young god- d.m.

𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧

TRIGGER WARNING: 18+ 

trigger warning: depression, drug use, mention mental illness & smut

𓆙━━━━━━━━━━━━━𓆙
ᵀʰᵉᵒᵈᵒʳᵉ ᴺᵒᵗᵗ
𓆙━━━━━━━━━━━━━━𓆙

I was that person- the second option. The person in the films who can't win over their love and has to watch them be with someone else. 

You see, falling in love with Marley Kingsley was the second most magnificent charge of sensations had ever felt in my life.

 But, losing Marely- that was the first. And fucking hell.. it tore me apart. 

Marley Kingsley tore us all apart. All five of us. 

It's all a bit unfortunate, isn't it? They made us into weapons. We fought their fucking war and then told us to find peace.

Find comfort in knowing that we survived. Comfort in the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.

But what if I didn't want to hear my own heartbeat when it was quiet at night? 

What if I was tired of catching my breath in the back of my throat and then having the air knocked right out of me when I realize what happened. 

Of what happened to her. Of what we did. What if I was tired of the lies and drama? 

What fucking piece of peace and comfort was I supposed to find then? 

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫

𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘭.

(𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦)

Luckily, Marley was quick to recover after tearing her stitches. Oliver, her healer, told her that it was trauma from what happened to her. She wasn't ready to be released from the hospital. 

Her parents had her under strict lockdown after she came home. I've never been inside the Kingston manor, but when I knocked on the door to ask how she was doing, her father told me to wait for her to contact me. 

He didn't invite me in or ask how I was doing. He slammed the door in my face and that was the end of it. 

And so, I waited. I got an owl from her that night. She apologized for her fathers' hostility and asked if she could see me soon. 

A week later, we were in my bedroom listening to classical symphonies and reading. Well, she was reading. I was watching her read.

Marley loved classical music. Debussy, Chopin, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky... she loved them all.

She was straddling me. Marley fucking Kingsley was on top of me.

Aggressively, she pulls back down onto my lips. I pulled away at the aggressiveness, "Hey, hey. Slow, Mars. Don't hurt yourself."

I tasted her lips again, more passionately but softer. Her mouth parted slightly and our tongues greeted each other.