T // WC: 1.8k // bodyswap shenanigans begin, and Marvin is beyond stressed and then some. what ever will happen to date week now that this has happened?? // masterlist // series masterlist
Marvin had his head down and strained against his fists as his elbows rest on his knees.
He was doubled over, praying quietly beside you in Hughie's body, and for peace of mind.
He’d settle for just enough of it to be able to think of a plan to fix this or to keep him from killing someone else in the room.
His mind, against his will, not unusual since the death of his family, would carousel through the worst possibilities, every worst case imaginable. They pop in his head, and ruminate, refusing to leave.
When he was a kid, if he checked the burners three times a night, they’d go away. That was the action his brain pushed him to do to keep the bad thing from happening or getting worse, but right now there wasn’t any.
Just bad thoughts in a bad situation, and neither showed no sign of ending.
“You a'right there, mate?” Butcher asked as flippantly as he could pretend, but the glint his eyes revealed his concern.
He was stared at his hands and watched as Marvin balled them tight. He must have started tapping his fingers, but as always, he preferred not to talk about it.
You stirred, a whine coming from your lips— Hughie’s lips.
It was almost Deja vu. Marvin remembers Hughie sleeping similarly when Butcher first brought him here, making similar noises and faces in his sleep, but he knew you better.
Hell, he even knew Hughie Mitchell better these days as well.
The eyebrows furrowed much closer, his face more tight and expressive in your mournful sleep in his body.
Somehow Hughie, when he was actually in his own body, sounded girlier compared to you.
“Swapper'll wake up, and they'll be back in their own bodies in no time.” Butcher graveled in a poor attempt to comfort him.
Marvin glared at him but didn’t say anything.
“What are we … what are we telling Grace?” Wrong. Everything about you looked wrong with Hughie in your skin.
He slouched, making Marvin notice that you held yourself high at all times.
Hughie had your shoulders slumped. He had you shifting your body side to side and making very unsure expressions on your face. Timidness and being uncomfortable in your skin, uncomfortable being you— was unlike you.
You had your troubles, your own insecurities, but you didn’t show them. Not with your body language, not completely. At least not from what he’s seen and how he’s come to know you. To a normal person they remain hidden and unknown, but with Marvin's line of work and the skill he picked up from being in the military to now, He noticed. He could see you for you.
You fidgeted with your hands a little when you were nervous, but other than that, you held yourself together fairly well. You took pride in your appearance.
When you got your hair, nails, or anything done, your head raised a little bit higher, everything about you even more surer, but As Marvin studied the new braids you had gotten done, the stray curls that fell from the updo you had chosen for their date, the small insecure looking woman before him filled him with dread— Anger.
“One of you better figure out what I can tell her,” he leaned back, looking nonchalant but as usual around these fools, he couldn’t be more pissed, “maybe we can buy some time until this motherfucker wakes up.”
You rub the face in the mirror with a hand.
There was a little bathroom at the office, and you’ve been in here for perhaps three hours now. You aren’t sure.
No matter how hard you try the tears won’t stop. Despite how tired you are of crying, the tears keep falling.
Someone keeps pounding at the door, but not saying anything, and you ignore it.
“Kimiko, leave her the fuck alone!” you hear Marvin call out.
“Zhe is not zee only one who can use zee bathroom! If it was anyone else you would have gone bzerk by now! Tell her to let Kimiko in, huh?!”
You open a door with void expression. The commotion ridding you of your woes.
“My bad.” is all you say, the voice coming out of your mouth grates against your ears, foreign to you in every way. You arms entirely to long, everything too low beneath you. Proving your point, your knee hits the corner of a desk and you hit your arm on the back of the couch as you unceremoniously flop down into the seat next to Marvin. Your leg– Hughie's, touches his and you move it immediately scooting over a little afterwords, so your body doesn't touch his.
Marvin says your name, but you don't look at him. “Baby.” he tries again softly if not slightly awkward.
“That's how its gonna be?” he tries to tease, but you don't bite.
You sigh, not sure why you cant look him in the eye or why you are treating him this way.
He lets out a loud defeated sound, too harsh to be a sigh and nowhere soft enough to qualify s a huff. It rumbles in his chest and tingles against Hughie's, making you feel warm inside. Just as quickly a wave of nausea follows it.
“Give me your hand.”
You turn to him on the couch.
“Wha–”
“Don't argue with me, don't say anything.” he interrupts, “ Just give me your hand.”
You blink, scrunching your brows in confusion.
No longer waiting on you he grabs your hand. Hughie's hand, and he interlocks your fingers with his.
You swallow thickly.
You want to turn away. Maybe even to stop it, but the longer you look the stiller you become. The warring overwhelming emotions in you subside, only by a small amount, but they lessen. The heaviness in your chests dissipates and you start to breath a little easier.
Marvin's hands are much thicker than Hughie's—stronger than the extra long and slender hands you now have. He swipes his thumb over your hand in small unhurried patters, and for a moment, without even thinking you do too.
"How do you feel?" He asks softly, leaning towards you.
You pull back slightly, but you don't fight him or push him away.
"Right now?" You wince at the voice and way it cracks as it leaves your lips , but Marvin remains still, patient and watchful, "or like, in general abo—about this whole thing?"
"All of it baby." He holds you a little tighter. "I want to hear all of it." Somehow he softens even more , his shoulders relaxing as he leans in closer, his face and how his eyes seem to sparkle, reflecting light of a new morning's sun as it fills up the room through the windows close to the ceiling.
It was too much.
You quickly turn away.
"I- I don't know." You stammer, unable to think clearly, of something better to say.
"Alright," he doesn't push you. "But if you want to just know that I'm here. . . And that you literally turn red now, so it's not like your getting away with anything."
"What?!" You snap your head back at him and shift awkwardly in your seat. In your own body it would be small. A barely noticeable movement, but with these long arms and legs you feel like your floundering around.
Marvin is the one looking away now, but there's nothing nervous there. His body no longer holding a tenderness or concern.
"I don't know." He noncommittally shrugs, keeping his head turned from you. "You tell me. . . You're the one with the bright red cheeks."
You give him a frazzled look.
"You—" he raises his brows as he looks back at you, stopping you in your tracks. " he raises them higher and crosses his arms, making you stop again, "Fuck you." You lament weakly. Unable to commit to your sour mood, a laugh bubbles from your lips.
Marvin chuckles softly, bringing his hand to your cheek. This time you don't move.
"Okay, baby." He says gently.
You swallow, ignoring once more the warmth that fills your chest, and covers your cheeks.
Fuck!
. . . That turn red. You were actually turning red for once in your life.
How the fuck are there people that live like this with other people just knowing whenever you felt . . A way about things by watching your skin change color.
It was horrifying.
Flashes of memories surge through your mind. A moment of Marvin giving Hughie advise, patching him up, and even given him a hug, sometimes he was yelling or he looked angry, but you looked at his eyes through yours, or rather, Hughie's eyes, and think about the way Marvin looks at him in these moments, and her chest— Hughie's, fills with love. A strong sense of care and comradery.
You swallow, giving Marvin a different look as you regard him with different eyes that see him as a friend and a confidant.
"Like me. . ." You finally say something.
He turns slowly, his face unchanging in a way Hughie finds unnerving, but you find utterly and completely endearing, funny even. What you wouldn't give to be back in your own body and join in on the little game. "For the first time since last night. In this very moment," You continue in a slow quiet voice, as if hearing Hughie's voice at a normal octave would scare you, because it would, in every way it would scare you, "I feel like me."
Marvin clamps a hand down on your thigh.
He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to.
His face falls into something heavy, weighed down with emotion.
You both sit in silence, letting it stretch.
You fight the urge to slouch down further in your seat, so you could lay your head on his shoulder.
"We need to go somewhere." he says suddenly. "You have to come with us. It's. . . for work."
You nod, but he doesn't move, doesn't say anything.
"Okay." you finally say something and he nods back. Patting you once more on the knee and he rises. He takes a step, but abruptly moves back and wait on you.
"You don't have to wait—"
"Sorry, I'm used to leaving Hughie to fuck off on his own" he takes a breath, visibly taking a moment as he half way raises his hands and almost closes his eyes. "Bu I wouldn't leave you. I don't want you to think that I dont care about you. I would never—"
"I know, Marvin." You look down at him and smile, but it almost wavers. You shouldn't be looking down a him like this. "I know."
"Right." He nods and you're both on you're way.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
a/n: this is my very first piece of work for ‘the boys’ amazon prime tv show, for any of the characters ever, so go easy on me. i may or may not have some other things planned for m.m. and billy butcher as well. stay tuned!!
reader is always black unless i specify otherwise!!!!
a little dedication for my m.m. girls. we are very few, but we here!!! lol @aspacefork @nutterbu
It was much more than the door to a little lived in apartment in Brooklyn, chipped hardwood and the squeaky pitched creaks under his shoes. Telling a thousand and one stories of their own, and if they could talk, they'd be doing it for hours, days even. A lifetimes worth of tales, of him and you. It was much more than a door, a way in really, his feet stepping over the earthy brown threshold --a delightful rectangular symmetry that satisfied his obsessive compulsive impulses-- from hell into a homey little place so ethereal and unearthly it might as well be heaven. That all just seemed too damn dramatic of a description though, too flowery and too much of a mouthful, even in his head.
In a time and place where having first and last resorts seemed to be obsolete, the most natural thing to do was to call your place home. It was the closest thing to it anyways.
The Boys called him "M.M.", all just with varying tones and inflections. Butchers call, flavored with that harsh cockney accent, always felt swaddled in trust and understanding. Like a brother talking to his brother.
When they weren't annoying each other to high heaven, Frenchie called for him with a certain... je ne sais quoi... if you will, a persuasiveness that bordered needy. Not the clingy type of needy though, no, he wouldn't be able to bare that. It was more subtle, the type that tugged on heart strings feigning begrudge, and with an air of playful mocking, dared him to let go. He would never let go of The Frenchman, not really, but would he ever admit that? Absolutely fucking not.
And Hughie, oh boy Hughie. So damn green about the world still. So hopeful and daring against the darkness the rest of them had already succumbed to. 'M.M.', he'd start, breathless from the splattering of blood, doe eyed, and chest heaving with breath. All his 'what ifs' filled with innocent possibility.
Kimiko never said his name, she never said anything to anyone. Just looked at him sometimes with slightly bugged, fully haunted eyes, because his care for her was so brazen. 'Breathe', he'd tell her, in the face of flaring anxiety, and her eyes would soften something akin to the texture of rose petals. The smallest, most sincere smile she could ever give.
But you, you called him-
"Marvin", you moaned.
Something teasing scrapes against his skin when you do that, lap your silky tongue against his, pussy clenching all the while in a show of desperation. A soft and wet clingy little thing singing its own tune of praise as you call out to him. Not many called him by his first name, and those that did, never with such a gentle purring cadence. Hypnotic, like the first sultry notes of a jazzy sax, like fresh honey dabbed on his lips. He can taste the heat of it more and more every time, simmered sugar, caramel, as he goes for another kiss. Grips you tighter against the wall, meets your hips with another thick stroke and yet another kiss.
"You missed me?"
You remember faintly, the picture of him on the news lined up with the rest of the boys. A "fugitive" they called him. After that, you'd resigned yourself to the idea of not seeing him for a bit, and when a bit had passed and there was no him, you'd figured it was just best to move on.
But here he is, knocking the dust off all the passion left shelved between the two of you, rocking his hips and digging some with his knees to feel the heat and flutter of your walls. Suckling your tongue like newly opened candy.
"Yes", you whisper. To his question, to the way he fills you, to the sweat breaking your skin. To everything.
You must've forgotten how he feels about that, about the whispering. There isn't anything faint about him or what he does, what he's doing. He's an undeniable wall of muscle, a guy you can't simply avoid, never mind the reason, so it's extra with you, more intense. You can't appease his need with airy moans, no matter how wispy and angelic they may be. Even if it's broken and a bit ugly, he wants it ringing in his ear. Rippling under skin and bone, he wants it everywhere.
M.M. adjusts, secures your legs and the ache that burns through them, before he's off to setting a disorienting pace. Nothing immaturely fast, but fuck if it somehow reaches a bit deeper. Snaps and catches against your slick heat in a way that soothes a heady lull to your head. "C'mon girl, be loud for me".
"Missed you so damn much M, shit".
His groans break raw, like the scraping of gravel, just above the smoothness of your own. Everywhere about him throbbing, the drum of it harder, a crescendo as he rolls against lush resistance. Desperate for that winding in his gut to break, for the wave to wash and steal his breath away.
You could kill him for this, for the way he talks you sweetly through release. The seize of achy limbs, cracking and crumbling under the weight of a reformed passion, and all the while his full lips at your ear. Setting little fires into your skin. "Thats it baby girl". A smile etching into the damp balmy plains of your pulsing neck. "Give it to me".
It has to be normalcy, the reason why his name sounds so damn good falling off your lips. The sound of it, let alone the thought, simplifies even the little things. Deciphers the chaos. Thats the general hazy idea that floats about him, as his hips rut sloppy into release, and he hears you moan his name another time.
For a few rich, undefiled moments, he can't even remember why he hadn't come to you sooner. Taken you against the wall sooner. Heard you say his name, his real name sooner.
T // WC: 3.8k // day one of date week & special surprise and more! // masterlist // series masterlist
“Barry.” You wave to Shaniya as you close the door to his office.
“Stop screaming.” He groaned. He was slumped sideways in his office chair, feet propped up on the desk.
“I’m not screaming.” you rolled your eyes and placed several files on his desk, “this is all the data you need for your presentation. Numbers and results are a priority.”
Barry sat up.
“Please tell me you didn’t do the whole thing.“
“Of course not,” you scoff, “not unless you wanted to give me a little something.”
“Don’t let anyone hear you say that.”
“Don’t let anyone catch you giving it to me when you ultimately do.”
You plop down on the couch in the sitting area of his office. It was all dark wood and various textures of black, leather, suede, canvas and metal accents. He was fond of random shades of color. Deep hues of red, earthy greens, and striking deep mustard yellows. His space is littered with pairings you sure don’t mean anything, or if they did, he wouldn’t be able to tell you.
Barry was all money status and power– on the outside.
However, you knew who he really was.
He gave you an odd look as you plopped down onto the small sectional in his office. The gesture rang loud in the comfortable silence that was beginning to stretch between you two.
“You’re so different now.”
“I have Momo now.” You look down, shifting slightly in your seat.
“You used to drink just as much if not more than me every night and somehow still be the best employee this place has ever had. You’ve turnt out more clubs are parties than I ever could aspire to and somehow be a full functioning adult that could take care of themselves.”
“Kids change things.” You shake your head, trying to find the words as you do. This was not a conversation you wanted to have with any of your friends.
Barry flashes his teeth, a slight sadness to his smile. “They don’t change us though.”
You huff, giving him a similar one, “they never will. We’re too stubborn to let that happen.”
Work ended fast. Barry was able to finish his work and on time, thanks to a little encouragement and company from you. It was like old times.
Saimaira CC’d you to an email and provided a copy to you as she made further confirmations and plans with Barry. Turns out they had a large new client.
The firm was making more moves to diversify outside of Vaught. Things didn’t look so sure and sound on their own now that the truth has come out that Superheroes aren’t chosen by God and on top of that, the whole Nazi debacle.
It was time to divest.
But you don't want to think about that anymore.
Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door.
It was actually happening now.
Marvin had called, as promised, and you’ll cherish that call forever.
You’ve never been more happy to talk to someone over the phone, Hell, you'd never been so happy to actually anticipate a phone call before.
In four breathless seconds Marvin opened the door. He had a rich deep crimson type burgundy shirt. The material was glossy, maybe sheer, something unique. Some of the top buttons were undone, proudly displaying his gold chain on the He paired it with black slacks.
“wow.” You look him up and down.
“I think that’s my line.”
You had definitely done up yourself, but your outfit was simple. A cute long black bodycon dress and a more dramatic makeup look that brought out your eyes and made your lips pop.
“I didn’t know you had clothes outside of your uniform.”
He huffs, his face scrunching slightly. “Do I even want to ask?”
“You wear jeans—or cargos, a t- shirt, and a leather jacket every single day.” You list each item on your finger, “excuse me for being surprised you actually own other clothes.”
“Well, you look nice.” His voice drops low and soft as he ignores you, and you can’t help the way his expression warms you into a matching smile.
You thank him softly.
“Before you come up in here, there are rules we need to establish.”
“Okay,” you cross your arms and smile, giggling, “what are they?”
“No talking about kids,” he holds out one finger.
“Oh no, how will we cope?” you mock.
“No talk about work,” he ignores you again, holding out another finger.
“Is that one for you or for me? Because I never talk about work?” You tilt your head as At brought crosses your mind. “And I don’t even know what you do for a living. This isn’t a good rule.”
“— okay.” He smacks his teeth. “Bad choice of words. That’s on me.”
You can’t help the way your eyes fall to his mouth as he licks his lips in thought.
“Just no talk about how it stresses you out, but yes talk about what it may be.”
“And lastly— pay attention because this one is important.” he adds “If you don’t follow any other rule you have to follow this one.”
You nod along and then jut your chin when he doesn’t say it.
He raises his eyebrows with a look which makes you smack your teeth.
“Yes?” You shake your head. “Okay? I understand.”
“No, helping me in the kitchen.” He pokes out another finger.
“Fine, I accept your little rules.”
“Ain’t nothing about me little, girl.” He swings open his door, “now get up in this house.”
It was the same apartment you’ve always entered, but it couldn’t look any different. The lights were dim, there were several lit candles and on his island was the table setting for two in a moody red and gold.
“It smells good in here.”
“Of course it does.” He grins.
“I like you when you're all arrogant and cocky.” You take a seat, “I mean, you are cute when you're all modest and humble, but I like this other side of you.”
“Oh yeah?” he asks as He rolls up his sleeves, chopping shallots before washing his hands and grabbing an oven mitt. He pulls something out, but you can’t see it past his wide shoulders. A heavenly scent graces your nose.
He carefully plates it before turning around, “tell me what you like about this”
You gasp. “Are these?”
“Stuffed mushrooms.” He answers for you, “but you can also keep talking about me.”
Parmesan, garlic, a cream based sauce, but not dairy.
“Did you make this sauce with cashews?” You say excitedly. “Or was it almonds?”
He takes a lemon and delicately squeezes it over the rest.
“I’m not telling.”
You open your mouth to say something, your face drawing into a pout, but he stops you.
“Eat your mushrooms.” He turns to drop freshly chopped shallots into a pan, adding a touch of garlic, then shaking it. He pops open a bottle of wine and douses the pan with it before pouring you both a glass.
You would complain or perhaps pour, but it was your first date after all. You’ll save it for the fourth or fifth one. The first three dates are for outing your best self forward still and being cute.
You hum as you eat another one. They got better with each one, the sauce more complex on your tongue.
You must marry him. Right now, you have to.
You will marry him and get the recipe for this sauce if it’s the last thing you do.
“Let me get one of those before you eat them all.” It was supposed to be cheeky, perhaps teasing with a lilt of fondness to it, but his eyes glow with an adoration so strong you feel you could touch it in the air between you. Here you are, just sitting at his kitchen island, eating mushrooms, but he’s looking at you like you hold the entire world in your hands. Like you’re the only thing that matters.
Licking your lips, you gently stab one with your fork and extend your arm over the counter. His eyes dip, following the movement of your lips, and then he looks back up.
Without breaking eye contact he places his hand over yours and puts the fork in his mouth.
He grunts in appreciation, giving you a heavy look.
You do your best to nonchalantly grab your wine glass and take a modest sip, but it doesn’t help. You keep a moan from slipping from your lips.
Heaven.
The wine went so well with the mushrooms and made everything in your mouth taste more amazing, leading you to think what it might taste like on him.
You swallow thickly, “I think you might wanna check on your food. It could be burning.”
“It’s not.” He doesn’t let up, his voice thick with an emotion you weren’t sure why sounded so intimidating to you.
“We’ve spent so much time together, but I feel like I don't know that much about you.”
“Uhm,” you shake your head slightly, placing your hand in your lap and willing them to be still, to make yourself not fidget with them,”well I don’t do it intentionally. . . Uh, what do you want to know?”
“Of course you don’t,” he says softly, his expression falling into a soft reassurance, he leans forward once more, somehow not knocking over anything on the island between you. He was so close to your face, but barely. You could taste the wine on the faintest whispers of his words, but they didn’t fan across your lips. You couldn’t feel the breath of his words on your face. “I wanna know everything.”
“I-I. . .” Floored. You dip your head with a smile. Your stomach twists in knots and you feel light headed.
“But of course,” he continues, following your head with his, not letting you hide from him, keeping his eye contact with you, “I’ll settle for anything you want to tell me whenever you want to tell me.”
You avert your eyes, still unable to find the words.
He lifts your chin with the slightest wisp of a touch from his finger, tilting your chin in his direction.
Stubbornly, you continue to look at the corner of the wall.
He brings his thumb to meet his finger and lightly squeezes your chin, jutting your face from side to side until you break into a soft laugh.
“Okay,” you relent, temporarily setting aside your rebellious nature, “I. . . I want you to get to know me.” you start slowly, earnestly. You pull at each finger of your left hand with your right under the counter, “And I want to get to know you.”
Slowly, he lets you go, nodding.
He doesn't smirk or give you a sly look or smile at your expense.
His eyes glow with a light of reverence similar to before, reminding you once more of his adoration for you.
“Alright,” he confirms with a wrap of his knuckles on the counter, hesitating to turn to tend to the food and plate it, “we can talk over dinner.”
And what a wonderful dinner it was.
The wine seared lamb, the fancy long broccoli you forget the name of, and a fancy mashed potatoes you’ve been corrected to call them all night.
“Marvin’s, I. . . I had a different life before Momo, before my brother's accident.” You placed your drink down, balling and unballing your hands before holding one to keep them still.
You were too full for dessert, so he happily packed it up for you to take home, and you both resided on the couch with cocktails.
“Take your time.” He places a hand over yours. You can’t help the fall in your expression as you see he’s still smiling.
Will he still look at you like that once he knows the truth? Everything about you? Will he still be here or will he be like Raheim your ex boyfriend and leave you?
“I’m not this responsible adult that you know me as,” you pause, silently thanking him for not interrupting you, “I. . . Before I had Momo and it was just me, I was the type of girl who’d go out every night. A party, a club, anything and everything, and then I’d go home, shower, change, and then kill it at work like nothing ever happened. I was doing all that and I’m still the best employee.” You smile at the thought of it. The proud feeling of truly having it all was hard to shake off.
“And this is supposed to make me change my mind about you?”
“Marvin, I’m. . . I’m a fake. I’m a fraud. This image of who you see is—“
“She’s real. She’s just as real as what you call the old or inner you.” He takes your other hand in his and you give him an odd skeptical look as he dazzles you with another smile, looking as if he might laugh, “do you think I was this responsible put together man when I had Janine?”
“Don’t answer that.” He stops you after seeing the look on your face. “Because I wasn’t,” he dips his head, terribly concealing his amusement, “I haven’t told you much about what I do for work, but it can be. . . A lot. It took me away from Monique, I had odd hours, and sometimes she’d never know when I’d be home again or where I was. . but then we had Janine.”
“Yeah?” You search his eyes and he softens, noticing how everything was really getting to you, how you truly felt.
“Yeah,” he confirms, “and that’s when I became what I am today. I did it all for my babygirl. No one is perfect and plans to be the most responsible and prepared when they have a kid. You have a kid and then it happens.”
“I’m not done.” You say meekly.
“Lay it on me.” He crosses his arms. “Whatever it is, I'm sure it changes absolutely nothing.”
“I used to smoke a lot of weed.” You squint, waiting for his reaction. His face twists into a hint of a scowl before going back neutral, some of the amusement leaving his eyes, “ok, the days I don’t go out, if work gets too much, I would just go home and light up to take the edge off. That was my go to for dealing with stress, but since Momo is with me I had to cut it out.”
As you explain his face has gone full disappointed dad and now you have to hide a laugh.
“That,” he sighs trying to hold it in, “explains so much about you.” He says carefully.
You let out a matching sigh, softly smacking your teeth and already regretting having said anything about it, “you can say it. You can say you’re disappointed in me.”
“I’m not disappointed,” his shoulders fall, “I just didn’t expect it. I’m glad that it’s not a part of your life but if your situation changes, respectfully,” he quickly adds, “I’d like for you not to pick that particular habit back up.”
“Uhmmm,” you perhaps say for too long of a time, “yeah.” You croaked, your voice cracking a little at this new situation.
You had hoped your brother would wake up and he’d have Momo, you truly did.
One of these days he’ll be out the hospital, Momo will go back to her Dad and you’ll figure out how to carry forward, but also that was the time you were going to start smoking again and now for the first time you have to consider quitting for good when the only thing keeping you sober was the fact that after it’s all over you could just smoke again.
Marvin gives you a serious look and you smile weakly.
“Do I need to make myself clear?”
Your stomach drops. “No,” you narrow your eyes, “I haven’t made any plans to smoke again, but saying it out loud makes it feel weird.”
“Good.” He narrows his eyes back.
You talk some more. He brings up your friends, the people in your life before Momo, and you dodge the subject.
He considerately doesn’t push or keep bringing it up. You ask him about some of the art and photos on his walls. He tells you about his pro black with pan Africanist views. The difference between what that is and Afro centralism and a few other terms you weren’t familiar with.
Surprising. Enlightening. You’ve always been pro black and down for the liberation of black people worldwide, but to know there’s a word for some of your own ideological beliefs and ideas was liberating, it was exciting.
For something so tired to talk about in today’s age and something that’s just been a part of you for so long, it felt like it had a new life. It’s been a while since you’ve had a fruitful conversation about something that gets run into the ground on the internet every single day.
And apparently. . . you’re a pan-africanist.
“It’s getting late.” he says thickly, licking his lips.
Dread fills you as you look over to the clock. “I guess I have to go.”
“I guess so.”
Neither of you move, looking at one another.
He sat on one end of the couch and you sat on the other. You had one of your legs curled under the other and you regret not sitting closer to him. He was right next to you, but with your impending departure creeping up, you couldn’t have felt more far away.
“Let me walk you out.” He reaches out, his long arm not having far to go as he places his palm on your cheek.
You fall into his partial embrace, savoring the warmth of his hand.
You close your eyes, just for a moment.
You’ll see him again. In fact you have the entire week together. You tell yourself all the reasons why this shouldn’t be such a forlorn goodbye, but for some reason it doesn’t work.
You move on autopilot, watching yourself inside of your own body as he walks you outside. You somehow convince him you’ll be okay, your car right across the street, less than ten steps away.
You can feel him watching you.
You smile, wondering what tomorrow will bring and then you hear a scream.
You startle, turning your head to see a man hurling towards you.
His skin looks molton the texture of his skin distorted and mangled, rough and pink. You take a step back, but you’re too slow.
He grabs you by the arm, what’s visibly clear on his face twists into a malicious smile, a scream forms on your lips but you can’t hear it, everything goes dark and you can’t see, but once it’s over you're looking outside of yourself.
You're out of your body for real and you can see yourself choke on a sob and stop screaming.
You look at your hands and your heart races, thundering painfully in your— no, a stranger’s ribcage.
Your hands are long, slender and white. The blue veins you see behind pale skin are foreign to you.
These were man hands.
A wave of nausea floods over every sense of you in this new body, but the disgusting freak was still grabbing at your actual body.
“Hey,” you yell, the voice cracks, sounding almost petulant, not as manly as you’d thought it would be.
The thing turns and you smack it in the face with your fist, using the force of the body, making sure to pack a real punch.
“Fuck!”
“Shit!”
You both yell at the same time.
You shake the fist.
Not strong like a man either.
But someone rushes up behind you.
A dark haired man and an Asian girl start wailing onto the creature man thing.
While the girl keeps hitting him, the man grabs some sort of gun and aims it at its head. A beam of light so bright flashes in its head and the thing screams in agony as the light covers his entire head.
You turn away, squinting to not hurt your new eyes.
“Fucking hell, Hughie,” the dark haired stranger grimaces, “you were supposed to guard the door.”
“Who the fuck is Hughie?!”
“What did you think I was doing?” You watch yourself scream, “I told you it wasn’t going to work in the first place!”
“Guys what the fuck?!” Marvin burst through the doors out of his building. “We had a plan! Why did you bring him all the way out here?”
“Because you’re plan was shit and Hughie fucked it up!” The man spit on the ground. “Frenchie’s little cage didn’t hold ‘em and he scampered past Hughie right out the door and he might have figured out where you live.”
Marvin huffed, ignoring his reply and calling your name.
“I’m fine.” Your voice wasn’t cracking anymore but it wasn’t yours.
The hackles of Marvin’s shoulders visibly rose. Would have been cute or funny if you weren’t scared out of your mind.
“M.M.” You tried to say Marvin, but it wouldn’t come out. You tried again and again. You choked on a sob. Putting your head in your hands to keep from screaming. “Who the fuck is M.M.?!?!”
“Baby,” he stuttered. Marvin’s face twisted in concern and horror. He cupped both sides of whoever’s face you had in his hands, looking into your eyes.
You were looking down at him and it was so wrong.
“It’s me, M.M.” You choked on a sob, “I keep trying to say your name but I can’t.” Tears started flowing down your face which made you cry even more because you were trying so hard to keep them in.
Marvin cradled your head unity he crook of his shoulder, forcing you to lean down a little and you subconsciously- against your will tried to fight it, but he ignored whatever was happening in this strange body that would not let you be held.
Something about crying in his arms made its brain scream at you. The sensation that you were breaking a rule and doing something you shouldn’t, overwhelmed every thought and feeling you had.
“I’m so sorry.” Marvin apologized in your ear. His voice thick with emotion. “I’m gonna fix this. I promise.”
He apologized over and over. You held tight to him. The large white hands twisted into the fabric on his back.
“I’m so scared, Marvin.” You were finally able to say. It came out choked and ragged and a physical pain erupted through every sense of the body. Everything sounded too loud, Marvin’s touch started to hurt. You had to close your eyes to keep what little light that shone from the streetlights from creeping in them.
Marvin called your name and all the strangers clamored around you both, but they faded farther and farther away until you couldn’t see or hear anything anymore.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!
T // WC 2.k // slight angst, grief, mental health // masterlist // series masterlist //
You turned over in bed. Huddling the sheets closer to your person before jutting out a leg on top of the covers. You raised your body half way before tumbling back down without a sound, letting your hair fall behind you and out of your face as you laid down.
This was good.
The house was quiet, Marvin picked up Momo to spend the day with him and Janine hours ago.
The silence was good. The distance was good.
But you also hated it.
Monique and you were amicable with one another. You’d like to think of her as a friend, but a boundary was set. You could only go so far and she would only come so near. Calls between you and her no longer happened. Just texting, mostly telling you to call Marvin, ask Marvin.
Marvin, Marvin Marvin.
But you don’t want to.
You needed distance.
Marvin was nice to look at. It wasn’t a secret, but no one ever said anything about it, so you refused to bring it up, not to anyone, no matter the reason.
Maybe he looked so good no one would bare to bring it up. Who dwells on solidified, unobstructable, irrefutable facts?
Apparently you.
You sighed, pressing yourself further into the sheets, an attempt to move yourself away from your own thoughts, but it was working. You scrunch the sheets by your head with a fist.
You should call your therapist. She was available this weekend.
Call me if you need me, she said.
You're not. . . You can’t.
You already told her you wouldn’t. That there’s no need, so you can’t possibly call her now.
Especially, because deep down you’d know what the conversation would be about, and you weren’t ready for it. She hinted at it in your last session, but you ignored all the uncertainty she was bringing up.
You talked about the usual things. Your brother, death and the hold it’s had on you. The constant and near miss, incessant per suit of you. It clings to those around you and keeps threatening the entirety of your wellbeing.
You know it’s natural that it happens to everyone, but it shouldn’t be happening like this. Not to you, and it just keeps happening.
You can’t do anything about it.
Because the reality of what makes man mortal and human are being blurred day by day, and yet, the world keeps moving like it’s okay.
You turned, tossing to face the other direction towards the window, seeking salvation in the rolling thunder and hard pattering rain.
Your phone vibrated.
It shook you, pulling you into reality.
You answered it, Momo’s chubby little face surrounded by pastel purple and electric green beads filled the screen.
Her giggles filled the room, filling you with warmth.
“Are you going to keep laughing or are you actually going to say something?” You hummed at her.
The life and vibrancy of your tone felt foreign to you. Your ability to be and feel the warmth of such a precious moment almost felt foreign, but you cling on to it, knowing just how real it is, pushing your dark thoughts away for another day.
“Why are you still in bed? Are you sick?” Janine’s little face pushed Momo’s out of the way. Her adorable features hold a pout of concern. Her eyes wide and shiny as she looked at you, a hint of a watery glossy glimmer in her eye as she carefully studied every part of your face
No matter how hard you try to escape Marvin, he seems to find you. Whether he chases you down himself, or he haunts you through Janine. The sparkling glow that never leaves her eyes and the way she holds onto her compassion for others carries his spirit with her. His need to watch and study others carried over into her, but not as obsessive or intense. He’s embedded in every part of her as much as her mother is.
“No, I’m not sick. I’m fine.” You said softly in an effort to reassure her. Believing you, she gave you a smile.
Momo knew a little more of the truth, but it was just as censored.
“She’s not sick.” She began to explain, “she’s just having a lazy day.”
Janine nodded seriously.
This was a reason of perfect and complete sense.
Satisfied that you were okay and with the reason why, they began squealing and laughing to you about their day together.
You wished you still found it annoying and unbearable as the first few times they started to do this, but you’d be lying if you didn’t say you got used to it.
You speak fluent squeal.
“Give me my phone.” A rich dulcet tone called out. “Go play.”
An ambush.
You laid down, shielding yourself with the covers as the screen went black before Marvin’s face came into view and the children went away.
He’s not slick.
“Why are you still in bed? I picked Momo up at 7?” He looked at his watch, “it’s 12:00.”
He held the phone at an audaciously low angle. His wide shoulders going from screen to screen. His eyes glimmered with a strong and silent concern as he looked down at you.
“It’s 11:30.” You softly defend yourself.
You turn the brightness of the screen down to hide your face.
Curse him and the way he holds his phone! You prayed to God for divine intervention. To make him pick up his phone and talk to you properly, not looking down at you, not while he looked like that.
His gray shirt is tight on his chest. The fabric pulled taught, revealing the indents of his chest, every bump and groove of his muscles as they rippled under his shirt. He put one arm behind his head, slouching deeper into his seat on the couch. His arm subtly flexed with the movement.
His eyes were focused in front of him, and you could hear mumbled commentary of a game. Football? Does that come on Saturdays?
You pressed your legs closer together and discretely bit your lip, you hadn’t really thought of doing it. It just happens. You force yourself to stop once you realize, quickly looking away from the screen. Just with your eyes. The overcast clouds hid the sun away, and you didn’t have any lights on. Your face was hidden and you were thankful.
“You watching something?” His voice startled you, pulling your attention back towards him.
Fuck him.. fuck him for real.
“Yeah,” you replied without missing a beat, not thinking much of it.
“What are you watching?” He said it apathetically. His tone revealed his dread to even ask.
“What do you think I’m watching?” You playfully rolled your eyes.
“How many times are you going to watch that thing?”
“Until I die, Marvin! As long as I am alive I will be watching this show!”
“What year did that show come off tv?” .
‘98, I don't know what your point is. Living Single is a classic and it deserves everything Friends got.”
“Well of course you don’t.” He started matter of factly, “because you’re lying.”
Your shoulders slumped and you had to forcefully stop the smacking of your teeth.
“How do you keep doing that?”
“I have my ways.” He held a smile, but it was only polite, tinged with pity or perhaps an empathy of sorts for your situation. A look that usually upsets you when you see it, but this time it feels real, genuine.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Usually, when someone asked, you would have said no. You wanted to say no. . . but it spilled out of you.
“It was a regular drive.” you licked your lips, pausing for a moment, “They had gone on a family trip for Winter Break, Samiya and my Brother Derik had been planning for it since the beginning of the year. Momo was so excited. . .They talked about it all the time. Every holiday, every event, any Sunday dinner, they’d go on and on about all the things they’d do and how an amazing time Momo would have. “ You laughed, blinking away a few tears with it.
“But the funny thing is, I can't remember anything about that trip they took.”
You looked away from your phone.
Marvin’s gaze too much. His expansive brown eyes and how they regarded you with such humble reverence for your pain and grief as they reflected the light around him overwhelmed you, stirring the emotions building within you.
“It started with a call. I was at work, and my mom called. She was crying so hard I could barely understand her, but somehow I did. Derik and his family were in a hospital. Samiya’s gone, he was in a coma, and Momo was beat up, a little bruised but she was okay.”
Your eyes darted over the room, glossing over the shapeless blobs of dark and gray, that become harder to define and distinguish as the sunless sky sets and the rain clouds grow thicker and darker. Everything you had been slowly pushing away, shoving deep inside of you to not think about just so you could have an ounce of strength to get through the week, to keep moving everyday, so you can take care of Momo and whatever was left of yourself, was coming out. It was slowly suffocating you, surrounding you like the dimness in the room, the clouds in the sky.
“But then you see it play on the news.” you purse your lips. “ over and over and over again. He-Man threw that 18 wheeler at the Highway.”
You look back at your phone.
Marvin’s still looking at you, studying you.
Something about the way his eyes reflect the light and shine back at you, makes you smile. It always does.
When you smile this time, that's when you notice the tears falling down your face. You whip them away silently laughing as you do.
“I’d say I’m sorry,” he started lowly, his low timber was as soft as it could be, “But I'm sure you're tired of hearing that.”
“Not when you say it.” you interjected without thinking.
His somber gaze shifted a little, his white teeth honored you with a hint of a smile.
“Do you ever think of doing something about it?” He shifted in his seat, eyes looking away from you for the first time, searching for the right words above him.
“Doing something about what?” You squinted in confusion, thoroughly puzzled.
“Confronting him, making him pay. . .”
“There’s no way.” Your answer was automatic, “There’s nothing to do now but move forward. Pick up the pieces of what’s left and hold on to each other.”
Marvin softened, nodding his head.
“You're doing a great job.”
His words held a warmth that filled you, stunning you. Something about it gave you pause, washing you with a momentary lightheadedness. You curbed it away with a curl of your toes and attempted to bite back the smile that threatened to reveal itself on your face any further. A smile too big and bashful did not belong on your face. You refused it.
As if on cue, Momo and Janine could be heard giggling from one side of the room to another, followed by a squealing laughter.
“Hey!” All laughter at alarmingly high frequencies that only little girls could make ceased, “Don’t run up and down my house! Go sit down somewhere!”
“I’m sure they were just getting some water or something.” you explained for them.
“I don't care what they're doing. They’re not going to run around in here.”
He shook his head, narrowing his eyes at you.
“What’s for dinner?”
You looked at the time.
Huffing, you flung the sheets off of you and stretched.
“Probably tacos.”
“Sounds good.” he smiled at you appraisingly, it was provocatively contagious. “Don’t burn the house down this time.”
“Ugh,” you groaned, “Did Momo tell you about that?” It was rhetorical. “I didn’t burn the house down and it was one little stove- top-grease-fire.”
