was vaguely aware of slipping in and out. Perhaps sleeping. Perhaps not. He didn’t know who had sat buckled in so tightly. Who had chatted to the couple next to him. Who had ordered the soda and not let him touch the cheap alcohol. Who had gone to the bathroom and had a tiny quick panic attack before cleaning themselves up again and neatly bucked back into their seat. 

On the ground, Marc followed the roads. Roads that never changed. Roads that he saw in his dreams. Roads that he still knew the names of and could trace on a map. 

Roads to the home of pain and sorrow. 

He pulled the key from his pocket. His key. A key he had kept all this time, still on the Chicago Cubs keychain. It was easier this time. He was numb. He was a body from a day in the future when this was all said and done. He just had to get there. 

He reached up as he passed the threshold. A hand instinctively reaching up to touch the mezuzah. His fingers lingered there as he looked into the house. 

There was so much to do. Furniture. Clothes, decorations, pictures, dishes, and things. Things and things and things and things. Lived in and used and waiting and abandoned. 

Marc moved to the middle of the front room and slowly looked around. It was all the same and all different at once. The table and chairs were there. The pictures on the walls were unchanged. But there was a blanket on the couch. A pile of clothes on the chair. Papers stacked on the table. Notes in shaky handwriting. 

He walked to a desk and picked up the top note. “Don’t forget lunch on Monday with John. Bring salad.” 

It was in his father’s handwriting. He set the note back down and glanced up at the calendar. Days crossed off, notes and events scrawled across them. All leading up to the one day that still sat, unmarked and unfinished. 

“I can do this.” He whispered. He needed three piles. Trash. Donate. ….What was the third pile for? He looked around. Did he want anything? Was any of it worth anything to him? 

Moving to a picture frame filled with photos, he remembered gazing at it as a child. Picking out the family members there. Putting names to faces. Enjoying the happy faces living out happy events long ago. 

His father had put up Marc’s school pictures. Pictures where, looking at them now, Marc wasn’t sure who was in them. He remembered a few. That one there looked very much like Steven’s big goofy grin. That one could be Jake, but he was pretty young there and Marc wasn’t sure if Jake had been around yet for that one. He certainly didn’t remember it but he didn’t remember a lot of things. 

He took out his phone and snapped a picture of a few of the pictures then sent them to Layla. “See anyone you know?” he captioned it. She responded with a heart eye emoji. Something Steven would approve of. 

Marc slowly went to the kitchen. He felt like a stranger viewing a museum piece. Afraid to disturb the dust that had settled. Ghosts lived here and they were angry. 

He slowly pulled out the chair he always sat in as a child. He sat down and stared down at the table. A glass half full of water still sat at his father’s place. His mother’s place was bare. It had been for many years now in his memory. 

He gave himself only a minute before he got up again and turned to the stairs. Up he went, closer and slower with each step. 

His hand touched the door knob and –

He was holding a trash bag down stairs in the living room. It was almost full and three other full bags were piled in the corner. Boxes of donation items were filled and piled by the door. 

Marc shook his head and stared down into the bag. Photos stared back up at him. People he knew and didn’t. People that had excused themselves from his life long ago. He looked up and found the walls bare. He was almost done packing up the living room. It also looked like his father’s study was cleared out. 

He pulled out his phone and found the day was gone. It was late but at least it was still the same day. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” He addressed to the room. “I can do this.” 

“You ever stop to think that maybe we can’t?” Steven snapped back at him. 

Marc looked around. A trail of papers went from the living room to his father’s study. He set the trash bag down and followed it. 

Opening the door, he stopped. The room had been trashed. Things ripped from the walls, tossed about, broken and crushed. The desk looked like it had been kicked over and over again until it was dented and cracked. The only thing untouched was the Torah. 

“Jake?” Marc picked up a cracked photo of himself looked like it had been smashed against the wall. 

“Well it obviously wasn’t me.” Steven sighed. “I had to… Well I put him in time out I suppose. I’ve never seen him such a mess. You should see what he did to…To her things…” 

Marc turned and stared across the hall to the master bedroom. The door was ajar, the light on. He could just make out a sweater lying on the floor. Her sweater. He knew it well. 

“I can’t.” Marc took a step back. “I can’t go in there.” 

“Yeah. We should um… We should take rooms.” Steven nodded. “I’ll do it. I’ll take that room. I can take this one too. I don’t… I don’t um…” His voice wavered and he took a slow breath. “None of this means anything to me. I don’t remember this. Can you do the… The kitchen? I liked it in there. I liked the… The window. I could see the birds…” 

“Yeah.” Marc nodded. “I’ll do the kitchen and living room. Maybe when Jake’s feeling better he can help with the living room.” 

Steven nodded. Not trusting his voice to speak. 

Marc sighed. “Take a break. You look like you’ve been busy.” He gathered up a new trash bag and headed back to the kitchen. 

Jake came to the next day after they had taken a break to rest. He sat quietly alone in the living room for a minute or two before the others awoke. When they had eaten a simple breakfast of instant oatmeal Marc had found in the pantry, Jake quietly picked up a bag and started on the living room. 

When it was time to move back to the study, Jake had disappeared again. He had not spoken a word since Marc had first uttered the news. 

When Steven moved to the bedroom, Marc joined Jake in the dark. He was distantly aware of the body moving. He could watch if he wanted to, but when Steven opened the closet to find all the traces of her still there, he closed his eyes to the outside world. 

In the inner world, Jake sat beside him. Gently, timidly, Jake took his hand and they sat behind the closed and locked door together. Comforting and protecting and hiding together. 

After it was done, they found Steven at the top of the stairs, looking at the closer door. A door that still had a child’s drawing and name written across it. “Marc’s Room.” 

Marc opened the door and walked inside. Perhaps he was hoping his father had converted it into a new study. Hoping his mother had burned it all in a last act of cruelty. 

He found it untouched. Just the same as the day he left. A pen on the floor by his desk. A partially filled trash can with crumpled up homework assignments. An unmade bed. A picture on the wall of a fish with one fin. 

He slowly moved to sit on the bed. Without a word, he lay back and pulled the covers up. He was tired. This was the only room left untouched. 

He woke the next day, still in his old bed. Staring at the ceiling, covered in plastic glow in the dark stars, he pulled out his phone and dialed. 

“Marc?” Layla’s voice was beautiful. It soothed him immediately. 

“I think we’re done.” Marc sighed and closed his eyes. “I can’t finish it. Please…” 

“It’s okay.” He could hear her clutching the phone as she paced anxiously. “You don’t have to do anything. We’ll call a clean out crew to do the rest. You got what you needed now come home.” 

“I can’t!” Marc sat up and looked around the room. “I can’t let them take it! I can’t… I can’t put it in the trash. I can’t… I can’t put what’s left of me in there. I can’t… Roro… There’s nothing left. Nothing left… I can’t…” He shuddered and curled up, drawing his knees to himself as he pulled an old plush bear to himself and clung to it. “It’s empty… So empty… I’m the only one left…” 

Tears streamed down his face, hot and full of salt. He had heard once that tears of sadness were heavier in salt than other tears. A dead sea flowed from him, staining his cheeks and leaving all the sadness in the world. 

He could hear Layla calling out to him from the abandoned phone. He rocked, fingers stroking the old stiff fur on the bear desperately. Each inhale shook his frame as he filled up and then came out in shuddering sobs. He knew she could hear him as he cried for the family that now lay in the ground. The family he once had. The family he should have had. The family he lost in one moment in a deep dark cave. 

She didn’t hang up. She listened to him sob for what felt like forever. At last she heard the sounds of someone shuffling around and the phone pressing back to an ear. 

“There are no more tears to cry.” Jake sounded exhausted. “Please… Come get us.” 

Layla found them roughly ten hours later, still in their old room, clutching an old bear and staring up at a drawing. 

The rest of the house had been packed up impressively so. All that was needed was to call a company out to take the trash, donations, and furniture away. But stepping into his old room was like stepping through a portal to the past. 

She didn’t know who was in control, but they all needed the same thing. She pulled them in and wrapped them up tight in her love. She was safety. She was protection. She was comforting. 

She held him and stroked his hair gently until he slowly came back to himself. 

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.” Marc nuzzled her neck and she pretended not to see the bruised and scabbed up knuckles on his hands. 

“You don’t have to know. It’s complicated. You can leave it at that. You can miss them and still not be sorry. You can love them and still not forgive them. You can cry for what you lost. For what was taken from you.” She soothed him gently, rocking as she held him. 

Marc swallowed and nodded. “All of it… All of it can go.” He looked up. “Except that.” He pointed to the goldfish. “It’s all that’s left.” 

“Do you want any pictures?” She let him disentangle himself. “Anything else?” 

“No. No pictures.” He stood up and took the picture off the wall gently, his hands shaking as the wall was left with the shadow of the frame. “I want to leave.” 

“Okay. I’ll call the pick up services.” She watched him slowly leave the room, not looking back as he headed down the stairs. 

Marc stopped at the doorway. 

Steven reached up and touched the Mezuzah. He whispered something then they walked outside. 

Layla made the calls. She waited with Marc outside as the crews showed up and carted everything away. He handed her the key so she could lock up, he refused to go near again. 

The key was in a potted plant near the door, where there had always been one. 

They got in the car. “Do you want to….Pay your respects?” 

Marc closed his eyes. He did not want to go to the cemetery, but he was not the only one that may wish to say goodbye. 

Jake shook his head. Steven hesitated, taking a moment to think about it. “No. I don’t want that memory.” He decided at last. 

They went back to the airport. It wasn’t till they were in the sky over the ocean that Marc at last relaxed. “I promised.” 

“You did.” She smiled and took his hand. “Thank you… Thank you for coming home.” 

“Home…” Marc could not wait to see Steven’s books. To sit in Jake’s car. To watch the fish. To exist in a place he could return to over and over again. 

[refiwrites]

In Safe Hands

Pairing: Marc Spector x Fem! Reader x Steven Grant (implied)

Summary: As a skilled mercenary and also Marc's best friend, (Y/N) tries to save her best friend's alter when Harrow takes him.

Word count: 6.6k

Warning/s: MOON KNIGHT EPISODE 2 SPOILERS! mentions of knives, swearing, violence, basically a rewrite of episode 2 inserting (Y/N)

Note: Okay I didn't expect this one to be this long maybe because I just love Moon Knight that much... But please let me know if you want more of these! reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! or even comment down your thoughts!

READ CHAPTER TWO HERE, READ CHAPTER THREE HERE

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go, Marc promised (Y/N) that he’d update her when he did what he had to do. (Y/N), who was Marc’s best friend after all those years spent training to be a cold-blooded mercenary. It was no surprise Marc seemed to have grown a soft spot for (Y/N).

In all honesty, (Y/N) knew Marc was in love with her but he wasn’t making any actions to prove it, but she could tell. Although Marc had his reasons, he never wanted anyone close to him to be hurt, to be killed because of him. (Y/N) knew that but with the circumstances that they were in, one was always bound to get hurt.

(Y/N) however, went to the place Marc planned to rendezvous at. She couldn’t help but feel like Marc was hiding something from her. She parked her Suzuki SV650 on the side of the street with a sigh, wondering where the man was. She checked her phone. No messages. Nothing. It was almost past the time Marc said to her when they’d meet.

“Where the hell are you…” She spoke, tapping at her motorcycle to ease her worry. It was Marc, sure he could handle himself quite extraordinary since he’s the avatar of Khonshu, but sometimes he could be a bit…stupid.

She decided with a huff, putting her helmet back on and kicking her motorcycle to life as she sped up to the entrance, tires skidding to a halt when a figure face-plants few inches before her tire. Give or take they face-planted a few inches more and that’ll be a different story.

She looked at the person. Wait, hold on…

“Marc? What’s going on? Where the hell have you been?” She spoke, but the man below her, still covering his head, panting, looked up at her.

“(Y/N)..?” He questioned. Did he really hit his head that hard that he was questioning her?

(Y/N) shook it off, offering her hand towards him. “Just- let’s go, hurry.”

As the pair sped past the busy street, (Y/N) could feel Marc gripping on to her shoulders a little too tightly. Weird, he wasn’t like that when he rode with her.

“Okay tell me what’s going on, and what’s Steven? Is this some new fake identity you’re going with?” (Y/N) spoke through her helmet, making sure your voice was loud enough for her to hear. “I just thought you were talking in code the last time we spoke.”

“How’d you find me?” He asked. Was he serious?

“You told me to meet you back in that storage place! Honestly Marc, what’s going on?” You took a split second to look back at him, feeling his tense grip on your shoulders as you continued through the road. “You even promised to update me when you were done but you said nothing, I got worried.” She said, hoping he could be hit with guilt.

“Right. Yeah…” Marc said, (Y/N) shook her head. What was she expecting anyways?

“I just thought you were gone again, alright? You could’ve said something, but I know you’ll be fine without me here.” She said, proceeding to go on a rant when Marc’s hand proceeded to grip a little tightly on her shoulder that it started to hurt.

“Will you please stop clasping my shoulder like that?” She asked politely even though she was just worried sick.

“I- I’m sorry I don’t know where to hold.” He responded.

Steven was confused, what was she saying? He didn’t know anything about meeting up with you, he knows it was Marc’s idea but his head was empty as the air brushed against his face. “Wh- where do I hang on?” He said, letting go off the woman’s shoulders as he raises his hands.

He couldn’t see her face on the side mirror but he could feel how exasperated she was as she used one hand to steer while her other hand grabbed his and placed it on her waist, dragging it to her front.

Steven could feel himself turn red mixed with the feeling of embarrassment, but a bump on the road sends his other hand clasping on his, hugging your waist tightly as his face smacked your shoulder.

“Look, you possibly don’t know how worried I get when it comes to you, I know I’m not your wife or anything but… Marc you’re still my best friend.”

He didn’t know what was going on anymore. A part of him thought (Y/N) was special since he saw the messages Marc was sending her. It seemed cold but he could tell that he meant every word he typed. It slightly surprised him to know you were Marc’s best friend.

“Please say something, anything.” (Y/N) said, trying to glance at him from the side mirror as she drove her motorcycle.

“So…you’re…best friend?”

(Y/N) couldn’t make out what he was saying. “What? Speak louder.”

“You’re my best friend? I honestly thought we- you- were more-“ He said.

“God, what? Are you kidding me Marc?” Steven mentally face-palmed himself, he shouldn’t have said anything. He was about to clear things up when she was already saying something else. “I don’t get why you’re doing this, stop pretending Marc.”

“I’m not pretending…”

“The accent Marc, stop it.” (Y/N) said. “This is how I talk.” Steven said. “If you’re not going to stop then you might as well get off.” She said.

“No, no, no, wait. Wait, please, I will tell you everything, just get me to my flat, yeah?”

All (Y/N) could do was sigh.

“Just get me home.”

After Marc gave her the directions, he opened the door to his apartment, he moved to the side to let her in first.

What a gentleman... (Y/N) thought as she carefully walked in, inspecting the place. There were tons of books on the shelves, but she was more interested in the aquarium that held Gus, or at least what Steven thought was Gus.

Steven closed the door, remembering to lock it. He faced her and saw his reflection on the aquarium, only it wasn’t him, it was Marc.

‘You bought her here?’ Marc said, Steven noted the way Marc looked at her, it felt like he was longing for her. All Steven could do was shrug.

‘We were supposed to meet somewhere else, Steven. Get her out of here’

(Y/N) was now tapping at the glass, smiling at Gus, the reflection of Marc remained invisible from her point of view. She looked back at what she thought was Marc with her smile still on her face as she turned back.

“I just want my life back.” Steven said audibly.

“A life without me? We can arrange that if you’d like.” She replied, Steven couldn’t tell if she was serious or being sarcastic.

“No. Sorry, I wasn’t talking to you, just sort of.. talking to myself.” He apologized.

She stared at him before deciding to explore more of his place. “So, all of this yours, Marc?”

“I’m Steven.” He corrected you. (Y/N) looked at the bed that was thrashed. Gods, she probably thinks he was lazy or something.

“You living here with someone else?” Steven could sense the tint of hurt in her voice that she tried to cool off.

Steven’s eyes widened as he approached her. “No, no, no. This is actually my mum’s flat.”

“You guys are talking again?” She looked at him. Steven once again was stunned by confusion, he just let out a hum of approval. He watched her inspect his books.

“Into poetry now?” She looked at him.

“Yeah, sort of... Marceline Desbordes-Valmore. She’s my favourite poet.” Steven gave a tight-lipped smile as he recited one of the poems.

To his surprise, (Y/N) was saying the words along with him.

“Can’t believe you made fun of me for liking poetry before.” She shakes her head. “What? I would never.” Steven said. “Oh psh, you caught me reading one time and you said I spoke funny.” She smiles at the memory in her head in which Steven knew nothing of.

Then she was walking again to his table. “Interesting, learning about French and hieroglyphics, huh?”

“Yeah, well... That’s not that impressive, really, not like they’re a whole new language... Its more like a-“

“An alphabet?” She inquired.

“Yeah, well you still have to know ancient Egyptian to read it.”

“Sure.” She shrugged.

Steven felt a little more comfortable now, talking about his interests, that’s the one thing that keeps him going as he approached the table, pointing at one of the open books. “For example, like this one here, right?”

“Funeral rites.” (Y/N) said so easily, it caught him off guard. “Well someone knows their unilaterals. You.” Steven joked, pointing at her with a chuckle. She looked at him and he gulped. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah, it’s nothing.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean that in a creepy way.” Steven cleared.

(Y/N) just wanted whatever he was doing to stop, why is he calling himself Steven and doing a British accent?

“That’s enough, Marc, come on now you’ve got me.” She said.

“But—“

“What were you doing here anyways?” She asked.

“I- I don’t know, suppose working in a museum...”

“Museum? What are you really doing, Marc?”

“Look, you seem absolutely lovely. This Marc, on the other hand is a right twit yeah? He should’ve told you how he really felt and,” Steven said, seeing Marc’s reflection on the small mirror sighing and shaking his head.

(Y/N) felt like she was being toyed with.

“I don’t know how to explain what’s been happening, I- I don’t expect you to believe me I-”

‘Steven’ Marc on the mirror called out to him.

Steven stuttered, trying to begin how to explain what was happening with him.

‘Steven, listen to me’

“I honestly don’t really believe myself.” Steven said to her, making a move towards something.

‘You’re making a mistake’ Marc says.

“-Try to show you what I’ve found.”

‘Steve-‘ Marc sighed. Wanting nothing more to take in control so he could explain everything.

“I found this bag in the storage locker.”

‘Steven, don’t... Listen to me’

“.. Inside of it is all sorts...”

(Y/N) looked at him confused as her brows knit, wondering what Marc could have gotten himself up to this time.

‘Stop what you’re doing right now’ Marc tried to keep the tone of his voice calmly.

“.. Of things..” Steven continued telling.

‘Get away from the bag— Don’t show her what’s in the bag’ Marc repeated a few times.

“Most interestingly...”

‘You’re gonna get her killed. You hear me?’

That seemed to get Steven’s attention as he paused. Hands stuck in the bag.

“Most interestingly...?” (Y/N) pushed on.

‘You show her that scarab, you’re responsible when they come after her’ Marc breathed deeply, shaking the thoughts of what he said.

“Nothing.” Steven spoke.

“Nothing? Really?” She stepped closer.

“Nothing, nevermind it was stu-“

“What’s in there?” (Y/N) knew she should’ve trusted her instincts as she reached out for the bag, grabbing what’s inside it.

“Nothing- wait- wait.”

Before Steven knew it her hands were in the bag, scavenging for the thing he was talking about. Until she pulled it out.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was the scarab.

“Wait... The scarab pointing to Ammit’s ushabti? Is this really the scarab that we almost died for just trying to get it?” (Y/N)’s voice was getting dangerously angry.

“No...” Steven spoke.

“This whole- Steven thing... What’s it for?” She looked genuinely hurt, holding the scarab in her hand as she approached Steven.

“Tell me, are you doing all of this just to keep it for yourself?” (Y/N) bitterly chuckled. She knew it. He was hiding something. But this something turned out to be much worse. The times they’ve almost died trying to get that scarab and now it was just hidden in his bag all along? Resting away in some storage place?

“No, I swear...”

“After all we’ve been through!” She suddenly shouted, making Steven pause and Marc tensing in the mirror’s reflection. Marc knew this was coming.

“Stop it. Am I suppose to believe in everything you’re saying while this was just in here all along?” (Y/N) held onto the scarab, showing it to Steven, who she still thought was Marc.

“T-take it. Take it, you can have it.” Steven blurted. “Take it! I don’t want it. I swear. Have it.”

(Y/N) shook her head with a bitter smile.

“I am not Marc Spector.” He said, emphasizing every word. “I’m Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop- or at least I used to work in a gift shop... And I think I’m in real danger... And I think maybe that you might be the only person that can help me.” He pleaded. “Please.”

“You really don’t remember why we’ve been looking for this?” (Y/N) asked, looking at the scarab in her hand. “All the places we’ve been... The nights we sacrificed sleep for just to track this thing?”

Steven couldn’t answer.

“Or how we met?”

“I- I wish I could.”

Then there was a loud knock at the door. “Steven Grant, can we have a word?”

She looked at the door then back at him. “See? Oh, God they’ve come for me.” Steven whispered, pointing at the door.

“Why?” She whispered back. “I vandalized the toilet.”

Then there was the knock again. “Yeah. Just a minute.”

“Steven Grant?”

(Y/N) slowly backed away, not knowing how to act with all of this information coming at her. She saw Steven open the door to talk to the cops.

She pondered whether or not to help the man or not, but the hurt she felt confused her, it blurred her decision making. Were all the things he was saying true? Or was it just another one of his tricks so he could keep things to himself?

But you’ve known Marc, he would’ve never, would he?

(Y/N) shook her head. She could hear Marc- Steven- making excuses as he stood at the door.

“Mind if we come in, Mr. Grant?”

“Actually—” Then the door barged open.

Shit.

“Is this about the toilet?” Steven asked them, not liking how fast they were exploring the place like it was some kind of furniture store.

Steven hoped (Y/N) had found a good hiding spot, but as he looked everywhere she could hide into, he can’t find her.

“Cause it’s been dealt with. Yeah, I’ve been sacked.” Steven said, not wanting to recall the memory. Steven looked at the woman as she picked up the chain attached to a post laying on his bed with a questioning look. “I-uh have a sleeping disorder.” She let it go then began looking somewhere else.  

“-The museum said that they wouldn’t press charges as long as… uh- as long as I do it in instalments.” Steven followed the woman. “They said that I c-“ Steven turned to see the man holding a pyramid, the one he liked to use as a paperweight for reading books late at night.

“What’s this?” The man asked.

“It’s paperweight.” Steven said.

“Where’d you get it?”

“Paperweight shop.”

(Y/N) could hear the faint conversation they were having as she leaned against the wall on the roof, trying to regain her breathing.

“You’re in possession of a stolen item.” Steven knew that.

“Oh. Yeah, I…” He began. “No. I don’t have it. I don’t, no its not here.” He looked at the man and the woman back and forth as he raises his hands in defence.

Steven saw the man reaching for the gym bag, pulling out a passport then opening it. “Marc Spector?” He questioned, walking towards him, his passport held up. The document clearly stated the name ‘Marc Spector’

“That’s not mine.”

“Funny that.” The man said, kneeling down on his knees to show Steven the passport closer. “Fella looks just like you.”

“Fake passport and a thief? Tsk, tsk.” The woman exhaled. “I think you best come with us, son.”

(Y/N) listened as they left. No, something felt off about the way they talked with him. She tried to find a way down the roof, landing on her feet on the ground with a small thud as she went to her motorcycle, the backpack strapped to her back.

Thankfully, her motorcycle was parked a few cars down where the car Steven was held in. She straddles the bike and waited until they started the engine and left.

(Y/N) managed to get a bit up close but not noticeable enough to be odd.  She followed the car, it was a long journey as when the car stopped in some kind of neighbourhood, she swerved her motorcycle to the right to appear going in a different direction. She parked someplace safe as she carefully hopped off, crawling to peer on the open spot the space in between the abandoned houses gave.

There was Steven, in the car. (Y/N) watched.

They suddenly opened the car door and there came Steven dropping to the ground with a loud thus and a surprised gasp. (Y/N) moved to the other side carefully as to take a good look at the man who was kneeling before him.

It was Arthur Harrow.

He walked around Steven, before uncuffing him and letting him stand up. They appeared to be making conversation. She squinted, whenever Harrow’s name was mentioned, she knew he was up to no good as he proclaimed to be otherwise. She’d read about him once.

She watches as Arthur placed a hand on Steven’s shoulder. He looked confused. Then Steven suddenly looked scared, looking over Arthur. Then there was a rather large gust of wind, effectively knocking and dragging the bin over to the middle of the street. Khonshu.

Khonshu was there.

(Y/N) glanced back and forth, seeing if there were any people around, then she began slowly climbing up to the roof, careful to step slowly but surely, making her figure hidden in the night sky as she slowly followed their way, occasionally pausing her moves when they stopped.

Steven was now being led inside some old, demolished, castle. Arthur talked him through while he looked everywhere. The people around them looked happy, relaxed, content. There was also some kind of greenhouse in the corner, the middle of the room filled with tables, it was like some kind of restaurant.

Now he was being offered lentil soup by Arthur as he picked up a tray as Arthur rambled on.

‘You have no conscience’ Khonshu spoke, trashing the shelves in the corner of the room in which some flinched at, including Steven.

“You don’t have to listen to him.” Arthur whispered to Steven. “He often throws temper-tantrums like a two-year-old.” Arthur said. “None of the gods respect him. Perhaps that’s why he’s banished.” Arthur sat, Steven followed.

‘I only punish those who have already done harm, I am real justice!’ Khonshu said as Steven looked at him.

“What’s he saying now? “I am real justice”?

Steven took a glance back at Khonshu again, but he noticed the others were unbothered.

Meanwhile, (Y/N) was trying to find a way into the building without being caught. Thankfully she found a small opening on the side. Carefully hopping off and onto the platform. She leaned against the wall, hearing footsteps approach from where she was.

She was right as a man looked out, she was quick to elbow him in the face, knocking him out without chance to react as she carefully dragged his body to the side as she went in, dusting herself off, trying to appear as one of them.

She tried to walk through different corridors, wanting to find where Steven- or Marc- was. She hid when needed to. But she could hear noises from the hallway, she then crept up and finally found Steven sitting with Harrow, but then people began standing up and approaching him.

This wasn’t good.

“So, the scarab?” Arthur asked, patience thinning. “Oh, I don’t have it.”

“No?”

“Honestly I don’t have it.” He was telling the truth. “Well, maybe you know someone who does? Maybe Marc?”

‘Don’t you do it’ Came Marc’s voice, Steven stared at the reflection on the steel plate. ‘Don’t you say her name. Do not give (Y/N) up- Just give me the body’

Steven shakes his head, looking down at his plate. “No, I don’t.” Arthur pursed his lips, taking a deep breath. “May I speak with Marc?”

Steven racked in his brain for words, but all that came out was stutters. “Marc,” Arthur spoke, looking at no one in particular. “What has Khonshu promised you? That this is your last mission, then you’ll be free?” Steven could see Marc in the reflection, tense.

“Trust me when I tell you, Khonshu is a liar.” Arthur spoke lowly. “There is always one last thing.” Marc was now nowhere to be seen.

“Sorry,” Steven interjected.

(Y/N) face-palmed in the corner, shaking her head with a silent exhale. “If Ammit judges people pre-evil, like before the fact, then isn’t she judging an innocent person?”

What was he doing?

“I mean, a thought can’t be evil, can it? I think about killing my boss all the time th- but I won’t actually do it.”

Wow. If that was his plan of distraction, it wasn’t very good.

“Steven.” Arthur said. “Wh-what about a child? Would she kill a child for what they might do in 30 years?”

“I’m glad you mentioned that,” Arthur’s lips curling into a small sinister smile. “Sometimes, the cure is a little taste of the disease. The difference between medicine and poison sometimes is only dosage.”

Arthur lifts his hand up, “Consider a diseased limb. Amputation, horrific and grotesque,” He looks at Steven. “Is necessary for the larger health.”

“But the child is not a diseased limb.” Steven counters. “Sorry, is that... Is that what... You’re all into that, like, killing children and that? Maybe that’s just me, but that’s... I kind of draw a line there, at child murder.”

All (Y/N) could do was sigh and pray to the Gods that whatever was happening would be over.

Everything went silent for a moment, making (Y/N) confused as she decided to peek around.

Steven and Arthur were now standing, Arthur holding his cane which began to glow a bright purple. Everyone looked to be in fear as they walked back a few steps or so.

“I don’t.”

“Then don’t.” Steven shrugged, backing away himself. “I can’t help you.” He says.

“Yes, you can.” Arthur said. “I need to know, where is the scarab? Where is the scarab?”

“No.”

Fuck it.

“I have it.” (Y/N) spoke out loud making all eyes turn to her, even Steven. She was holding her hand up high, there was it, in her palm, the scarab. She slowly walks towards them, giving Steven a look.

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding.” Arthur now looked at her, thankful as he reached out his hand, expecting her to give it to him so willingly.

She stared at everyone, heart drumming in her chest as a few steps more then she’d be in their space.

“Let me have that, I’ll keep it safe.” Arthur promised.

‘There is no deal in this, Marc. Fix this, fix this!’ Khonshu’s voice spoke right behind him as Steveb stared at (Y/N).

She turned to Steven, with a stern look on his face. “Summon the suit.”

“Sorry, what?”

(Y/N) bit her lip in frustration as he stared at Steven. “Summon the suit.” She approached him.

“ “Summon the soup”? What are you saying?”

“For fu-“ She breathes in quickly, “The suit. Summon it.” She begged. Shaking her head, she handed the scarab to Steven. “And keep this safe.”

Steven without question, took the scarab and looked at Arthur.

“So be it.” He said.

“Alright, better start running, let’s go.” She spoke quickly, dragging his hand and started running for the exit.

But was stopped when two men grabbed ahold of her, letting go of Steven.

“Let go of her!” Steven said but (Y/N) was quick to plan out her moves by sweeping the first guy off his feet and tugging the second man to smash him to the wall, letting them fall down easily.

“Go!” She was already running as Steven followed her, climbing up the stairs.

Arthur smacked the end of his cane on the ground, cracking it and revealing purple underneath.

“Steven!” (Y/N) called out but he was suddenly blocked by a man who he recognized earlier. He ran the other way and up the stairs to find (Y/N) drop kicking someone off the ledge which made him flinch.

“That was awesome.” Steven said as the ground shook, she grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him to start running again.

They both found themselves shutting a door behind them. “Here. Bolt the door.” She nodded to the metal lock, making Steven obey quickly.

They turned around.

It was some kind of storage area filled with alll kinds of sculptures and artifacts. There was a big window across from the door.

“Oh, my god.” Steven looked around. (Y/N) was trying to find a way out. “I’m going to die in an evil magician’s man cave.”

(Y/N) grabbed Steven’s hands, making them both look at each other. “Hey, listen to me. Your name is Marc, there’s a suit you use to protect yourself, I’ve seen you use it a dozen times. Bring it out.”

The door was now shaking, the other side eager to get in.

“N- no, no.”

“Marc, where are you? I need you to fight, please.” She breathed out.

‘Let me in, Steven’ Marc’s voice came from the reflection on the mirror on the ground.

“No, I can’t.”

‘Let me in. There’s no more time’ Marc said sternly.

“Stop, please, both of you!!” Steven looked between her and the mirror.

“Listen to me. I don’t know what you’re on but please we need the suit, summon it- somehow!” She went in front of him, grabbing his arms and even slightly cupping his face.

“Bring it out, I can’t fight them one on one, we’ll die.” She said, grabbing at his shoulders.

‘Let me in, let me in’ Marc repeated. ‘Let me in, Steven!’

“We need to fight, come on where are you!” She was now panicking.

Steven grabbed at his temples, the pressure taking a toll on him, wanting nothing more than to be back at the museum, working at the gift shop. He didn’t want to be here. He wanted to shut all the voices he was hearing accompanied by the banging on the door.

He sank down, palms sweating as he cried out, “Please stop, leave me alone, both of you!” He squeezed his temples.

(Y/N), still not understanding why, felt guilt all of a sudden for the man. She knew how to fight, but she needed Marc and his suit, she couldn’t take this on her own when there’s probably a bunch of people outside with guns, ready to kill them both.

She wouldn’t stand a chance if she fought alone.

Kneeling down to meet him, she shook his head, grabbing at Steven’s hands. “Hey, hey. I trust you, breathe with me, you can do this, alright?” Making him look at her as she nodded along with her words, trying to calm the man in front of him down.

“Steven.” She finally said his name. “Steven, I’m with you, okay?”

“I can’t, I can’t.” He doubted himself. What was he even supposed to do? How can he summon a suit? Does he have to say a magic word? A phrase or something?

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I can’t do it.”

She gulped, sighing, pulling out a gun from her holster strapped to her leg. “Okay, it’s alright. I’ll just... You find another way, okay?”

Steven tried to catch his breath. Looking at her. “Come on, come on stand up.”

That, he did. Standing up he saw (Y/N) positioned in the corner, holding her gun up, aiming at the intruder.

Steven was frozen to the spot as he was faced with a jackal.

In (Y/N)’s point of view, however, there was no one there. “What jackal?” She looked at Steven backing away.

Before she knew it, Steven was tackled, breaking the window behind him as he was thrown outside.

“What the fuck?” She exclaimed in surprise. Wasting no time to act, she quickly hops over the ledge, hanging onto it even though there was glass everywhere. She felt that some even might’ve pricked her fingers.

“Steven?!” She called out. There was no response. She looked to find a ladder on the left. Aha.

She carefully let go and ran as fast as she could to get to the ladder, hurrying down.

As she hit the ground there was silence and she was met with an empty street once more. In urge to find Steven, she looked around, walking past cars.

That is until the wooden gate bursts open, there was someone in a suit that was very contrasting to what she saw Marc wore. Well, it was literally a white suit with a crescent moon engraved on its forehead.

“Steven..?” She whispered as he saw him grasp the end of a car, tugging its behind, successfully detaching it and holding it close to him.

“You look different.” She said until he was knocked on the ground again. And he was now being dragged, lifted up, and dragged and smacked on the hood of the car.

If anyone else was watching them it looked like a violent puppet show.

Wanting to help him fight whatever it was, she ran to him.

“Stay away from me!” He shouted.

“I don’t under-“ She was unable to finish her sentence as she was knocked on the ground, air leaving her lungs momentarily.

Steven dropped to the ground as well.

“What the hell?” She hissed, looking at the empty space where the presumed enemy was.

She looked over at Steven, finding him being listed and dragged atop of the car. The enemy was invisible.

With her quick thinking, she grabbed the bottle that was full then threw it to Steven, it didn’t hit him, but the water in the bottle revealed some kind of mouth with very sharp teeth as it roared.

“Oh great.” She whispered under her breath, grabbing her gun again and trying to aim for it. It was a failure as she felt it gripping her throat and slamming both her and Steven to the wall and the car.

Steven tried to go at it again, only for him to end up slamming on the car again, moving it from its spot.

Standing up and aiming her gun again, without thought she decided to shoot. Fortunately this time it hit as the gun seemed to be stuck in mid-air. But she was certain the creature didn’t like that as she received another hit on the face.

Trying to stand again, she was pulled by her legs, (Y/N) tried to kick away from it but it was no use, it lifted her up as she tried to aim a shot, careful not to hit her own leg. But Steven was quick to smack it with a wheel disc, letting her drop to the ground.

Aiming for it again, she managed to take a few shots in as Steven talked with Marc on the car window.

“I think I can.” Steven said, standing up fully and seeing the jackal getting to close to (Y/N).

“Get away from her, you!” He began doing some kind of jog.

“Yeah, I see you, you plug-ugly coyote, you’re in the wrong ends, mate. You’re in my yard now.” He say, stripping off his jacket and rolling his sleeves now.

(Y/N) clutching her stomach as she leaned against the wall, couldn’t believe what she was seeing right now.

Standing up, she watched Steven.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a V.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, truly believing somehow that the hit made her gone mad.

She looked to see Steven punching someone that it looked like it successfully hit the jackal. He then proceeded to look at his fist then he screamed at the creature.

“I did it! You got planted!” He cheered in victory.

(Y/N) was catching her breath, shaking her head. She grabbed her gun and reloaded it with bullets just in case.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Did you see that?!” Steven looked at her.

Before he can see her reaction, however, he was kicked onto the road. Some people were now beginning to take notice of him as he stood, punching the air around him.

He was smacked against the bus window a few times. He grabbed the jackal, and without his knowledge, a car was driving past, effectively hitting the jackal but in the process also hitting him.

Steven lay on the ground for a few seconds before standing up, leaning on the bus window.

‘That was a hell of a punch back there’ Marc said almost proudly at Steven as he panted.

‘Look around, someone’s gonna get hurt if you don’t let me help’ Marc jerked his head towards the people behind him.

“All right. Do it. Take control, for now.” Steven breathed in, and he felt himself sink into a void.

(Y/N), walking past the people and finally seeing the change into Marc’s suit happen, she felt relieved. But she knows he moves fast. Running towards her motorcycle, she kicked the engine alive.

Revving up by him, Marc looked at her.

“Go. I- I’ll follow.” She said, looking at him then at the direction he was looking at.

“Get it out of here.”

With him on the move, she followed suit, trying to keep track as well as avoiding being hit by passing cars. A few seconds in and she saw him jumping from and to another building. Her directions were right. She sped up now as she saw him running.  They disappeared however.

(Y/N) wanting to find where they ended up in, continued to drive, deciding to stop as she came upon an alley.

‘So, is this what it’s like?’ Steven’s voice echoed in Marc’s head, looking at him now in the reflection. He looked scared. Vulnerable. ‘Being on the inside?’

Marc sighed and nodded. “Yeah.” His heavy voice replied.

‘It’s horrible’ He could see Steven looking around.

“It’s all right, you’re alright.” Marc said, trying not to scare him. Marc knew it wasn’t really great being on the inside, he felt more freely outside, but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for Steven. But with the scarab lost and probably in Harrow’s hands, he felt anger bubbling in him, not at Steven nor at (Y/N), but at himself.

‘I feel like I can scarcely move’ Steven worriedly says.

“It’s all right, just breathe through it, it gets easier.” Marc comforted.

‘How long have you been doing this?’ Steven asked. Marc couldn’t even remember exactly how long it has been.

“I don’t know. Its... A long time.”

‘I don’t like it’

Marc covered his face in his hand, trying to calm himself down.

‘I don’t want it. Can I have my body back?’

“I can’t do that right now, Steven.” He said, if things weren’t in the way he would, he would let Steven take in control again, but given the situation, he cannot.

‘Please’ Steven begged. ‘I’m taking it back’

Marc could see Steven almost straining to take control again, but alas nothing happened.

He approached the reflection.

“Sorry.” He said. “We’ve always managed to keep a wall between us, but something’s changed. The one who controls the body has become stronger.” He saw Steven shaking his head in denial.

“The reflections help, but most of the time, it’ll take all your willpower just to be a fly on the wall.”

‘You can’t do this, keeping me trapped in here. You have no right’

‘My whole life... I can’t go on a bloody date. I can barely keep a goldfish alive. I lost my job. Its been you. Its always been you-‘

As Steven ranted on, Marc held his hand up, he can’t do this right now, he feels the heavy feeling of guilt weighing on him like an anchor.

“Look, when I am done, when I have repaid my debt, I swear to you, you will never see me or hear from me again.” He bargained. “I promise you. We wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for Khonshu. And my... Servitude is the price that I pay.”

‘What kind of servitude?’

“The kind that leaves me covered in blood.”

‘Yeah, well, that blood is on my hands. You ruin people’s lives, everything you touch, you ruin’

Marc could feel the anger in him began to seep.

‘You hurt people, you abandoned your best friend, you left her worried to death about you’

“I had to do it, I had- I am protecting her. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

‘Yes, if only you’d said what you felt-’

“Khonshu has his eyes on her. He wants her as my replacement. I’m never gonna to let that happen.”

‘You’re a liar I don’t believe you. I don’t trust you’ Steven screamed at him. ‘You hurt people’

“I’m never letting him near her.”

‘I won’t let you hurt anyone again’

“Just shut up!”

‘I will never give you a moment of peace, I promise’

They kept screaming at each other until Marc has had enough. He kept kicking at the mirror until it shattered.

An alarm sounded all throughout the place (Y/N) was in. Without knowing where to go, she decided to follow the sound. She felt the wind suddenly pick up and she tried to follow the sound.

“We’ll find the scarab.” Marc said to Khonshu.

‘Too late, Harrow has it’

“Then we’ll find another way.” He said. “We’ll get to Ammit’s tomb first.”

‘You know I’ll protect you with everything I have’ Khonshu said.

“I’ll do whatever it takes then, then you let me go.”

‘Let me remind you, should we part, you may not like my next candidate, near and dear as she is to you, even if she doesn’t know it’

Marc nods in defeat. Then in a blink of an eye, Khonshu was gone and he saw a figure move in the corner of his eye.

There she was, (Y/N).

Marc felt his worries being eaten away for just a split second as he saw (Y/N).

“Marc?” She spoke, unsurely.

“It’s me.” He replied.

Now he was tackled in a hug he never felt for a long time. In (Y/N)’s arms. He forgotten how it felt as he snaked his arm around her waist, relishing the feel of her body against his.

“Fuck you, I missed you.” She said, chuckling slightly.

Marc could feel himself smile, and that he owed her a lot of explanation, but all that could come out of his mouth was; “I missed you too.”

“You owe me a lot of explaining to do, but the scarab?” She asked.

Marc sighed deeply. “Harrow has it.”

He saw (Y/N)’s face contort in anger and shock. “Shit.”

“But- if we can get to Ammit’s tomb first, we can have a chance.” He quickly said.

It didn’t even occur to them that their bodies were still pressed against each other, holding each other.

“Then, I’ll go wherever you’ll go. We’re in this together, right?”

Marc wanted to disagree, but what else could he do? He finally agreed.

“Yes.”

“Then where are we off to?”

“You’ll know.”

[fullmoonandstar]

These days I thing about how the story of Moon Knight looks from Layla’s perspective.

Her husband leaves to do something. It’s nothing unusual that he is gone for days at a time but this time he doesn’t come back. (In the show Marc says his mom’s shiva was two months ago, so Marc was missing for at least that long).

Layla waits for Marc to return but one week passes and she tries to call him but his phone is turned off. One week turns into two weeks, turns into a month. She tries again and again to call. She calls everyday. Layla actives a function on her phone that would automatically call Marc as soon as his phone is turned on but she still calls everyday. Where is he? Did something happen to him? Did he get injured? What if his suit didn’t protect him this time? Or if he was surprised and could not summon the suit in time?

Two months have passed and on a Sunday evening her phone rings. Marc’s phone had been turned on.

Marc answers his phone but something is off. It’s his voice, Layla is sure of that but he talks with an accent. This must be some sort of encrypted message, Layla thinks.

She finds Marc outside of a Storage company. Layla is annoyed that he puts on this weird act. Talking with a fake accent, acting like they barely know each other.

[pantomist]

Since we didn’t get a locked in the storage room clip for our reunion I wrote one myself.  I know it’s late and I included some of the actual convo we got today but I hope you enjoy!  

///

Ava had just left the storage room.  After the argument with Mailin, Fatou had just held Ava on the sofa.  Ava was surprisingly affected by the argument.  Fatou admired her best friend’s strength so much, she always forgot how strongly Ava felt things.  Fatou would do anything to make Ava feel better.  Today, that meant staying behind and finish cleaning the storage room while Ava went to see Marc.  She continued counting the items on the shelves and writing up the inventory, trying not to get distracted by the various random objects, when she heard someone walk in.  

“Hey Ava did you forget something?”  Fatou turned around and suddenly caught her breath as she was now facing Kieu My closing the door to the storage room.  

“I need to talk to you,” Kieu My said timidly.  Fatou clenched her jaw.  This was the last thing she needed right now.  

“I don’t want to talk to you.”  Fatou started moving towards the door.  Screw cleaning up, she’d do it another day.  But Kieu My blocked her path.

“Fatou please, just listen.”  Fatou pushed past Kieu My and reached for the door handle.

“I have to get home.”  Kieu My reached for her hand.

“Fatou please-“

“Don’t touch me.”  Kieu My quickly pulled back and averted her eyes from Fatou’s accusatory glare.  Were her eyes shining?  Fatou shook her head and pushed down the feelings of guilt.  Kieu My had played her, she was rightfully protecting herself.  Fatou turned the door handle and pushed, but the door wouldn’t budge.  Ava…

“Fuck,” Fatou exclaimed as she turned back to the other girl with a renewed sense of frustration.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ava gave the keys to Yara, the door’s locked.”  Fatou stomped back to the sofa in annoyance.

“Oh,” she heard Kieu My softly murmur.

“Yeah, oh,” Fatou scoffed and pulled out her phone.  

“What are you doing?”

“Asking Yara to get us of out of here.”  Fatou looked pointedly at Kieu My once she’d sent the text.  “I don’t wanna spend any more time with you than I have to.”  Kieu My visibly flinched at the harsh words coming from Fatou and Fatou could barely believe that she was saying them.  She felt bad really, she wasn’t capable of inflicting pain on others even if they had hurt her.  She sighed and softened her gaze.

“Sorry.”  Kieu My shook her head.

“Don’t be,” she said sheepishly, “you have every right to be angry at me.”  Fatou nodded.  

“Even so, I can’t hurt other people like you and your friends do.”  Kieu My sighed and moved towards the sofa.

“I never meant to hurt you.”  Fatou shook her head.

“Whatever,” she muttered.  Kieu My settled against the shelves just to Fatou’s right.  Out of the corner of her eye, Fatou could see the other girl pulling at her fingers.  

“You didn’t react to my last message,” she said tentatively.  Fatou looked up at Kieu My and shrugged.  The other girl took a shaky breath.  Was she actually nervous?  

“Did it not mean anything to you?”  Fatou actually felt the urge to laugh at the irony.  She scoffed and stood up to face Kieu My.

“To be honest Kieu My, I don’t know what the fuck anything means when it comes to you.”  Kieu My seemed to shrink under Fatou’s gaze, but Fatou had to tell her all that she’d felt these past few weeks.  

“We seem to flirt for a while on insta, but then you go and hook up with a random guy right in front of me.  I pull back but you pull me back in.  You flirt one day and are ice cold the next.  When we matched on Tinder I thought maybe you’d finally made your mind up, but then you ghost me as soon as I ask you to hang out.  Then you fucking kiss me like your life depends on it and just leave without saying anything.  You ghost me again.  Next thing I know, you and your friends are talking shit about me.  So no, I guess your message doesn’t mean anything to me because I don’t know what the fuck you want from me Kieu My.”  Fatou took a deep breath Kieu My had tears rolling down her cheeks.  “I’m done with the hot and cold game,” Fatou continued.  “Either you tell me what this means to you, or you leave me the fuck alone.”  Kieu My was looking at the floor in silence.  Fatou sighed and shook her head.  She’d said what she needed to say, now it was up to the other girl.  Fatou sat back down on the sofa and checked her phone.  A message from Yara: fuck I just left school , I’ll try and get back asap.  

“I know I’ve been shitty,” Kieu My finally responded softly.  Fatou looked up with a raised eyebrow but kept quiet.  Kieu My took a deep breath and continued.

“After New Years I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about you.  Zoe asked me if I wanted to help clean up and of course I wanted to, but I had some real shit with my parents.  That whole week was hell for me really.  I wanted to see you so badly, I read your messages a thousand times I just…had no idea how to respond.  And then you heard me with Constantin and I knew I fucked up.”  Kieu My wiped away some more tears and took a shaky breath.

“I’m so sorry for what I said then Fatou, truly I’m so sorry.  I was scared because you mean so much to me Fatou, and suddenly the whole school knew and Constantin was already giving me shit for it and I didn’t think.  I just wanted him to stop asking.  I didn’t mean it I swear.”  Now Kieu My moved forward and looked directly in Fatou’s eyes.  Unintentionally Fatou’s breath stopped.  Kieu My was so beautiful, her eyes pleading and piercing her heart.  The girl still meant so much to Fatou.  

“I kissed you because I had to Fatou, because I’d wanted to for so long, and I’ve wanted to kiss you every day since New Years.”  Fatou couldn’t believe she was hearing this.  Or could she?

“How do I know you’re telling me the truth?” she managed to ask in barely more than a whisper.  Kieu My kneels down in front of her.

“I have no reason to lie to you here,” she whispered, tears still shining in her eyes.  “When I’m with you I feel like I can finally be me, without all the expectations that people have for me, or even the pressure I put on myself, weighing me down.  When I’m with you I feel so liberated and great but so scared and small at the same time.  I know I’m not good enough for you Fatou, but I’m begging you to give me a chance to grow for you.”  And just like that Fatou’s anger has molten away.  Kieu My looked so vulnerable and small kneeling in front of her right now, tears on her cheeks and eyes wide with anticipation.  She’d put all her cards on the table.  What more could Fatou ask?  Her feelings hadn’t disappeared, she felt so strongly for Kieu My.  And Kieu My wanted to be with her.  Kieu My not good enough?  Fatou took her hand.

“You are good Kieu My.”  Kieu My blinked in surprise, her eyes now shone with a hint of something else.  Hope.  Fatou cupped her cheek and kissed her softly.  Kieu My immediately responded.  She melted into the kiss, returning Fatou’s gesture with both relief and urgency, showing Fatou that she meant everything she’d said.  When they pulled back Kieu My looked starstruck.  She’d moved her hand up to hold Fatou’s as if to reassure herself that this was real.  Kieu My’s eyes moved all over Fatou’s face, from her eyes to her lips and back, she wanted to remember everything about this moment.  Then she smiled softly and kissed her again.  Fatou smiled back into the kiss.  Her whole body was ablaze with happiness.  When they pulled away again for breath Fatou wiped away Kieu My’s face and stroked her hair back behind her ears.  Kieu My was so beautiful.  Kieu My was kissing her like her life depended on it and she wasn’t going to leave this time.  They kissed again.  Then they hugged.  This was the first time they ever hugged and both Fatou and Kieu My took in everything about the other.  Their scents, their figures, how their bodies fit together so naturally.  Everything about them felt so right.  Kieu My moved onto the sofa and they were kissing again.  They went from kissing to hugging to staring and smiling back to kissing for what seemed like forever until finally the door swung open.  They thought they jumped back rather quickly, but when they turned they found Yara smirking at them in amusement.  

“I guess I’ll keep this to myself?” she asked teasingly.  Fatou and Kieu My looked at each other and smiled.  

[achliegh]

Hi! I'd love to see the twins birthdays from the Olive and Otto prompt list. I love both characters!

Hello my Garbage Clan!

number  4. The twins birthdays (4-7 For right now)

Here it is, I hope you enjoy it! 

I really enjoyed writing this one, it was fun!

TW/CW: Complete Chaos, Food, Just a mess, Mild breakdown, I feel like there is just always chaos with this family.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

July 31st 2020

Leo was excited, probably more excited than his spawns. He was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, making all of the kids favorite foods. He was making an ice cream cake made of ice cream bars, whipped cream, chocolate chips and malt mix. It was his favorite thing for him when he was a small child and he knows the twins foam at the mouth for ice cream. Putting the cake back into the freezer he can’t stop smiling. He never thought anything of having kids until he and Ink started at the positive pregnancy test for a solid twenty minutes. 

Now he couldn’t imagine his life without them, the kids were napping with his boyfriends and he took so many pictures it was probably what was causing his phone to tell him he’s out of storage. It was Olive and Logan on the bed the twins were occupying while staying with them, all starfished out and Logan was drooling with Olive was making the cutest little snoring noises. Ott and Finn had fallen asleep on the couch while Finn was reading to the little knucklehead. Book resting on their laps with Otto snuggled into Finn’s chest gripping his shirt. 

How did he get so lucky?

Humming to the music in his one earphone so he didn't wake the chaos just yet, he heard the front door open. He looks up from where he was checking the sausages he was cooking. Waving silently and putting a finger to his lips signaled for Ink, June, Noelle and Thomas to be quiet. They were in charge of decorating, bright colors were the kids favorites. Olive has a heart for sports, literally any sport, while Otto is a sucker for drawing right now. That included on their white sweatshirts and walls. 

So a coloring section was set up and all they could come up with for sports besides just going to the rink, which was closed due to updates to the frame, was WII games. Lame but so fun. She wanted to go rollerblading but the cat that is wandering around the apartment tells Leo she would try to bring home another animal. 

After everything was set up and the apartment was full of hockey players in little party hats and anxious kids. They woke the chaos, and chaos was it. Olive was so shocked with all the people in the apartment she just turned around and closed the door behind her. After a few seconds she came back out and acted surprised causing a laugh from all the adults.

Otto was awoken by Finn laughing as twenty other kids climbed on top of him to wake them up. Otto smiled and flushed at all the attention. He got up and ran to Leo. Who picked him up and kissed his cheek.

“Happy Birthday Buddy” Otto buries his face into his neck still blushing hard. Especially when Celeste comes up and kisses both his cheeks. He has had a fascination with her since they first met at family skate.

“Kuny!” Olive sees her favorite person with his mouth full of pickles wrapped in prosciutto and basically tackles him to the ground while Nado and Ink laugh. They were discussing the new tattoo that Nado and Kuny want. Same but different. 

Kuny hugs her and swallows the pickles before standing up and swinging her upside down like everyone knows she loves. 

When it came to opening presents there were so many that Leo didn't know where they were all going to fit, besides in the third bedroom that isn’t ever used. When it came to Leo and Ink’s presents for the twins they were the very last ones. 

Ink gave Otto her old sketchbook to draw in, all her old sketches were taken out, she also gave him a bunch of markers and told him they would be taken away if they found any marks on the walls. To Olive she gave her a brand new pair of roller skates. Bright green with black accents because Olive hasn’t stopped talking about Shego from Kim Possible.

Leo gave Otto a build-a-bear that was a lion and had the team saying they loved him, so he could take it to doctors appointments and anywhere else he wanted and he would always be loved. What they didn’t expect was for Otto to start crying, he was always a quiet little thing that kept to himself unless his social batter was on full. He also was really bad at controlling his emotions, but he is a small child so what do you expect. Otto sobbed into the lion and then looked at the team like they were the most amazing people in the world. Dumo held him while Ink talked to him softly and Leo gave Olive her give. Gymnastic lessons starting next week, they were in NOLA as the twins would be going back with Ink in two days. She squealed and hugged him while jumping up and down.

The rest of the night went smoothly… Until Marc and Otto started a food fight with the ice cream cake.

July 31st 2021

5 years old. They were past the terrible twos and the terrible threes. The kids were in school and their mother and her wife had moved into a cottage outside of Gryff. Finn was out with the kids trying to distract them in a candy shop while the cottage was being filled with people and food. 

Everyone was frantically trying to set up for the surprise, everything from the blow up obstacle course and the ball pit, to the video games in the basement. The music was playing from the bluetooth speakers all over the house, they were going through a country music faze much to the dismay of most of the team. 

Otto also hasn’t stopped wearing Leo’s old cowboy hat for at least a month.

It was time, they heard Finn’s car rolling up the driveway and everyone froze, scrambling to their horrible hiding spots, everyone waited for the double troubles to walk in. The minutes ticked by getting more and more uncomfortable. The front door swung open and Finn fell down face first into the ground with two back pack sized bags of candy on his back. He groans, the twins rush in and scream that they are home at the top of their lungs. When no one answers they narrow their eyes. Looking at each other for a moment using their twin talk through their brains, they immediately start searching the house. 

Once they find the first person, Remus who sneezed from behind the couch everyone jumps out and surprises them. They scream and cling to Remus who can’t stop laughing. When he stands up the kids are still clinging to him, he isn’t even holding them, they are just gripping him that tightly. 

Finn eventually gets help standing up and looks exhausted, Leo showers him in kisses and Logan hugs him tight enough to pop his back. 

As per usual Ink And Leo are the last to give gifts.

Ink hands them both piercing vouchers at her shop, ever since Logan and Sirius got their ears pierced they wanted to do the same. Otto just wanted one while Olive wanted both. They were hopping around so excited already planning to get them done tomorrow. Ink smiles and leans back into June, as the kids run around them.

Leo straight up just gave them new skates since they have outgrown their others. Olive is the most excited because she has been watching Kuny and Logan like a hawk on the ice, she is learning how to fight and skate aggressively which is slightly worrying for a five year old. But she can hold her own against stupid people who like to tell her she is a girl and can’t do boy things. 

They have had to pull her away from a couple people. She started therapy a week later.

The rest of the night went smoothly and to make this a great night, Ink let the kids pick where they wanted to stay. Otto chose Sirius and Remus while Olive , of course, chose Kuny and Nado. 

July 31st 2022

They were at the rink this year for their sixth birthday, and boy were they tearing up the ice. They had mini pick up games with the kids (minus Otto). They had races and even limbo. It was nice and cool inside compared to the more warm but not hot compared to NOLA outside. 

This was also the birthday when Otto told Leo he wanted to try figure skating. Leo smiled so big at him and nodded.

“I think that's a great idea.”

Otto was all smiles the rest of the day talking about the cool moves he saw on tv at the last winter olympics. He said he wanted to skate to fast music instead of the slow pretty music. He wanted to dance to hard rock and controversial music because he's a rebel. 

Olive was still trying to decide if she wanted to be a winger or a defense player for hockey, but she loved hockey so much. She would watch any hockey game and would beg her dad to let her come to practice with him.

Finn and Logan found it amusing until she would get frustrated and start crying.  

The twins were a little sad when they found out they couldn’t invite their school friends to 

Their party because no one knew who their parents were yet. It put a damper on things a bit but the kids loved the team so they didn’t mind too much. Especially when Regulus showed up.

Since Reg and Leo were such good friends he would babysit the twins every once in a while and they all got on so well, almost like siblings. Olive would talk about anything and everything with him while Otto just cuddled up to him. Reg almost replaced Kun in Olive's eyes but she would never give him up. She would remind him every time she saw Kuny.

The rink was their presents from Leo this year.

Ink gave them plane tickets to come and visit her new shop opening up in New York with her. They always felt at home in the tattoo shop. There are literally pictures of one of the twins in a sling around Ink as she would tattoo when they were much younger. 

July 31st 2023

The twins didn’t want a birthday party this year, yes they still loved the team, but they just wanted dinner with their family. Very mature for small children. They picked the food and helped make it while Logan and June set the table and Finn and Ink playfully argue about which tv show they should put on. Olive was mixing something in a bowl with Otto when the arguing stopped, they had landed on a really old episode of spongebob and agreed this is what they would watch. Logan and June just watched them lovingly.

“What’s on your mind, Sugarbug?” Leo noticed her staring at Finn and Ink with her think face on. She looks up at him and leaves Otto to finish mixing the mashed potatoes. She looks up at her dad.

“Why don’t we have a normal family? I went to my friend Sam’s house and they only had one mom and one dad.” Leo was obviously stunned for a moment, seeing Otto nod in agreement with Olive he leans against the counter. He knew he would have to have this conversation someday but he didn’t expect it when they were seven. 

“We aren’t a normal family. We are interesting and fun, I mean how many kids do you think have five people to take care of them.” He smiles at them but only gets a slight shrug from Olive, Otto nods a little but not very committed. “We can talk about it more at bedtime, okay?” He pushed her hair behind her ear, she looks up at him with those giant blue eyes and he wonders if she get bullied because she can’t talk about her parents. “Let’s have a good time eating with just family. If I remember correctly there is an ice cream cake in the freezer.” 

That perks them up. Once everything is made and settled they start to eat. Leo keeps an eye on the kids throughout the meal and sees them relax halfway through the meal. He needs to talk to Ink about how to explain their situation properly.

All the twins wanted for gifts there year was a night with just Ink and Leo… and a new monster truck toy that you control with a remote so they could run over all their Barbie's.

[galvanizedfriend]

Fic: Speed Dating

KC Bingo 2020 by @klaroline-events

The prompt is: Losing a Bet

This is fluff inspired by an episode of House. I have no idea how successful this first endeavor into unknown territory was, but @itsnotacrimetoloveyou assured me it’s good and also confirmed that it is, indeed, fluff! Also, thank you for beta’ing this and for laughing at all the jokes! lol

I hope you guys enjoy it! :) Reblogs and comments are very much welcome!

______________________

There is something fundamentally wrong, Caroline thinks, in pitying the white, rich, genetically blessed art gallery owner she lives with. It feels like a waste of empathy. Klaus has the whole world at his feet. Wherever he goes, doors open, red carpets roll out, champagne bottles pop left and right. Which makes his brooding and scowling and antisocial behavior all the more inexplicable.

He isn't always like that, truth be told. When Caroline first moved in, Klaus was out and about all the time. Opening nights, exhibitions, soirées, premieres, parties - you name it. There were weeks when Caroline would barely see him. If he wasn’t at some event, then he was at the gallery, if not at the gallery, then locked up in his studio. As far as she knew, he was pretty much living the dream.

"He's never there," Rebekah said when she pitched the idea of rooming with her brother to Caroline. She used to share an apartment with Elena, but her friend had decided to take the next step with her dumbass of a boyfriend and since it was her name on the lease, Caroline was the one having to find a new place. Her money was short and so were her options. "Nik has this huge apartment all to himself and no one to really watch over it. All the plants I give him die within a week. He could use a roommate, honestly, and you'd be perfect."

"Is he looking for a roommate, though?"

"Not yet. He will be, when I tell him to."

"Rebekah -"

"Just come and see the place, ok? It's worth it."

It made no sense that a guy with his lifestyle and bank account would want to share an apartment with a complete stranger, and Caroline had the very strong feeling the idea never even so much as crossed his mind. Judging by the spirited spat she overheard between the two siblings while she waited outside, it was exactly the case. On her request, Rebekah went in first to talk to him; Caroline would only follow if he agreed to it. She didn't want to see the apartment of someone who wasn't looking for a roommate. She was about to sneak out through the stairs and pretend she'd never been there when Rebekah wrapped a hand around her arm and pulled her into the apartment. Before she could even manifest her exasperation, her snake of a friend walked out and locked the door behind her, leaving the two of them there to stare at one another in complete astonishment.

"I think we've been set up," she said, affecting an awkward smile.

"Rebekah has never learned the meaning boundaries, I'm afraid," he said, not nearly as fiery as he'd sounded a moment before while arguing with his sister.

"Look, this was not my idea, ok? I was just looking for a place, and Rebekah said — You know what, doesn't matter. I'm sorry for the inconvenience."

Klaus looked at her — really looked at her — assessing her with such sharpness it stole the wind off her chest. Mikaelsons... they're an intense bunch.

"Since you're here," he said after a moment. "Can I offer you a drink for your trouble?"

He opened a bottle of wine that cost more than Caroline's previous rent and gestured for her to make herself comfortable on the giant leather couch in his living room. He wanted to know what she did for a living, how she knew his sister, why she was on the market for an apartment, what kind of place she had in mind, what her routine was like. It was all obvious questions you'd expect from a prospective roommate, but it never felt as though she was being interviewed. Conversation simply flowed, such an easy back-and-forth she didn't realize what was happening until it was hours later and Rebekah was back with a few shopping bags in her hands and a triumphant smile on her face.

"So, when do you move in?" she asked.

"Whenever she sees fit," Klaus replied, albeit glaring at his sister.

"Wait– what?" Caroline blinked, eyes cutting from one sibling to the other. "What do you mean?"

"A spoiled brat though my sister may be, she does have a point. This apartment could use another soul. If you feel so inclined, you can bring your things whenever it is convenient. The guest bedroom is furnished, but I can put it all in storage if you'd rather have your own set. There's also plenty of room for your personal things in the common areas, you can make it more to your liking. All I ask is that you don't replace the art on the walls. I rather fancy them."

Caroline's mouth moved wordlessly for a long time. "You... I thought you didn't want a roommate."

He shrugged nonchalantly, pouring himself another glass of wine. "I'm known to be rather volatile."

"But I can't — I mean, we didn't even discuss rent and expenses. I'm a med student, I can't afford this place."

"Nonsense. It's mine." Caroline drew the breath in for a righteous protest, and he added, "We can share the bills, if you insist."

And, well. It's not how Caroline likes to do business, way too sudden, with none of the meticulous in-depth analysis she usually applies to absolutely everything, from buying dish sets to choosing a new hairstyle. Moving in with someone she didn’t know at all seemed like way too big a deal for her to simply skip those vital steps. She didn't even compile her pros and cons list. But…

The neighborhood was fantastic, the type where she'd never afford to live in as a student, it was so conveniently close to school, and Elena was pestering the hell out of her to move out so Damon could move in. She'd been to four apartments already: two were incredibly dirty — which told her everything she needed to know about the people living there; another had a single bathroom shared between four people, and the last had a creepy guy across the hall. The floor to ceiling windows alone in Klaus' living room would've sold her the place, and paying next to nothing? It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. The conversation with him had been rather nice, if she was honest, and he was Rebekah's brother, so if anything went crazy, she knew exactly who to call.

For the first so many months, the Klaus-is-never-home story was very true. After a while he started inviting her to tag along to some of his events, which she did in a few occasions, especially after he learned she could not say no to puppy eyes. "These people will bore me to death, love, please, save me." Klaus can be such a dramatic baby. The parties were great and the vernissages fancy as hell, but she didn't complain. Going out with him was fun. They got along well, the booze was always A level and Klaus enjoyed taking his time to explain stuff to her. Living with him, she got to learn more about artistic movements than in all her life before. It's more interesting than she ever gave it credit. Or Klaus made it seem so, anyway. The accent kind of goes a long way.

What Caroline came to learn about him after a few months, however, was that not everything was rainbows and unicorns for Klaus as it seemed at first glance. Nothing threw him off quite like his family. He only ever spoke about Rebekah, the only sibling who lived closed by and stopped for visits, even more so than usual after Caroline moved in. She did overhear him on the phone with Elijah a few times, too. The other three, though, Freya, Finn and Kol, Caroline only knew about through Rebekah.

"Nik doesn't get along with our siblings," Rebekah told her when she asked why he never spoke of the rest of the family. "I don't blame him. I don't know what mother nature was thinking when it gathered us all under the same genetic code, we're far too screwed up to be all in the same Thanksgiving dinner."

That was an understatement, in Caroline's opinion. Whenever Klaus went back to England to visit his parents and the rest of his siblings —- something he avoided like the plague but was apparently forced to do — he came back sullen and with a temper from hell. His sour moods could last for weeks. He'd stay locked up in his bedroom or at the studio for days on end, making Caroline slightly guilty for thinking she was the thing keeping him from circulating around his own place.

"Don't be ridiculous," he snapped at her once when she suggested she could move out if he'd changed his mind. "If you move out, I will hunt you down and drag you back here."

It was perhaps slightly too aggressive an answer to be sweet, but Caroline gathers that was Klaus' way of saying he didn't want her to go.

She stayed and learned how to navigate the storms caused by his occasional family reunions. Let him do his thing, don't ask about his parents, offer him food from time to time. They make do. But it still bothers her to no end. Like right now.

It's been a month since he came back from London, more upset than necessarily angry, and he has barely set foot out of the apartment. He stays in his sweatpants and ink-stained Marc Jacobs shirts all day, wavering between having too much coffee and too much whiskey. He hasn't even been painting, which points to an all-time low.

When she walks out of her room all dressed up, putting on her earrings, he's sitting in front of the television, flipping through channels nonstop. His eyes are so unfocused she doubts he even knows what he's doing, his finger just pressing the button mindlessly.

Caroline checks her wristwatch and sighs. Bonnie is gonna be furious if she's late, but Klaus sitting on his ass like that is a waste of a perfectly fine eligible bachelor.

"What are you doing tonight?" she asks.

"Watching a movie," he says flatly after a moment, the information that he'd been spoken to taking a second to register in his brain.

"You mean porn."

He turns his face to her, eyebrows lazily arched. "If you want specifics. I'd ask you to join me, but people are already talking."

She gives him a look and then bends forward, fixing the straps of her high-heeled sandals. "Don't you get tired?"

"Who gets tired of porn?"

"Of watching porn?" He just shrugs. "Men," she puffs out with an eye roll. "Come out with me tonight. I'm going speed dating."

"That's so very boomer of you. It reeks of despair."

"It's old school, so what?" she counters, checking herself out on the antique floor length mirror. She turns to one side, then the other, tosses her hair back. "Is this cleavage too slutty? I don't want to look too slutty."

"What are you aiming for? Moderately promiscuous?"

She turns to him. "I want to say hot but with class, not I have nicknames for my boobs."

He snorts. "You look stunning, sweetheart," he says, his eyes lingering perhaps a bit too long on her décolletage.

"Thanks," she says, crossing her arms in front of her chest, suddenly self-conscious. "Back to the subject."

He sighs, turning back to the television. "Haven't they invented an app for that?"

"I'm tired of apps. It's cold, photos are almost never consistent with the truth and when you ask for a real-time one, all you get is dick pics."

"I hate to disappoint, but you're fooling yourself if you think men won't lie to your face, too."

"You can't blame me for wanting to stay hopeful that men aren't all as cynical as you. I'd have to give up sex forever if I thought that."

Klaus' lips quirk into a lopsided grin. "Well, I wish you good luck on your endeavor."

"I think you need to meet somebody, too," she insists. "You're turning into a couch potato, Klaus."

"I refute that."

"When was the last time you had a date?"

"I don't do dates."

Caroline rolls her eyes again. She has never seen him with the same girl twice, and very few have actually made it to his apartment. Mostly, he's the one who spends the night, not the other way around. He laughed at her face when she tried to tell him he didn't have to worry about bringing friends over on her account. "That's sweet, love, but I don't bring people over unless I have no other option."

"Why not?"

"Because when they know where I live it's harder to get rid of them. Besides, it's such a bore when they decide not to leave in the morning. Women can be rather spiteful."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You are so full of crap. Typical. Sweet-talk women into sleeping with you and then call them crazy when they expect a minimum of respect in return."

"I respect them fine; I just don't want to have breakfast."

"Because that is such a commitment."

"It's far more than I'm willing to commit, yes."

"We have breakfast all the time. What, am I special?"

He simply smiled, the annoying dimples he uses to lure women into bed cutting into his cheeks.

"Fine," she says, stomping her foot. "Your last one-night stand?"

"Should I be flattered you're keeping such close tabs on my life?"

"See? You're becoming this insufferable creature that I can barely tolerate that answers everything with sarcasm. Soon enough, I'm gonna have to move out and I don't want to because I like this apartment."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Come out with me. This way you get to meet twenty somebodies at once."

"Is that why you're going?"

"Last two dates I had were exclusive two hours of complete disaster I will never get back. At least this way I speed up the process of elimination."

"Over five-minute conversations," he derides.

"Five minutes is more than enough time. If they can't impress me or at the very least make me intrigued, then they're definitely not worth a second date."

"You make it sound oh-so-alluring. Like a meat market."

"Klaus," she says, slowly, planting herself between him and the random Discovery Channel show on the TV. "It's dozens of women literally just waiting to be hit on. Your odds at a happy ending are much better than if stay home and watch porn."

He regards for a beat and then sighs in defeat. "How can I say no when you make me out to be a wanker if I refute your argument?"

 x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 "You brought a date?!" Bonnie cries out with indignation when Caroline arrives at the bar with Klaus on tow.

She considered giving her friend a heads up that he'd be tagging along, but she knows what Bonnie would say. She has been saying it for a while, any opportunity she gets. Just make a move already, Caroline! Fuck the guy's brains out and get over it or stop talking about Klaus all the goddamn time.

The fact she's brought him out to meet other people should probably tell Bonnie that she does not want to bang her roommate. Not that she wouldn't, because Klaus is obviously, you know... Alluring. Annoying, sure, prone to mood swings, but also witty and smart and refined and incredibly attentive when it comes to her, not to mention the whole exterior package thing. But they live together, she's friends with his sister, and it would be a totally stupid idea to ruin it with casual sex. Caroline sweeps the whole tension under the rug and keeps Klaus firmly on the realm of healthy, platonic friendship. But Bonnie would've found a way to claim otherwise if she'd said he was coming.

"He's not a date," she counters. "He's a dater."

Bonnie gives Klaus a pointed look. "Blink once if you were coerced into being here."

Klaus makes an effort of blinking, and Caroline gapes in protest. "I did not coerce you. Our couch has a permanent imprint of Klaus' ass. He needed to dive back into the pool. I'm just being helpful."

"I'm here for the drinks, mostly," he offers.

"Well, you just ruined these poor men's lives," Bonnie says, bobbing her head towards the line of guys standing around them, waiting for the thing to start.

She hadn't really noticed, but they're all staring at them. Not at her, or at Bonnie, but at Klaus, with looks that go from mildly concerned to openly hostile.

"Tough luck," she says with a light shrug. "Look on the bright side. They're gonna be forced to bring out their A game."

"Ahh," Bonnie says, smiling at last. "I see your plan now. That’s actually smart."

"What the bloody hell are you two babbling about?" Klaus asks.

Caroline cocks him a disbelieved eyebrow. "Seriously? You can't tell?"

"Look around, Klaus," Bonnie says. "All the girls are checking you out."

"Not uncommon," he replies matter-of-factly.

"And the guys are shooting daggers at you," Caroline adds.

He purses his lips. "Also not uncommon."

"Exactly. This is competition."

"It's not a beauty pageant, love."

"Life is a beauty pageant," she retorts solemnly.

"Let's put it this way," Bonnie cuts in. "Little girls who kiss frogs expect them to turn into you."

Klaus puffs out a laugh. "Why, thank you, Bonnie, for the rather flattering image. But I don't think I'm that good looking."

"Now you're just playing dumb, which is not sexy, by the way."

He turns to Caroline, cocking his eyebrows in doubt. "Yes, you are, Klaus." A sly smirk breaks onto his lips, and she realizes he'd just set her up into singing his praise. Before he can follow up with a snarky and probably inappropriate remark, she slaps his arm lightly. "Oh, shut up."

"I bet you'll walk out of here with everyone's phone numbers," Bonnie says.

"Except for ours, of course," Caroline adds.

"Why not yours?" he asks, somewhat offended.

"You already have my number."

"Not in this context."

"Yes, because I already know you and all the nasty little bits of your personality. These women, on the other hand, don't."

"So you're attributing every relationship I've ever had to my looks?"

"I thought you didn't do relationships."

"Not normally."

"Well, not the whole relationship," she muses. "Just the beginning."

"The rest are the dimples," Bonnie remarks with a serious nod.

Klaus shakes his head despondently. "And here I was thinking women aren't as vain as men."

Caroline turns to him, putting her hand out. "Wanna bet? You can't tell anyone you're a trust fund kid who runs an art gallery. You're unemployed. Don't pay attention to everything they say, pretend to be distracted. And lose the accent. One hundred bucks says you walk out of here with at least… Twenty names. And I'm being conservative."

Klaus narrows his eyes at her. "You brought me out here to get laid and now you want me to jeopardize my chances?"

"On the contraire. I'm saying you can make yourself out to be as interested as you really are, and still get laid."

He finally takes her hand on a firm shake. "You're on."

A gong rings and they all turn to see a woman with a bright smile beckoning them all to approach. "Ladies and gentlemen," she starts. "The fun is about to start. Ladies, please, take your seats. There's a table for each of you. When I strike this gong, each man should sit at the first table they've been assigned to. When I strike it again, date's over, move on to the next."

"Wish me good luck, then," Klaus tells her as they turn around to order a drink from the bar before moving to their respective spots.

"You won't need it, buddy."

 x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 "Hello, sweetheart," Klaus says pleasantly as he slides into the seat across from her.

Caroline lets out a weary exhale. "Hi, number..." she reads the tag on his chest. "26. What do you prefer, a weekend on the mountains or long walks on the beach?"

"Mountain, easy. Too much sand on the beach, it gets in all sorts of awkward places."

Caroline snorts into her martini. "That's actually the best answer I've had to this question so far. Or to any question, really." She raises her glass on a toast. "How's it going?"

He purses his lips. "I've had to answer that question unironically more than once, so I'd say not stellar."

"I'm sorry," she says around a chuckle.

"You don't look sorry."

"Because I'm not, really. It would be unfair for me to suffer alone. Seen anyone you like, at least?"

The smile on his face turns mysterious. "There's one so far."

"Just one?"

"It's hard to speed date when you're pretending to be slow, uninteresting and American, to be honest."

"You could just tell them the truth. That you were dragged here by a friend who took pity on you sitting around, watching porn all day. That would sure scare some of them away. Although some would probably ask what kind of porn."

"What about you?"

"I don't want to know what kind of porn you watch."

He rolls her eyes at her. "I mean, how's your night going?"

"Oh, you know," she shrugs with a lot less enthusiasm than she'd expected to have by this point in the evening. "A couple of contenders, I guess."

"Oh?"

"Still early."

"Forgive me for pointing it out, but you don't seem particularly excited."

She puffs out in frustration. "Every time I tell them I'm a Med student, they ask what kind of doctor I want to be, and when I say oncologist, they start listing every member of their family who's ever died of cancer. What am I supposed to say after a guy tells me his mother died of breast cancer? I'm sorry, would you like to talk about it?" Caroline glares when he erupts into laughter. "Not funny."

"I'm sorry, it's just that sounds like an awfully interesting conversation."

"Why is dating so hard? Am I too picky? Is it wanting a meet-cute too much? To wake up one day and ta-dam, the guy is there, right in front of me."

Something about Klaus' eyes soften just then. "If only it were that easy," he says, an almost wistful tone to his voice that gives Caroline pause.

Before she can dwell on it further, however, the gong sounds and it's time to move on.

"Here I go, then," he says in his American accent.

When her next prospect sits down, she's laughing at Klaus greeting the woman on the next table with a Hey, babe.

 x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

 "Here's to making the 1% 100 dollars poorer," Caroline says, raising her shot in the air before knocking it back.

"Cheers, I suppose," Klaus says dully, sipping from his bourbon.

"Oh, come on!" She bumps her shoulder against his as they sit side by side by the bar. "Don't look so gloomy. That's literally a pile of women in front of you," she says, nodding her head towards the cards sitting on the counter. "How many again?"

"Twenty nine," he grumbles.

"Twenty nine out of 40! That's more phone numbers than most guys will get in a year. Be proud."

"Of my deep cobalt eyes or my sultry lips? Yes, I heard both tonight."

Now it's Caroline's turn to explode into laughter while he just shakes his head helplessly.

"You don't have to be ashamed of your genetics, Klaus," she says. "It's not your fault some women are awkward flirters."

"Tell that to my stepfather." His tone visibly changes as he mentions Mikael, the dark clouds coming back to hover above his head.

Before it can get any worse, Caroline prods on. "So. How many of them are you going to call?"

"None."

"None?!" she gapes. "That's at least a month of guaranteed sex. A month where you won't have to watch porn, you can actually perform porn."

"Alright, you're making me sound like a deranged pervert," he objects. "I do not watch that much porn. That was one time and it is not my fault you lack proper etiquette when walking into someone else's bedroom."

Caroline chuckles. She did walk in without knocking, but, in her defense, it was 3 o'clock. What kind of person watches porn in the middle of the afternoon? She was blushing furiously for weeks before she decided to start teasing him instead as a way to diffuse the guilt. Luckily, he hadn't actually been doing... Anything. Although she did notice the suspicious volume in his pants. It was... Interesting.

"It's nice to make fun of you, though," she says. "That was the closest to a blush I've ever seen on your face."

"Whatever makes you happy, love."

"Seriously, though. Why are you not calling any of them?"

"These women think I'm one step away from being a caveman. It says more about them than it says about me that they're willing to give me their phone numbers."

She scoffs. "Don't be such a snob. They came here to get laid, too. You can't tell me you didn't like any of them."

"Well, there was one. But she didn't slip me her phone number."

Caroline' eyebrows crinkle together. "Really? That's kinda hard to believe."

"I guess your theory was flawed, after all."

"But it has been proved nonetheless. Which reminds me..." She lifts a hand, asking for another round. "I'm gonna drink all your money."

"My whole life has been a lie," Klaus says contemplatively. "I thought I had an enthralling personality, an interesting aura, that my wittiness made me charming, and now I find out I'm nothing but a pretty face."

"To be honest, you're also an endless pit of money." Klaus gives her a side eye, knocking back his drink. Caroline scrunches up her face in mock-pity. "Oh, boo-hoo. It's so hard to be handsome. Why are you so upset about that?"

"It's different when that is all you are. I've been deluding myself."

"Who said that's all you are?" Klaus turns to her with a pointed look. "No, that's not what I said. I said women would want to date you after five minutes because you're pretty, not that pretty is all you are." When he sighs, asking for another drink, still obviously unconvinced, she continues. "Look. My first real boyfriend was a total douchebag. He came across as funny and charming and thoughtful, but it was an act. He saw something he wanted and he knew he had to act a certain way to get it, because even at 17, I liked to think I had standards, even though I clearly didn't."

"Are you saying I'm also manipulative?"

"I'm saying, figuring out who people really are takes time. It takes twice as long if they're trying to impress you. You can take from this that all your relationships have been superficial and physical only, or you can believe that people came for the appeal and stayed for the content."

"Except no one has stayed. My temper seems to have a rather short expiration date, it drives people away. Just ask my brother." He punctuates his sentence with a wan smile, and Caroline understands, at last, that this is all somehow related to his family again.

She suddenly finds herself desperately at loss for what to say. Rebekah would offer something outrageous and mildly offensive that would still hit the nail on the head. Caroline just wanted him to have some fun, but instead she ended up pushing him right back to his bad place.

She considers apologizing, saying it was just teasing and she never really meant it, but what she winds up saying, however, is, "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Klaus looks up at her, a mix of surprise and something else she can't identify flickering through his eyes.

"Is that how you rationalize your relationships?" he asks.

She huffs out a little laugh. "I don't think that highly of myself. I'm a tall, long-legged blonde. That ticks some boxes, but it hardly makes me irresistible."

"I beg to differ, love. You're an exquisite beauty."

Caroline laughs a little, thinking he's obviously saying that just to be nice, but then she catches the look in his eyes, that intensity that always seems to rattle something deep inside of her. There's not a hint of condescension about him.

"I... Well..." she stammers, her cheeks burning hot. "Thank you."

"But that's not all you are. You're also strong, fierce, full of light. Anyone who fails to see what's underneath your stunning exterior is a fool." Caroline freezes under his stare, something almost reverent in the way he says it, a spark lighting up his face for maybe the first time in a month. It sends Caroline's pulse racing. She's suddenly very much aware of how close they are, the air around them simmering with energy, releasing a fresh batch of butterflies in her stomach. The room is a dozen degrees hotter than a second before, and Caroline doesn't know what to do, what not to do, thinks maybe she's had enough to drink already because her sense of reason is getting all fuzzy.

And then Klaus says, "I heard that on PornTube," and the tension eases off of her as the two of them crack up laughing together.

[tsuki-chibi]

BlackBerries (Adrinette April) Day 11: Scarf Reveal

Or see it on AO3: Blackberries 

-------

"Are you okay, Sabrina?" Marinette asked anxiously, wrapping an arm around Sabrina's waist as she and the rest of the class hurried down the hall. Sabrina staggered a little, and Kim came to Sabrina's other side and slipped her arm around his neck, helping to support Sabrina's weight. Marinette shot him a grateful look.

"I feel funny," Sabrina said, her eyes looking a little glassy. The grey kiss mark on her forehead stood out starkly against her paling skin. It was obviously doing something to her, but what?

"Everyone downstairs!" Marinette called out. There wasn't enough space for her, Kim and Sabrina to walk down the steps together, so Marinette went down first and let Kim help Sabrina down. As they got to the first floor, Marinette glanced around to see who was missing. Her heart thudded in her chest as she realized that Alya, Nino, Lila and Chloé were all gone. She hadn't even noticed them breaking away and so had no way of knowing where or when they'd gone.

"What do we do?" Rose said, clasping her hands anxiously in front of her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, Marinette saw Marc and Aurore running out the front door of the school and knew they had the right idea.

"We need to run," Marinette declared.

'Are you okay,' Adrien thought to her. He could feel her panic. Marinette pushed a wave of reassurance back at him and spoke out loud.

"We have to get away from the school as long as Zombizou is still here," she said. "We should - Sabrina?!"

Sabrina let out a low groan from where she had doubled over, slowly sliding to her knees with her hands clasped across her stomach. "I don't feel good," she whined, lifting her head. Marinette took a couple of steps towards her before stopping as a purple haze flashed over Sabrina's eyes.

"Sabrina?" she whispered.

"Kissou!" Sabrina shouted suddenly, leaping at Kim. Kim let out a screech as she tackled him to the floor and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He managed to swat her away, but the damage had been done and it was much quicker this time. In a matter of seconds, Kim's eyes flashed purple just like Sabrina's had and the kiss mark faded from his cheek. He sat up.

"Run!" Marinette shrieked, jumping backwards. "Don't let them kiss you!" She raced towards the front doors of the school, glancing over her shoulder. Her heart ached as she saw Kim pounce on Nathaniel and Sabrina throw herself at Mylène. Ivan yelled and went back.

"Marinette, come on! You can't help them!" Alix grabbed her arm and literally dragged her out the doors. Juleka shoved them shut. Marinette looked around at her remaining classmates. Max and Rose both looked petrified.

"It'll be okay. We just have to wait for Ladybug and Chat Noir to come," Max said breathlessly, shoving his glasses up on his nose. "They should be here soon."

'No, they won't,' Marinette thought, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. This was maddening in a way that she hadn't anticipated. She wanted to transform. She wanted to challenge Zombizou. She wanted to protect her friends. But she couldn't.

'You need to find someplace safe,' Adrien thought. 'Somewhere that Zombizou won’t get to you or to them. You can do that much.'

"Right," Marinette said out loud. "We need to get away from here. They're going to -"

The doors slammed open. Marinette gaped as about a dozen students swarmed out chanting "Kissou". She couldn't believe how fast this was spreading! She grabbed Rose's hand and took off across the yard, heading for the gates. If she were Ladybug, she'd slam them shut and find something to tie them shut to contain the infection. But regular old Marinette didn't have the luxury of increased speed right now. All she could do was run across the street and down the block towards the bakery, trying to ignore the sounds of screams behind her.

"Maman, Papa!" Marinette burst into the bakery, startling her maman and the handful of customers inside.

"Marinette, what are you doing?" Sabine exclaimed.

"There's an akuma!" Rose cried.

"People are turning into zombies!" Alix shouted.

"We need to barricade the door!" Max said, stepping aside for Alix. Then he pulled the door shut and locked it, backing away from it.

Sabine hurried out from behind the counter over to the window, peering out. She gasped at the sight of what was going on. "Oh my goodness! Okay, that's it. No one is leaving the bakery until further notice," she declared. "We're shutting the lights off. Everyone get in the back. We'll pretend that no one is here. Hopefully, that will make them pass by the bakery without coming in."

"Come on," Marinette said, beckoning to her classmates. While Sabine took the customers into the storage room of the bakery and went to tell Tom what was going on, Marinette ushered her friends upstairs to the living room. She could tell that they were all freaked out, and it made her feel a little better to put another door between them and what was going on outside.

"This is so scary," Rose said shakily, leaning into Juleka.

"There's never been an akuma that could infect people like this," Juleka whispered.

Marinette looked around at their scared faces, heart twisting. 'This is horrible,' she thought. 'I hate the fact that I just have to sit here and do nothing! How do people stand this?'

'They've all been like this since the beginning,' Adrien thought. 'They don't know what it's like to be able to do something about the akuma. Horrible as it is to say, they're using to sitting back and letting Ladybug and Chat Noir do all the work.'

He sounded a little distracted, so Marinette took a quick peek through his eyes and realized that he was strutting down a runway. Jeanne was walking beside him, and Adrien was concentrating on making sure that they were walking perfectly in sync. It was harder to do than she would have guessed. Particularly since, when they got to the end of the walkway, Jeanne slipped her scarf down to her elbows to reveal the design of her dress. At the same time, Adrien took his jacket off to show the embroidery on his shirt. Both movements had to be perfectly synchronized.

"Let's turn the television on and see what's going on," Alix suggested, picking up the remote.

" - no sign of Ladybug or Chat Noir yet," Nadja Chamack was saying. "But -" She let out a shriek as she was tackled by someone.

"Shit," Alix whispered.

"Where is Ladybug?" Rose wailed, covering her face. "Why isn't she out there stopping this?"

Guilt hit Marinette so hard that her knees went weak and she sank onto the sofa. She opened her mouth to apologize but stopped. What good was there in apologizing? Her friends wouldn't understand why she was apologizing, and it wasn't like she could tell them that she had been Ladybug. They would only want to know why she wasn't Ladybug anymore. The thought of having to admit that she couldn't protect the city anymore was paralyzing. She closed her mouth and clenched her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms.

'Shit!' Adrien thought.

'What? What is it?!' Marinette thought, looking through his eyes again. The doors had burst open and an intern was standing there, a very familiar glazed look in her eyes.

‘The whole city is going to end up a zombie at this rate,' Adrien thought grimly, his hand shooting out to catch Jeanne's arm. 'Whatever the hell Fu is planning to do, he need to do it fast.'

'We're watching the news. Nothing is happening,' Marinette thought.

'I hope that Fu didn't get kissed,' Adrien thought; he pulled Jeanne back down the walkway and through the curtains at the end. Backstage was teaming with people and it was impossible to know who was a zombie and who wasn't. Adrien changed course, heading towards the emergency exit with Jeanne and a few other models right behind him.

A jolt of pure horror shot through Marinette. 'Oh my god, I didn't even think of that!' she thought, clasping a hand over her mouth. 'What do we do?'

'I don't know. We don't even have a phone number to call him,' Adrien thought regretfully. 'I hope that's not the case.'

'Should we try to get to his shop?' Marinette thought.

'What if we get kissed too?' Adrien thought, worry churning in his stomach. ‘Then there would be no one who knows how the miraculous work except for Hawkmoth…’

Marinette ground her teeth together in frustration. 'Crap. I really hope Fu has already given the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculous to someone, and that whoever it is, is just taking their time,' she thought. It had been six days since Fu had taken their miraculous. Surely that was enough time to identify two more candidates. But then again, they hadn't seen anything on the news about a new Ladybug and Chat Noir... and Fu hadn't given her and Adrien their miraculouses until Stoneheart attacked...

If no new heroes showed up, what were they going to do?

[captcas]

Summer Clothes

SUMMER CLOTHES by capthamm

Killian Jones finds unexpected memories when searching for his winter jacket.Inspired by the song “Summer Clothes” by Marc Scibilia

read on ao3

The air coming through his open bedroom window has the indicative bite of winter’s dreaded arrival. While he was hoping to get a bit more use out of his leather jacket, he’d be a fool to try and brave Maine winters without his obnoxious (but warm) winter coat. Killian notices the lace-like pattern frost has woven along the window sill and lets out a hearty sigh. He rolls out of bed reluctantly and instantly feels the chill as his bare feet hit the hardwood floor. Shivering, a war rages in his head, back to bed or find the coat. Another gust of cold winter air whips through the open window, he hastily shuts it, and he swears the room warms up at least five degrees immediately. Killian turns to the rarely used storage closet in the back of his room, groaning loudly, as he’s almost certain the entirety of its contents will fall as soon as he opens the door. It’s not that he’s hiding from anything, it’s just sort of become his collection closet for things he’ll “deal with later” but never actually does. He adjusts the thermostat and throws on his wool socks before deciding this Saturday is as good as any to finally tackle the dreaded closet.

One and a half hours later and he’s finally found his jacket under a pile of other winter gloves, hats, and mittens that he hasn’t seen since March. He pauses when he realizes it’s thrown over a bin he doesn’t recognize. Killian drags the bin over by his bed and his knees buckle when he lifts the cover off. Her smell fills the room as memories flood his mind.

Killliiannn, I need somewhere to store this summer stuff.  

Just put it in the storage closet, love, that’s where I throw my off-season stuff.  

She left a few short weeks after that, saying she had a job offer in Boston she couldn’t refuse. She assured him it had nothing to do with their shared kiss at the town harvest festival and that he shouldnt uproot his life because of her.

She had no idea that she was his life.

Scratch that— is his life.  

Bloody hell.

He wished she had realized his life was promptly “uprooted” the moment she wasn’t a daily fixture in it. At first she called, texted, and FaceTimed him on a semi-regular basis but their schedules were no-longer synced and her life kept getting busier while life in Storybrooke was simple as ever. Slowly her absence became a new normal but even a year later he just feels like he’s going through the motions without purpose.

He’s thought about calling her more than once but couldn’t imagine what he’d say short of begging her to come home. He’d go see her if he had an address but she’s never been one for permanence.

If only his dumbass had remembered that before he fell head over heels in love with her.

He realizes he’s clutching her old sleep tee shirt she used to wear pretty much every night. She was always fascinated with the concept of a Neverland, a place of hope and trust and magic, so he bought her an oversized sleep shirt covered in Peter Pan regalia in hopes her dreams would take her far better places than her life had. She teared up when he gave it to her, J.M. Barrie’s stories apparently meaning more to her than he realized, and then she wore it to bed every night without fail. He liked to think it was because she felt safe in it… with him.

He smiles at the thought and decides to shoot her a text now that he finally has a coherent topic of conversation.

Hello, Swan. Hope all is well. Looking for my winter jacket, I found your summer clothes. I can send them to you or donate them? Let me know, love.  

He types an “I miss you” at the end but deletes it quickly, hoping the simplicity of his message will warrant a response. He’s surprised when she answers right away.

Killian! Hi! I knew I left that somewhere… it doesn’t happen to have my old running sneakers in there too? If you don’t mind sending it, that’d be great. I can pay you back for the shipping or whatever. I hope you’re doing well, too.

It’s more chipper than Killian expected and that’s probably what prompts him to pick up the phone and actually call her.

“Hello?”

“Hi, love. Forgive me but I don’t seem to have your address.” 

“Killian.”

He swears she whispers it, almost as if she’s telling a secret to herself and he does everything in his power to record it to memory. She hasn’t said anything else so he responds.

“Yes, Swan?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Address, right yeah, do you have somewhere to write it down?”  

“Shit, hold on.”

Killian scrambles to find any piece of scratch paper he can as fast as he can. He dreads the thought of returning to the line and finding she’s given up on him again.

“Hello?”

“Yes, Killian, I’m still here. He can practically hear her eye roll. I’m not that impatient.” 

“My memory must betray me then.” He hears her huff on the other side of the line and they easily fall back into the comfortable banter he’s missed since the day she said goodbye— or rather didn’t say goodbye. She had told him she was leaving obviously, but he didn’t expect it to be that night.

She just… left. His eyes water at the thought but he chokes it back.

“Ready when you are, Swan.”

“710 Nautica Drive,  Apartment #815,  Boston, Massachusetts 02108″

“Got it, love. Thank you.” 

“Of course! I mean, thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll–”

They start to speak at the same time.

“How is everyone?” 

He hears nonchalance in her voice but can tell it’s forced. If he wasn’t positive his heart was playing tricks on him, he’d say she almost sounded homesick. “Everything’s right as rain here, Swan. You know nothing much changes around Storybrooke. They did get a new bar though! Aesop’s Tables but the ‘t’ is always burnt out so everyone calls it ‘Aesop’s Ables’. It just sounds like bloody horrible alliteration but I suppose it’s free marketing for the guy. “

He hears her chuckle on the other end, but it seems sad— or nostalgic— although he’s not entirely sure there’s a difference.

“Sounds same old same to me, Jones.”

“How are you, Swan? How’s the job?”

“I actually have to go, Killian. He swears he hears her sniffle but chalks it up to shotty reception. Thanks again for sending the clothes. We should— shit I gotta go. Bye, Killian.”

She hangs up before Killian can argue. He whispers his goodbye to no one as he hears the line go dead. Rubbing his hands over his face he tries to pinpoint where it all went wrong.

“Win me a prize, Killian.” She’s smiling at him with the brightest eyes and he swears if he died in this moment, he’d return to it for the rest of his life as this is surely what heaven feels like.  

“As you wish, Swan.” He’s a good shot, and while the rigged games are good, he’s better. It takes no time at all for him to win her one of the big prizes. “What in bloody damnation are you going to do with a huge ass bear, Swan?”

She chuckles at his teasing but proudly carries her bear through the fair, until it gets too heavy and Killian ends up carrying it on his back like an oversized child. Her eyes light up when she sees the short line at the ferris wheel and she grabs his free hand, urgently dragging him towards the ride.  

The operator reluctantly allows Henry (she named the damn thing) to ride with them so when they get into the seat, Killian and Emma are squished as close as humanly possible.  

As they reach the top, she looks at him, “I want to feel this way forever.” He’s stunned by declaration, Emma not being one for emotions of any shape or size. 

“Then that’s what shall be.” She rolls her eyes at his ‘fancy british speak’ and then makes eye contact again.  

“You can not possibly guarantee that.” Their faces are close, a hazard of their stuffed friend riding along.  

“Your heart’s desire, Swan, that’s all I want.” Her eyes soften and then flicker down to his lips. She leans in, softly pressing her lips against his. If Killian didn’t know that they were on a ferris wheel, he would’ve sworn he was flying. She doesn’t say anything after that but cuddles close into him until they arrive at the bottom. They hold hands for the rest of the night and it feels like the entire world has shifted on its axis.  

Two weeks later the world shifts again, leaving Killian feeling like he’s stuck in the aftermath of a category five earthquake.  

It hits Killian like a tidal wave, sudden realization washing over him. All this time he thought letting her go was the best decision, giving her space and time to come home, but he knows now he should’ve ran after her.

He refuses to be another crack in her heart— another love who up and left. While he didn’t technically leave, he let her go, and he’s not sure what’s worse. In hindsight, he should’ve fought for her, but all he has is the present, and he’s going to make things right.

Scrambling for his phone he plugs in the address she gave him.

2 hours. He grabs the bin and his car keys.

He throws on his winter jacket to return her summer clothes.

. . .

Killian is sure the two hours spent in his car are the longest two hours of his life. He pulls up in front of her apartment and lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It’s not luxurious by any means, but it’s nice and he’s grateful she’s been safe in her time here. He drags the bin out of his backseat and walks to the front door of the building. He scans the buzzer for apartment 815 and finds it with the name Swan scrawled messily beside it. He presses it and the door opens without so much as a word from the other line— so much for safe. If this were normal circumstances, he’d scold her for just letting anyone in her building, but he’ll deal with that later.

He jumps in the elevator to the 8th floor and books it down the hall so quickly that he’s out of breath by the time he reaches her door. The adrenaline pumping through him right now is the only thing that gives him enough energy to knock. When she opens the door, clearly stunned, Killian feels like the air is knocked out of him again.

“Killian?! What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

“Swan, I’m a damn fool and I’m sorry this took me so bloody long.” He drops the bin to the side and closes the space between them. Her eyes soften, the worry instantly evaporating the moment he rubs his thumb over her cheek.

“You came back?” She hesitates, almost as though she’s expecting to wake up from her daydream at any moment.

He knows the feeling… perfectly.

“Well, I had to get you your bin and shipping would’ve been outrage—“

Emma cuts him off with a kiss. It’s messy, the antithesis of their first, yet behind the desperation he feels an overwhelming sense of peace.

“I missed you, Killian Jones.”

“There’s not a day that went by that I did not think of you. I apologize for taking so long.”

“Yeah, I had to buy a whole new summer wardrobe because of that damn closet of yours.” She’s smiling now, that same smile she held when she begged him to win her a prize.

“Aye, love, a true tragedy.” He smiles at her and hopes his eyes can convey everything she’s not ready to hear out loud. “Are you going to let me in or should I just leave the bin out here?” He winks, knowing an eye roll is inevitable.

. . .

He’s invited in, and he stays… for three more days. And as they leave to turn her key into the landlord she runs back inside apologizing for forgetting something.

When she rounds the corner again she’s clutching a giant teddy bear and beaming with the brightest smile he’s seen in years.

“Do you mind carrying Henry?” She kisses him on the cheek and then gently on his lips, a bribe he’s positive will never get old.

“Your heart’s desire, Swan, that’s all I want.”