Moon Knight Fanfiction - Tumblr Posts

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 100/10 ADORABLE i am crying with joy yayyyyy

my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night

jake lockley x female!reader

wc: 9.5k

warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me

an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers

summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?

Mouse was noisy.

You really wished he wouldn't be.

He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.

Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.

It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.

When he'd be left alone in the flat.

Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.

You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.

There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.

It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.

After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.

Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.

You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?

He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.

You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.

Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.

That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.

Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.

Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.

You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.

Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.

From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.

Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.

Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.

He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.

There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.

You met Marc eventually.

He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.

You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.

More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.

It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.

It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.

The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.

Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.

He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.

There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.

Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.

You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"

His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.

"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.

Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.

He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.

"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.

The man's brow tightened, "Sure."

There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.

"Uh ... I suppose so."

Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.

Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.

"It was nice meeting--"

It closed with a thump.

"... you."

Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.

Steven worried about him, about Jake.

Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.

"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"

Marc's eyes flickered up just once.

"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

His eyes flickered.

"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.

His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.

"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"

And so it passed that way, for weeks.

Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.

It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.

The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.

Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.

You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.

The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.

"Jake?"

He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.

"Yeah?"

His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?

"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"

Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.

You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."

He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."

When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.

That was the first night.

The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.

It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.

Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.

"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.

In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.

Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.

"Jake?"

The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.

"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.

Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"

"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.

He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."

Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.

You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"

"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."

Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.

"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"

Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.

You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"

Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.

"You're a doc, aren't you?"

"For animals!"

He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."

Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.

The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.

You nodded eventually.

"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."

There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.

He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.

"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."

With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.

"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.

When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.

He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.

"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."

"He tenido peores."

I've had worse.

You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.

Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.

You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.

Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.

When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.

"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."

The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.

"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"

You huffed. "Jake, please."

It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.

You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.

He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.

When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.

"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.

He shrugged, "Are you?"

Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.

Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.

The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.

Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.

"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."

A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.

"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."

You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.

It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.

Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.

When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.

Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."

You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."

He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.

The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.

"Thank you."

You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."

But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.

His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.

"What is it?"

Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."

You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."

"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."

"Meaning?"

He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.

"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."

The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.

"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"

He shook his head in place of answering.

"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.

The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.

-

In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.

Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.

You didn't see Jake once in that time.

Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.

Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.

But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.

That was until he came again.

Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.

The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."

You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.

He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.

"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.

Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.

Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.

When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.

You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.

"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."

Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.

"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.

You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.

Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.

Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.

The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.

Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.

Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.

"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.

He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"

There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.

"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."

Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.

"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."

You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.

Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.

"Who took out the stitches?"

His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."

The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."

"Yeah."

"What did they say? About the scar?"

Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.

Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."

Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.

Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.

It was warm and sticky with sweat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"

His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.

You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.

"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."

You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.

-

Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.

It peaked suspicion in you.

"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"

Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."

Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."

"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.

Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.

It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.

Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.

He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"

"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."

You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."

That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.

It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.

You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.

He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.

The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.

It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.

He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.

His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.

A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.

He didn't.

The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.

Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.

It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.

The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.

Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.

Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.

Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.

Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.

"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"

I never stop.

"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"

He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.

You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.

Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.

And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.

You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.

"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"

Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.

Why're you doing it then?

Because Marc and Steven are in there.

They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.

"What's it to ya, Lockley?"

Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.

He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.

Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.

Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.

It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.

"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"

You hummed, not looking at him.

Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."

A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.

"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.

Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."

You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.

He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.

"And white roses?"

"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."

It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.

"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."

"Not to you, I didn't."

Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.

He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.

"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."

You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.

"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"

"You kissed him."

That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.

Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.

"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.

Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.

"Yeah. Tha's all."

He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.

The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.

"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"

As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."

"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."

"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"

You swallowed. "That you're okay."

His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?

"You have work in the morning."

A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."

He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.

"I'm not gonna go change."

"But you're wet."

"A little rain never killed anybody."

"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"

You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.

"Shut up." He mumbled.

You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.

"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.

He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.

The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.

"Where did you find this giant dog--?"

"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"

Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.

"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."

He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.

A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.

"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.

You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.

"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."

There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.

He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.

Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.

A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.

He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.

It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.

His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.

He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.

Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.

Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.

That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--

He blinked the thought away.

There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit. 

Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.

But not him.

It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length. 

Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights. 

You twitched against him.

"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."

I promise.

-

Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.

You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.

It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.

Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.

Marc was around almost as much as Steven.

He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.

You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.

He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.

His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.

"Steven?" You whispered against him.

Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.

"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."

You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."

He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."

You kissed him.

Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.

You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.

But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.

He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.

Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.

"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."

It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.

"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.

He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."

That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.

"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.

Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."

You rolled your eyes.

"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."

"Jake, wait--"

His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"

He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."

You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."

It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.

Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.

You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"

"Like that."

"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.

"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.

Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.

"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.

His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"

He was gone again.

It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.

Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"

"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."

-

Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.

There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.

You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.

The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.

Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.

But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.

With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.

The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.

"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"

Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.

Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.

Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.

It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.

You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.

The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.

Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"

Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."

The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.

“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.

He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”

He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.

“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.

“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”

It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.

The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.

But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.

“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."

Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.

"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."

"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.

"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"

He betrayed you with his silence.

"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.

Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."

"Can't? Can't what?"

"I can't have what I want."

You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.

"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."

Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"

"It's not the same. thing"

"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"

Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.

"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"

You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.

"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.

He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.

His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.

"Don't come back, Jake."

Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.

"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."

Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?

"I want what they have."

He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"

His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."

You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."

It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.

"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"

You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.

"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."

Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"

His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.

"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."

Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.

There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.

When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.

"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."

He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.

"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"

He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."

You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.

"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.

You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"

"You're very annoying."

Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."

His face ran hot all over at the allegation.

"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."

Your face drew closer against his own.

"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."

His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"

"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."

It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.

His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.

"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"

Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."

Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.

You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."

Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.

"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"

A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."

"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."

Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.

-

comment and repost <3 mwah!

Masterlist! also linked in my desc

Organized by fandom and character

- in progress, will be polished when more are added to the library

- Once I finish or develop the series I'm working on, I will make separate masterlists cause I know how irritating it is to only have one, but for right now this is what you get xox

Miguel O'hara:

Mi Luz - fluff, slow burn 

T minus 10 (pt 1) - series, ongoing, enemies to lovers 

T Minus 10 pt 2

T Minus 10 pt 3

Nathan Bateman:

Deal With It - fluff, sass (gn reader)

Patient - blurb

here, kitty kitty - fluff, cuddles

One fish, Two fish - fluff, coworkers to lovers (genderless)

So soft - fluff, blurb (fem)

Poe Dameron:

Snack - fluff, funny (gn reader)

Playing Favorites (1) - hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers (fem reader)

Playing Favorites (2) - feels, enemies to lovers 

Playing Favorites (3) (coming soon)

Moon Knight (all three)

Clever Boy - fluff, mostly Steven but a bit of Marc, no Jake :( sorry (gn reader)

Duke Leto

Strategy - smut (fem)

Blue Jones:

Skincare - fluff (gn but reader has long hair so idk)

Taglist:

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ridiculous-hibiscus @neeshsoodroppedout

@krakenkitty

@twwcs

@iolaussharpe-24

(dm me if you want to be added/removed!) (series taglists need to be specified if you only want updates from one series/character, if you just say 'add me' I'll add you to everything.)

xox

Besamé

jake lockley x reader (sort of a continuation of Clever Boy bc yall wanted jake)

read part 1 here (or don't it doesn't matter)

I'm not gonna translate the title or the pet names because if you're reading this you've read enough oscar isaac characters and jake lockley fics to understand basic romantic spanish, let's be so fr

Things had progressed smoothly in your budding relationship. Marc and Steven made up, all qualms about your affection gone. Jake, still hiding, had peeked out and you'd smothered him as well.

It was hard not to love you and Jake punched himself for doubting it. Of course you were perfect.

That morning was soft and warm, and he was up with the sun making breakfast. As much as he loved early morning cuddles, his stomach was so loud he worried you'd rouse.

Jake whistled quietly as he poured himself a mug of coffee, making sure to set yours by the coffeepot for after you ate. If you drank coffee before food you'd get a wicked stomachache.

Grinning, he nudged open the door tosee you rubbing your face sleepily, blinking in the light.

"Hi," you croaked, smiling blearily. Jake beamed, peppering your face in kisses. You smelled like sleep - still soft and comforting. Snorting, you pushed away his ticklish affection and made grabby hands towards his coffee.

"Yours is in the kitchen, my love," he said, "I made food."

Morning grogginess gone, you scampered after him, the smell of pancakes in the air. Jake watched lovingly as you ate, perusing the newspaper atop Steven's precariously balanced library.

"You've grown it out," you noted, gesturing to his upper lip. The mustache he'd been begging Marc and Steven to let him keep was blossoming. Steven was the only apprehensive one, frowning at the facial hair.

It itches, he grumbled from the headspace.

Jake waggled his eyebrows suggestively and blew you a kiss. "Sexy, ay, amor?"

You scrunched your nose and giggled. Then, realizing the time, you rushed up and tossed your napkin in the trash. "Gotta go, baby, sorry, I forgot I had an early morning!" You pressed a kiss to his cheek and hurried into the shower.

"Thanks for the food," you called over your shoulder. You grinned to yourself as you washed the suds from your body.

Marc and Steven had planned a little game on the evenings that Jake was asleep. See, both of them had officially asked you out and gone on dates, yada yada. Except for Jake. He, though arguably the most passionate, had yet to 'ask you out.' He was riding on the coattails of Steven's proposal and Marc's efforts, so to speak.

Not fair, really, Steven had mused to you, seeing as he didn't have to do anything for you to fall in love.

What are you proposing? You'd asked cheekily. He sniffed and turned away.

I don't think you should be all lovey with him until he actually works for it.

You had laughed. That's like taking candy from a baby. Poor Jake was too sweet for you to tease him like that.

Marc had chimed in. Yeah, well how come he gets a fat kiss every evening and it took you a month to give me a little peck?

That shut you up.

So, you'd schemed until a plan had been formulated. No kissing on the mouth, no touches, no nothing until Jake asked you on a proper date. Proper, Steven emphasized, not takeaway on the sofa.

Running a brush through your wet hair, you smiled at Jake and moved towards the door. Like clockwork, he leaned in for a kiss. You dodged his mouth and pressed two quick pecks to his nose. One for Marc, one for Steven. Jake awaited the third kiss bestowed to him, but you merely squeezed his hand and disappeared out the door.

Jake stood in the foyer, blinking in shock.

The dishtowel hung limply from his hands, grip loose with confusion.

"Que?" He murmured to himself, immediately raking his hand through his hair. You'd never done that...had he missed something?

Were you mad? You'd smiled at him, he'd made you breakfast, you laughed at his joke...was it the mustache? Ay, he thought you liked it!

Marc and Steven were awake but oddly silent. Steven had been with your last night, were you mad at him? No...no. Cheek kisses were for the other two, he always got the mouth. Cheek, mouth, cheek. One two three. Except now...only two?

While he fretted, Jake began to clean the kitchen. He'd never felt insecure with you. Should he? No. You were nice, you liked him, you always gave him a kiss before work. You had yesterday; he'd felt it from back in the headspace. Why not today?

Beso...he mourned quietly, absently running his fingers over his lips. Maybe it was the mustache. He'd shave it off, right now. That'd make Steven feel better, if not you. Jake tugged on his hair, eyes wide and worried.

"Ay, Marc," he hissed into the mirror, fumbling for his razor. "What's going on with her, huh? Yesterday was okay, si, then ¡Y entonce! I get nothing! Estoy confundido!"

Marc yawned lazily, smirking in the reflection. Jake's hand paused above his chin, and he narrowed his eyes. "What's that face for, eh? Why are you smirking like that?" His headmate shrugged, feigning disinterest.

Well, you know, he mentioned drolly. Jake dropped the razor and folded his arms.

"No, malo, I don't." Something was up. Steven was watching, eyebrows up to his hairline, but Jake didn't trust him either.

Marc was grinning now. You're not their boyfriend, Jake.

He gaped into the mirror, hot anger flashing in his veins. "Ay, that's not true! Maldito malo, how dare you say that! I love them just as much as any of you bastards-"

How many dates have you gone on? Steven piped up from the back, grinning cheekily. Jake opened his mouth but stopped.

Dios...he hadn't taken you on a date?

"Wait, wait," he muttered, chin in hand. That couldn't be right, you spent time with him almost every day. You'd gone on drives and to the park and the library...

"Oh my God," he breathed. "Ay, this is-" he fisted his hair in frustration, then whirled to glare at his friends.

"No, it can't be that! Yesterday I still didn't date them and they gave me a kiss, right smack on the lips! You're full of shit, Spector, that can't be it."

He wiped the shaving foam from his face and slammed the bathroom door, ignoring Steven's giggles. Bullshit. You wanted a date? He would take you on a date, he'd take you on a date every day for the rest of your life if you wanted-

Share them with us, Steven protested at the idea. Jake bared his teeth in the reflection of his phone.

"Fat chance," he seethed. He'd get that kiss back.

Work had been a hassle. You scrubbed a hand over your face before sighing and making your way to the bus stop. It was a grey evening, and would start drizzling soon. Shivering, you walked faster, imagining the comforting warmth of your shared flat.

You smiled, thinking of Jake. Hopefully the boys weren't being too mean - it was a joke, after all.

Speak of the devil, a familiar black car was parked along the curb, and you paused.

"Jake?" You stepped up to the window and peered inside. Jake's glittering eyes grinned back at you. His hat was perched cockily atop his moussed curls and he unlocked the door.

You gleefully ducked inside, grateful to be out of the rain. He sat idly, tapping his fingers on his thighs while you buckled up, fluffing your hair in the mirror and looking over. He wasn't looking at you, peering with mild interest at the traffic outside.

"What's that pout for," you teased. "Oh, you've shaved!" You leaned over to inspect his smooth chin, but he angled away.

Huh?

You sat, gingerly placing your hand on his arm. Marc had spilled the beans, it seemed. The rain beat on the windows, pattering loudly in the silence.

Game on.

You adjusted yourself in your seat, folding your legs away from him. Without any real estate to rest his hand on, Jake fidgeted near the gearshift. He so badly wanted to reach out and burrow his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs, but he couldn't. Not yours to touch, Marc taunted.

Eyes steely, Jake peeled out of the parking lot and into the main road, humming to himself. This was so wrong. His lips tingled from neglect, and he was twitching to repress his need to kiss you all over. The soft music on the radio had you bobbing your head and tapping your fingers. He wanted to grab your hand and swing along like a seated waltz.

Nope. Not yet.

When Jake pulled up in front of your favorite Thai place, you frowned.

"Wh-"

His hand was on your jaw and his breath tickled your ear. "I'll take you on a date," he growled, "but after this, you better knock it off." His tone was harsh but his grip gentle, rubbing a slow circle beneath your ear. You met his eyes innocently.

"Knock what off?"

He made a sound low in his throat and tore away, stalking around the car to throw your door open.

"What a gentleman," you cooed, pecking his jaw. He scowled, mentally urging your lips to gravitate towards his supple pout. No cigar; you grabbed his hand and led him inside.

It was warm and smelled divine, so you settled in with a smile. Jake gave a small smirk in return, foot bumping yours under the table. Your nose scrunched adorably and you bopped him right back. The two of you went back and forth, smothering giggles until the waiter took your order.

The quiet was pleasant this time, the stiffness having lifted in the spirit of warm food. As you ate and laughed, Jake's hand found his way to yours across the table.

"I'm sorry, corazon," he said, eyes wide and genuine. Your heart cracked a little bit, and you felt the tiniest bit of guilt. He looked like a kicked puppy, all begging and earnest. Caressing his palm, you squeezed back.

"Te amo," you whispered, poking him with your chopsticks. Jake sighed with relief, a crooked smile on his face. See, you bastard fools? He gloated to his headmates, 'not their boyfriend my ass.' Pendejos, both of you.

You saw the smirk on his face and cocked your head. "Don't be mean," you chastised playfully, "it's not their fault you didn't have the balls to ask me out."

Jake sputtered around his food, looking at you with bewilderment. Cackling, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, smiling against his lips. He tasted warm and familiar, like home. Stupid game, you lamented, forcing me to miss out on this.

He pulled you to his side of the booth, trailing down your neck and back up to your soft lips. Your hair was soft against his cheek and he beamed.

His rough hands cupped your chin lovingly, eyes sparkling with joy. You're so pretty, he fawned, kissing you again. A blush spread over your cheeks and you hid in his neck. he could feel your smile against his skin, and he pulled you back up for another round.

"Besame, por favor," he murmured, licking gently into your mouth. your hands fisted gently in his shirt, and he intertwined your fingers gently. Pulling back, you nudged his nose with yours.

"Take me home, lover boy."

yay! all the boys can be happy now.

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

@silvernight-m - Jake's part, as requested! :)

@krakenkitty

@twwcs

@ominoose

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envy - jake lockley

envy - jealousy of somebody's success and a desire to have it for yourself.

cw: smut, feelings, body worship, jake is a little emotionally stunted, he learns to chillout a bit, nothing really kinky.

a/n: I know you guys were expecting some dom angry jake or something but i just want to kiss him tbh.

It had been a blissful few weeks. Khonshu had gone under for a while, meaning the boys had a long stretch of rest and relaxation. Marc had taken full advantage; slept almost every hour he fronted, honestly. You had some good snuggles on the couch together before bed. Steven was picking up a hobby of painting, and you loved to sit with him at the kitchen table and watch his creations.

Your relationship was glowing. There hadn't ever been such a long time that you could just be together, without worrying about Khonshu or anybody else.

Although, you couldn't help but feel something was wrong. Jake had always been the quietest alter, but he made sure to pop in at least once and say hello or dive for a kiss. He'd leave notes on the fridge or send flowers to your work.

Recently he'd been nearly silent. You could hear him in the morning; his footsteps were by far the heaviest, and he always hummed Sinatra while he brewed the coffee. But as soon as you'd go over to say good morning, Marc would blink back at you.

You hadn't said anything the first few days. Maybe he's catching up on sleep. But after a week, you'd started to feel hurt. it wasn't just his absence.

He looked at you differently. His eyes were cloudy and he didn't make eye contact. His jaw was clenched tightly. He looked...mad?

Jake hardly ever ignored you when he was upset. He was a little conflicted but he'd always apologize, showering you with affection.

The thought somersaulted in your head while you stood by the sink. Your cup of coffee had gone cold as you thought. Had you said something? Did you forget an important day? None of the valid reasons you could think of applied.

"You alright, dear?"

Steven's gentle question broke your reverie. A wistful smile flitted across your face.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, thanks, Steven," you nodded, kissing him on the cheek. "Just thinking."

He rubbed your shoulder and nodded towards the television. "Marc's been wanting to watch a new show, you wanna join?"

"Is that even a question?"

Laughing, you both curled up on the sofa, an old quilt tucked under your feet. It was a crime show, of course, but even with the gruesome details you found yourself drifting off, wrapped in warmth in Steven's lap.

Some time later, you woke to a jostling. Rubbing crust from your eyes, you pulled the blanket tighter and tried to find Steven. He was halfway off the couch, one leg still trapped under you.

"Why you leaving?" You mumbled pitifully, reaching out. He paused, before lifting his leg and stepping away.

"'M not Steven."

"Jake!" you sat up, suddenly awake. "Baby, where've you-"

"I'm gonna go to bed. He'll be back in the morning." He leaned forward and brushed the barest kiss to your hair, before stalking off.

You felt like you'd just been slapped. In your eight months with the boys, Jake was by far the most intimate, craving touch whenever possible. He'd cry if you didn't kiss him before work. And all of a sudden, he balked at a couch snuggle?

What?

The blanket trailed behind you, slithering over the cold floorboards as you padded after him.

He'd already shucked Steven's jeans and pulled the covers up to his chin, facing the wall.

You knew better than that. Jake's shoulders tensed when the mattress dipped. Shifting close, you tucked your hands around his waist and locked your legs around his hips.

He was stiff as a board, hands firmly under his pillow. You huffed, nudging your nose into his neck. He twitched at the ticklish feeling and you tried again, flicking your tongue out. Jake grunted and turned over, nose-to-nose with you.

"Hey," you whispered. His eyes glittered dark in the low light. You so badly wanted him to lean forward and brush your lips with his, but he stayed a few inches away.

"Steven and Marc are asleep," he whispered back. "You can see them later."

"I don't want them."

Something about your tone, soft and clingy, made his brow furrow. There was that look again; frustrated and cold. You leaned in to hide the cracking of your hurt.

He pulled away. You whined quietly, eyes welling. Jake's chest burned when he saw your tears, but he kept silent.

"Are...are you mad at me?"

He'd never heard your voice so shattered. It cleaved a hole right through his heart. Words got stuck in his throat. No, he wasn't mad. How could he be mad? You did so much for them, all of them. Maybe more for Marc and Steven, but...

"Mariposa..." he lifted a hand to your cheek. You leaned in, fisting your hands at his chest. Jake reluctantly held you back, tucking his chin over your head. You burrowed as tight as possible, squeezing against him in a way that made his heart hurt.

"Why did you leave?"

The question met his ears and he sighed. The complicated slurry of emotions hung heavy in his chest. Taking a laborious breath, he shrugged.

"Didn't want to interrupt the show."

"No. Why did you leave?" You pulled away, brow set. He looked away, exposed. That raw nerve that entangled his heart was throbbing with alarm. He was too open, too vulnerable. Both of his headmates were out, cutting off the exits.

A soft rub to his chest. He'd been hyperventilating. Your eyes were wide and worried.

"Jake?"

It was too much. He wanted to get away. This was too hard to explain. It wasn't supposed to be this difficult, why did you have to ask? Your curiosity was adorable but it disrupted his brooding intentions.

The bedroom began to fall away as the tight thrumming of his anxiety took over.

He shuddered in a breath, raking a hand over his face.

"I..." The rest of the sentence was gluey on this throat. He coughed and tried again. "I didn't want to interrupt...you."

"Interrupt? What do you mean?" You were still stroking his shoulder gently. Tears threatened to fall. this was going so badly.

"You. And...them."

Another slap to the face. You gaped at him, more in hurt than in shock. "Us? You mean - Jake, what the hell are you talking about? You're not interrupting anything-"

"Leave it, amor, forget I said anything," he muttered, cowering behind his walls again. You wrenched his head to yours in frustration.

"No, Jake Lockley, I will not forget it." Your eyes softened. "Why do you feel like that?"

"It's not-"

"It is important, mister."

Feeling like a child, Jake shuffled to face you and harrumphed.

"It...it seemed like you were in the middle of something," he mumbled, neck heating. Frowning, you shook your head.

"So? You're not banned from participating. I'd love to watch something with you."

You weren't getting it. This was why Steven did all the talking. Frustration churned in his chest. He just wanted to sleep and shoulder this off to Marc. You liked him better anyway.

"Just stop," he hissed, backing away, "you have your things with them, go enjoy that. You don't need me."

You were dumbfounded. What?

"Don't need y- Jake, what the hell?"

His claws were out, shielding the raw emotion pulsing in his heart. Just stop.

"You like them better, si? I know you want Marc, just let me sleep and he'll be-"

You yanked his head to yours, scowling at his bitter tone. A mix of torrential sorrow and dumbfounded irritation tore at your ribs.

"Jake Lockley," you seethed, "you've said that once and I won't settle for a second time. You are not nothing."

He met your anger with his, but a shining film of tears diluted the rage. "No," he whispered.

"I love you too, idiot," you said indignantly, tugging his hair. he bashfully ducked his head, wanting to hide the watery tears bubbling up.

"You know that, right?"

He didn't move.

"Jake."

You carefully lifted his chin, peering into his glistening eyes. A tiny, imperceptible whimper.

"Oh, honey."

He collapsed into your hug as you stroked his back, murmuring soothing reassurances as he choked back a sob. He'd never felt so exposed. The delicate flesh of his chest was flayed open, revealing the timidly thumping cavern of his heart. Red and tender, too soft to cope with the dangers of out there. it felt like you'd reached in and grabbed it, cradling it like the sun. Jake curled into himself, head dropping onto your chest.

"You- you just seem so right with them an' I didn't know if you actually needed me or if I was just there an', an-"

You pulled him to your chest, shushing the sobs that wracked his frame. Internally, you were a mess. He'd never shown this much of himself. How long had he been thinking this way? Thinking you didn't love him as much?

"Of course I want you," you said, shocked. "Of course, love, you're all important to me. Equally," you said firmly. Jake choked into your shirt and you rocked, side to side.

"Why would you think that?" you asked gently when he'd gotten his breathing back to normal.

He avoided your gaze, hot shame curdling his stomach. This wasn't how he expected this to go. He wanted you to brush him off, give him the predictable air of nothing. Clean apathy was easier to live in.

Jake felt like a baby deer, stumbling around in the throes of love, trying to get his feet back under him. This was new. this was different, he wasn't used to being so unsteady. He was the strong one, the big bad Jake that had everything under control-

"It's okay," you whispered, kissing his cheek, "I understand. Just let it out for a bit."

His hands curled at your hips, pulling you tighter as he hid in your neck.

Your shirt was soaked when you pulled away. He still wouldn't look at you, but you could feel his grip tighten on your wrists. Don't go.

Still kissing his face, you gently rucked up his shirt and stroked his chest. Jake sniffled and held you tighter, mouth connecting messily with your neck. The wet warmth of his tears mixed tenderly with his soft lips.

Carefully, like calming a spooked animal, you kissed down his jaw, laving your tongue on his neck and shoulders. Jake stuttered, unsure of how to handle the raw emotion. This was his thing. He did that, not the other way round. You kissed down his sternum, cradling his hands in yours.

"Pretty," you whispered into his warm skin. "have I told you how pretty you are?"

His chest was seized with emotion so thick he could barely breathe. 'I-I look the same as the others," he gritted out, trying to salvage his exterior. A petulant mewl when you sucked a bruise above his heart.

"I know, but you're lovely in your own way." You hovered over the mark, blowing gently and smiling at the prickling goosebumps. Jake didn't know up from down as you continued your slow descent. The heady mix of lust and adoration was making his head fuzzy.

The apartment fell away while you held him. He had started crying again; a silent barrage of warm tears trickling down his cheeks. You licked up the salt, pressing the taste of his yearning onto his tongue. Jake moaned weakly into your mouth, pawing at your shirt.

"Patient," you whispered, returning to your task.

He hiccupped and raked a hand through your hair. The thumping of his heart in your hands was harder now, glistening with newfound love. You continued to wrap him in a protective cape of encouragement, coaxing his shoulders to relax.

You stopped above his waistband, moving to straddle his lap. "Follow my lead," you instructed gently, looking into the dark well of his gaze. Jake Lockley was at a loss for words as you rocked against him, tucking is head in your neck.

The pure intimacy was stifling. He couldn't breathe around the weight of the affection you carried for him. Something had burrowed into the pores of his skin, tearing down the stone barricades around his mind.

The exposure didn't feel so bad. You were right there next to him, keeping his soft frailty from crumbling.

"You've got such nice eyes," you murmured, your own sweet gaze shining with kindness. Sniffling another wave of tears as you kissed his eyelids, Jake felt another wave of emotion.

The comments continued, praising his hair, his mouth, his skin, his strength. Each word rebuilt a piece of his armor.

Softer, better. Like flexible cotton rather than strangling iron. Somehow it felt stronger. Like he was soaring above the Earth, unstoppable.

"you're strong, Jake," you licked into his mouth, "you do such a good job with Steven, keeping him safe."

Alto. no, no, no he couldn't no this. too close to his sensitive middle. caught off guard, he reflexively pulled away, hackles raised. You crept higher on his lap, refusing to let him hide.

"marc knows too, sees how patient you are when he's mad." Another warm kiss and Jake was a mess.

His heart had been pounded to a bloody pulp with every praise, shuddering and pulsing weakly on the floor. your hands were stained, but you still held him lovingly. How did- how did you-

Another shuddering breath, and you blessed him with a reprieve from the attention. Your coaxing, tender touches never stopped, still petting the tension from his bones.

Jake was at the top of the tower, staring down into the abyss of this. This new thing; the drowning mass of you.

jump.

jump, he could do it. just dive in.

Your eyes met his again. "te amo."

the wind whistled by his ears. it's okay, it's okay, he'd-

he landed safely in your embrace, diving forwards to devour your mouth with his. This time you didn't push him away, but pulled him on top of you, running your hands over his sides. He desperately grabbed at your hips, wanting to mold into you. to grow into one body, every cell touching and twining until nothing could pull you apart.

"It's okay, hey," you cooed, helping him burrow into your chest. The warmth of your breasts surrounded his face. This was familiar, he could do this.

A shuddering sigh drifted musically through the room as he kissed and sucked, hoping to drive you even close to the pleasure you'd brought him.

His kisses were needy, harsh and desperate. thank you, they said. thank you thank you thank you.

Gently, softly, he licked down into your folds, pulling aside your panties. The soft tang of your sex made his heart flutter. Your hand was fisted in his hair, tugging and raking delicious rows of arousal into his core. Rivers of lust poured from every inch of him, fueled by the intensity of your affection.

"Good," he moaned into your folds, licking up your slick, "g-good God please-"

You trilled a pleased sigh, thighs tightening around his ears. Jake was engulfed in you; your sent, your softness, your everything. He didn't want to leave. How could he? The syrupy trap of your honeyed attraction had ensnared his heart and wasn't letting go.

"I love you," you panted at your climax, "Iloveyousomuch oh-"

Jake groaned when your wetness met his tongue again, drinking from your well like a parched soldier.

He climbed up your body, diving back into your mouth. You shuddered and wrapped around him, hand traveling to stroke slowly at his hardness. Whining softly, he positioned you to sit on top.

Another powerful punch of lust knocked the air from his lungs as you slipped him inside, face contorting with pleasure. Pride swelled, knowing he could do that to you. Him, not Marc or Steven or anybody else. You moaned and writhed for him.

Your kiss-swolled lips were slack as you rolled your hips, hands planted firmly on his chest. Jake brushed the hair from your face, gazing darkly into your hazy eyes.

"Mariposa," he breathed, capturing your lips in his. The shift made him slide deeper, stroking a heavenly spot deep inside. You cried out against his mouth and he swallowed the sound greedily, rocking harder and harder.

"Need," he moaned, "need you to f-feel good, baby, need ah-"

You clenched around him, hands digging into his back. The fluttering, trembling warmth that surrounded him was intoxicating. Jake slumped against the headboard, bucking his hips as you draped over him. Your warm, slick bodies rolled together, riding waves and waves of pleasure.

Not an inch between you wasn't completely smothered by the other. Jake felt hot arousal peaking in his core, sending a rush of adrenaline through his shaking muscles.

"Amor," he heaved, "amor, oh, please cum, please please I need you to cum," his voice pitched higher. You whimpered, shuddering as his thick girth stroked your walls perfectly, caressing every spot inside. He pulled you tighter, clutching you to his chest.

The sheets were twisted tight around your limbs, rucking and rutting harder and faster into each other. A sinful moan ripped your throat as you bounced on him, soft flesh glowing with the orgasmic halo. A final mewl and you were finished, pulsing hot and tight around him.

Jake bucked once more and thrust hard, shooting his climax as deep as possible. Your velvety folds greedily flared around him, drinking in his spend as you shuddered and keened. Before he'd even finished, he'd tucked you under him, greedily pressing his mouth against your sweaty neck.

I love you, he slurred, I love you so much, baby.

Your fingers limply entertwined with his, finally at peace.

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a spoonful of sugar

summary: marc's not very good at taking his medicine.

(I was the worst at drinking this stuff as a kid so I need validation)

cw: fluff, sickfic, marc is a little baby

You knew it was coming. Even as he flapped his hand and rolled his eyes and laughed allergies, baby, you knew. When it was eight in the morning and your early bird boyfriend hadn't even stirred, you knew. That rumbling cough wasn't an annual pollen allergy.

There was a pot of tea on the stove before he woke. You'd prepped the supplies - tissues, a damp towel, some anti-inflammatory, and were in the middle of making food when his croaky voice broke the silence. You knelt by his bed and pulled the blankets away from his sweaty face.

"Help," he rasped, "I'm -cough- dying..."

The desperate display of obvious dramatics made you grin. He was always such a tough guy; scoffing at band-aids and ice packs. It was tempting to tease but his puppy eyes were too much.

"Come on, big guy, let's get some food in you." You gently pulled the covers down to help him up, but he harrumphed and yanked them right back.

"Sod off," came Steven's weary voice from under the comforter. "Marc's being a toff and making me deal with the sore throat." A pitiful sniffle and a hacking cough erupted from his broad shoulders. The blankets shuddered as Steven raked in a breath.

"Marc, come on," you cooed, rubbing his back. "Leave poor Steven alone. I've got some stuff for you, you'll feel better."

A pause, then some grumbling as he sat up. "Poor Steven? Wha' bou' me?"

His whining was choked up by the pressure in his throat. You could see the blockage in his sinuses as he struggled to keep his eyes open. A whistling sigh left his lips. He was definitely sick. Deliriously, Marc dragged a hand through his wild, sweaty hair. He reminded you of a scruffy ragdoll cat dragged in from the rain.

With a fussy Marc in tow, you fixed a cup of herbal tea and some food. So far he just seemed congested but he needed some food to handle the medicine. He miserably blew at the steaming mug, swaying on his feet. You held him against you sympathetically. He greedily drank in the attention, sniffing louder to earn a few forehead kisses.

Marc didn't get sick very often. He was pretty good at eating well, getting sleep when he could, and exercising regularly. Usually he could sleep it off and be totally fine. Every once in a while though, he'd get kicked on his ass for a while.

The kitchen island had every box of decongestant and cough syrup you could find splayed out in a heap. You weren't sure which one he preferred, so you'd let him pick. Not one of them seemed to be opened.

He had finished half of the tea, grimacing after every sip. Marc much preferred coffee, said his beseeching glance at the coffeemaker.

"Caffeine won't help," you chided gently, standing in front of the alluring machine. He sent you a sour look and folded his arms, shivering at another wracking cough. You reminded yourself to be gentle - Marc didn't like feeling weak.

Letting him go about grabbing water and wolfing down more toast, you examined the available medicines.

He'd need some ibuprofen, and probably a decongestant. You'd give it to him now so he could take a hot shower while you changed the sheets. Airing out the flat would clear the germy air well enough.

Marc approached you warily, eyeing the pharmaceutical stash you had amassed.

"Whassat?" he asked hoarsely, ducking his chin against your neck. Petting his cheek absently, you continued your perusing.

"We need to get you some meds, honey. Do want the grape stuff or no flavor? Haven't got anything better, looks like."

You felt his lips frown against your skin. "I'll just take a shower, don't neeb all tha' stuff." he coughed again, wincing at the blockage in his nose. His breath was hot. You frowned, pressing your palm against his head.

"You're feverish, Marc, you need something more than a shower. You can take one after." Filling a glass with water, you handed him a tablet and nodded. "Take that."

Muttering, he knocked it back and slugged down the water. Sliding behind you, he made his way towards the bathroom but you tugged his sleeve back.

"Hang on, one more." You slowly measured out a dose of decongestant. The garish red syrup glug-glugged quietly, an acrid smell of medicinal berry coating your nose. Blegh, you winced. It was baffling how nobody had thought to make it a tasteless pill. Drinking ounces of disgusting syrup was your least favorite way to knock out a cold.

Turning, you carefully handed Marc the little cup. "Drink that and another glass of water, then you can shower. I'll address the sheets."

You made sure to adjust the thermostat on your way to the bedroom. Once his fever dropped he'd want some warmth to sleep in. The window let in a cooling breeze, washing away the stuffy scent of sick. London's quiet din rumbled outside, providing a soundtrack for your relaxed cleaning.

Bundling the sheets and towels into your arms, you made your way to the washroom. You paused.

Marc was hunched over the counter, glaring at something.

"Marc?"

A flicker of embarrassment, then he curled his body away and grumbled a response. Frowning, you tossed the sheets in the hamper and crossed to him.

"What've you been doing? I gave that to you a while ago."

He nodded, still scowling at the viscous berry medicine. A pause. you tilted your head.

"...You okay?"

Marc didn't respond. That little serving of medicine continued to endure his baleful wrath, practically trembling on the countertop. The spell was broken by an enormous sneeze. Marc reeled from the sound, shaking the fuzz from his head.

"I think you've intimidated it enough," you joked softly, rubbing his shoulder. "But really, honey, you need to drink that."

A familiar pair of wide brown eyes blinked sorrowfully at you. "But...it tastes foul," Steven whined, sticking his lip out for emphasis. You raised your eyebrow and poked his side.

"Spector, stop shoving off to Steven. You're the one who wanted to sleep with a window open in November, you gotta suffer the consequences."

A moment of twitching and he was back, bleary and disgruntled. Ears pink with Steven's admission, Marc hedged away from you again and tried to escape to the bathroom. His clumsy feet shuffled along the creaky baseboards. You let him have his way for a moment, but soon enough was enough.

"Marc, you've literally drunk the most disgusting alcohol ever without a second thought."

He looked at you reproachfully, trying to work Steven's angle of adorable petulance. His grumpy frown did make your heart fawn, but the wracking cough and guttural sneeze overran the knee-jerk reaction.

Irritated that his tactics weren't working, Marc slumped onto your shoulder. Chuckling, you rubbed his back, rocking him side to side. His hands were insistent, tugging you backwards. You realized, almost too late, that he was trying to angle himself closer to an escape path.

"Spector-"

Before you could grab him, he had disappeared into the bathroom and turned on the tap.

You sighed. At least he was showering.

The laundry was done, and the apartment sufficiently sanitized by the time Marc reappeared, damp hair curling around his ears. He looked a little brighter. His eyes were clear and his cheeks a healthier ruddiness rather than feverish.

And, just like before, the little cup of syrup lay sitting on the counter for him. He was visibly bothered when you hadn't forgotten.

"Meds," you said firmly when he moved in for a kiss. The comment offended him, and he tried to peck you anyway. You put a hand over his mouth and pushed gently, handing him the cup.

"I don't wan' to," he rasped, lip curling. "It tastes like lighter fluid - cough - and I don't feel better anyway."

"How would you know, you haven't taken it?"

Marc huffed, dramatically folding his arms and turning his nose up.

"Marc."

Your tone made him duck his head. It was funny to watch him squirm; his reluctance almost reminded you of Steven. Usually he would bite the bullet and do anything that made him uncomfortable with nothing but a shrug. Hell, you'd seen him clean Steven's sick off the toilet after a night out with less of a reaction.

Sympathizing a little bit, you poured a glass of orange juice and slid it over.

"If you drink the medicine really fast, you can wash it down with juice."

Marc grumbled, still wrinkling his nose.

"Does that work?"

"Hmmm no," he huffed, folding his arms tighter. "I thin' you should gib me a kiss 'cause you're bein' meab," he garbled, voice strangled around the congestion. You bit down a laugh, trying to seem sincere.

"You can't even talk, Marc, I am not gonna kiss you."

The admission made his head snap up, eyes terrified. You worked this new angle, putting your hands up and backing away. "I don't want your germs."

He protested quietly, hands reaching out.

"Hug?"

"Meds."

"But-"

"No buts," you said, tone gentle again, "come on. Just a second. It'll take like two seconds and then you can drink some juice and go lay down. Yes, I'll lay with you," you acquiesced at his narrowed gaze.

He was stubbornly refused. "Marc," you sighed, dragging a hand over your face. "You'd be done with this by now if you just drank it."

"I don' like it," he bit out. Unbelievable. You stared at each other for a moment, disdainfully scowling at the situation.

"You know what, fine," you griped, taking the cup in your hand. "Pick a number between one and five."

He blinked, but relented. "F...four," he wheezed, wiping his nose with his sleeve. You held up four fingers.

"I will give you four kisses if you drink this."

He brightened. "snfff- wait, I meant fibe."

You leaned forward and nudged his nose. He tried to grab you for a kiss but you ducked back, taking the opportunity to grab his jaw gently. Eyes hazy and loving, he smiled at you.

"Open," you said softly, tapping his lips and winking.

Marc obeyed, clearly expecting a kiss. Instead, you gently tipped the medicine to his lips. Marc yelped at the sharp taste. He fussed and balked, struggling not to choke. You shushed him, tipping the cup until it had all dribbled past his lips.

"Drink it quick, honey, there you go, all done-" You shoved him the glass of juice, coaxing him to finish the dose. Marc spluttered and gagged, wincing at the taste. Eyes watering, he glared at you.

"Tha' was rude," he pouted. You cuddled him up and kissed his forehead.

"Yeah, but now you can go snuggle into bed." This outcome placated him greatly, nuzzling into your shoulder as you situated the bed. Marc jabbed your side insistently and you paused to give him a kiss.

Wrinkling your nose, you nodded. "Wow. Yeah, I can taste that. It's pretty shit."

He threw his hands up, rolling his eyes as you giggled. "Sorry for torturing you," you teased, peppering his cheek with light kisses.

"Fuggin' waterboarded me with that," he grouched, suppressing a grin at your doting affection.

The blankets, still warm from the dryer, were tucked high around his drowsy face. You lay as close as you could, draping your arm over his side. Marc snuffled and coughed for a few moments but was asleep soon, breath puffing hot against your neck. You monitored him for a while, hands gently stroking his hair before succumbing to your own nap.

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Ok, so I must have missed a few brain cells and it shows on my newest fanfic wip; Which is basically Maddie Perez from Euphoria with Marc/Steven from Moon knight and honestly I'm kinda obsessed rn.

In this au he's introduced to Maddie by Jules as his "Cool Uncle who just moved from London and seems kinda lonely; So why not give him a chance and go out for dinner, just you two?",so Maddy does it and all end well; so he asks her in other date and the time she's graduating from high school they end up hopelessly in love with the other, but Nate still want Maddie back (aka Mr. I-need-someone-to-put-me-in-my-place)

Mark get control of the body when Nate tries to hurt Maddie AND insult him; which ends with he almost dead, then Mark leaves bc of Konshu bs, goes back to London leaving her behind, but then ✨SOME✨ things happen and she finds out about the entire moon knight thing and shit still happening....

BUT I strongly can't elaborate at the moment, just because it's too much detail and writing (and I'm kinda working on a trailer?); I honestly don't know how this works out, but let's see where my imagination guides me in this meanwhile....

So, maybe a new fic and crackship? 🤔 👀

*These songs bring me the vibe to picture a few moments of this fic....

Fanfic Master List

Figured I might as well make one of these. Links to the published stories on my ao3 account ~ hauntedwizardtree ~ have been added.

Please note that my fanfics are locked, so only people signed into the Archive can view them.

Published Works:

Lucifer TV Series:

Heaven’s Problem Child is Not Lucifer LINK

Summary:

When Lucifer’s youngest brother Michael shows up unexpectedly in the LAPD precinct looking for him, he sets into motion events that have the potential to destroy the life Lucifer’s created for himself on Earth, but hopefully will heal the fractures in his family before it is too late.

That is if his siblings and Parents don’t mess up his plans first.

Chapters: 13/? In progress

Tales of the Gemini: Twin Flames LINK

Summary:

Michael and Lucifer are Twin Flames—one soul that lives split between two separate bodies. Their separation was a matter of survival, for their powers—when they were still physically one—battled inside them to the point of self-destruction. Their family has never forgiven them for it.

Chapters: 8/? In progress

Tales of the Gemini: Deleted Scenes LINK

Summary:

Deleted Scenes for the different stories in the Tales of the Gemini series. May not make sense if you haven't read the other stories.

Chapters: 1/?

Encanto:

The Seer and His Mother LINK

Summary:

When Mirabel Madrigal's Door disappeared, it wasn't because she didn't get a Gift, but because she already had a room that had been waiting for her for decades. Also known as: thanks to time-travelling on the night of Antonio's Gift Ceremony, Mirabel Madrigal is the biological mother of Bruno Madrigal. This would be fine, except that Mirabel's secret Gift turned her into an eldritch creature with a hunger for humans…and Bruno inherited her inhuman nature in addition to his own Foresight.

Chapters: 13/? In progress

Coco:

Hymns for the Missing: A Broken Harmony LINK

Summary:

You shall not covet your neighbor's wife...or anything that belongs to your neighbor. (Exodus 20:17) ...Ernesto de la Cruz was never good about not stealing things that didn't belong to him. But that doesn’t mean that his crimes can continue to go unpunished.

Chapters: 10/? In progress

Note: Hymns for the Missing is mainly a gender-bent series of male!Imelda (Ismael), female!Hector (Harmonia) and female!Miguel (Micaela). There is one story planned with a male!Coco (Carlos). My Original Characters, Damario Estrella and Ana Caballeros will also feature in them as Hector/Harmonia's parents.

Future Fics (Titles and Summary are subject to Change):

Lucifer TV Series:

Tales of the Gemini: Children of a Lesser God

Summary:

A story detailing the trials of the twins Mikael and Samael if Amenadiel had not interrupted his mother's attempt to be rid of them as infants.

Percy Jackson & the Olympians:

Trojans Reborn AU

Summary:

Luke Castellen is the reincarnation of Hector, prince of Troy. Thalia Grace is was the reincarnation of his wife Andromache. His plans of destroying the gods who neglected him and allowed Thalia to die, whose pride caused Troy to burn are sent to Tartarus the night Percy Jackson enters Camp Half-Blood...a boy who is the reincarnation of Hector and Andromache's infant son, Scamandarius.

Odysseus Redux

Summary:

In a world where your soul walks alongside you, Percy Jackson is plagued by nightmares of monsters and death, and the ghosts of over five-hundred dead Ancient Greek soldiers, who know him by the name Odysseus. (Daemon AU)

Untitled Percy Jackson & Annabeth Chase genderbent AU

Summary:

Odysseus Chase meets Penny Jackson the night she slays the Minotaur. This would be completely fine—if it weren’t for the tiny fact that Odysseus is the reincarnation of that Odysseus, and Penny is the reincarnation of his wife and queen, Penelope—and now Penny is being blamed for the theft of a lighting bolt.

Trials of Apollo:

ToA: Apollo kidified version

Summary: Wherein something goes wrong when Zeus sends Apollo down to Earth as a mortal after Blood of Olympus and he winds up in the body of a seven-year-old (when in doubt, blame the fates).

Coco (Movie):

Hymns for the Missing: The Vampire Wife

Summary:

On the night of the destruction of their outlaw companions, Damario Estrella and Ana Caballeros and later their daughter Harmonia are spared from death and turned into monsters. Over a hundred years later, Harmonia gets caught up in a death curse along with her great-great granddaughter.

Hymns for the Missing: The Ghost Whisperers of Santa Cecilia

Summary:

In a world where the ghosts of those who suffer violent deaths, those whose bodies were never put to rest properly, those who have unfinished business in the land of the living are trapped on the earthly plane, unable to move on to the land of the dead. The job of a ghost whisperer is to help the ghost to move on before they inevitably become dangerous and start to kill. Ismael Rivera and his granddaughter Victoria were the best of the best…until the day Victoria was killed on a job, and soon after Ismael died of a heart attack from the news.

Unfortunately for everyone, Harmonia Rivera's ghost was never put to rest before she started killing.

Godfather Ernesto de la Cruz

Summary:

Miguel Rivera has known all his life that his no-good great-great grandfather abandoned his family, only for his Mama Coco's godfather, the now world-famous musician Ernesto de la Cruz to step up and make sure that the man's family were taken care of. He intends to be just like the man who, even after death made sure that Imelda's family lacked for nothing.

This belief is challenged and upended one fateful dia de los muertos.

(Or, Ernesto felt so much guilt over what happened to Hector that he did everything short of confessing to the murder to make sure that the wife and child Hector loved so much were taken care of.)

Moon Knight (TV 2022)

Weird Untitled Demigod/Avatar of Khonshu AU

Summary:

After Arthur Harrow betrays Khonshu and leaves his post as his Avatar, the embittered god decides to take a page out of his father Amun-Ra's book. Instead of choosing his next Moon Knight from amongst humanity, he will create them himself.

For Marc Spector and his system, this changes nothing.

(It changes everything)

Crossovers:

Percy Jackson & Harry Potter Crossover:

The Sea Witch Chronicles (possible series)

Summary:

The tale of Morgana Jackson (fem Percy), the monstrous daughter of Poseidon and Sally Jackson, starts with a girl named Ursa Black, daughter of Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Black. A girl who was presumed dead until Sirius finds her name on the tapestry, alive and with no death date, with the names of two young girls just under hers.

Twice Born/The River Maiden

Summary:

Poseidon never meant to break his oath on the Styx, not after seeing what became of Zeus's daughter. But when the woman carrying his newest child died two months after their encounter, he was driven to save the unborn child, leaving the elder wizard half-brother to his own fate.

No one was ever meant to know the true origins of Poseidon's newest naiad daughter, Lorelei Jackson (fem Percy) and how she came to be in her mother Sally’s care, until a resurrected Lily Potter takes an identity test which reveals that she has a second child.

Harry Potter and the Son of Zeus

Summary:

Instead of meeting and being wooed by Poseidon, Sally Jackson, daughter of Voldemort and the reincarnation of Danäe, meets Zeus that fateful summer at Montauk beach. She gives birth to the reincarnation of her own son Perseus, slayer of Medusa and son of Zeus. Unfortunately, Voldemort is the reincarnation of Acrisius, long dead king of Argos and Danäe’s father.

And he has a score to settle with Sally's son.

Mortal Son of Immortal Gods

Summary: Harry Potter gets the shock of his life when he learns that his parents were the mortal incarnations of the god Zeus and Titaness Leto. Shenanigans ensue when Artemis and Apollo, Zeus and Leto's divine children decide to step out of the shadows and take a much more active role in their baby brother's life than they had previously.

The Order of the Phoenix and Why you don’t anger a god.

Summary:

“Once upon a time the man who would one day be known as Lord Voldemort had a granddaughter. Said granddaughter ran away from the magical world after becoming pregnant with a non-magical hybrid of man and god, and was never seen again.”

When the Order of the Phoenix learn that Sally Jackson is Voldemort’s granddaughter, they come to forcibly collect her, her children and husband to keep them “safe” from Voldemort. Percy disagrees with this.

And perhaps more alarmingly, so does Poseidon.

Coco & Monsters, Inc. Crossover

Hymns for the Missing: Edwin and the Terrible Day at Work

Summary:

A small one-shot I cooked up for an au where Damario and Ana survive and get to raise Harmonia. Which is very unfortunate for a poor scarer employed by Monsters Inc. in Monstropolis.

Messy Little Thing

dbf!Marc Spector X f!Reader

Not Beta Read - Requested by @unspokenmoon

Kinks - Kissing + Crying/Sobbing

Summary

You and your dad's best friend are getting messy in your childhood bedroom.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, blowjob, cum eating, fingering, cum swallowing, kissing, makeup running, messy/sloppy

Word Count: 954

----

“Look at you honey, such a messy little thing, aren’t you?” Marc asked as he thrust his cock into your throat once again.

You gagged in immediate response to the assault on your throat. You knew your mascara must’ve been streaming down your cheeks. He hand a strong grip on your jaw, holding onto it between his thumb and fingers while fucking into your mouth. He threw his head back, moaning deeply against the walls of your childhood bedroom. His head dropped back down and he looked at you.

“Does your daddy know how good you are at this kind of thing…oh f-fuck…”

You started to slide your hand down between your legs, letting the pad of your middle finger find the swollen bundle of nerves that was there, begging for attention. Marc let out a dark chuckle, biting his lip when you swirled your tongue around him. You gagged again, but that only made him push in further, enjoying the feeling of your throat contracting around his heady girth. You grabbed onto the meat of his hip for stability with your free hand.

“That’s it, that’s my good little girl, fuck yourself with those fingers honey, fuck yourself until you’re moaning pretty all over my cock.”

You did as you were told, plunging two of your fingers into your wet heat. You felt your cunt flutter around them in response to his nearly primal groaning over the way you sucked his cock. You started pumping in and out of yourself, moaning at the feeling of your growing arousal. Just listening to Marc come undone because of you could make you lose yourself right then and there.

“I can hear your wet pussy baby, so wet just from sucking on this cock hm? You like it that much? Oh you’re such a filthy-little-girl.” He said that last part in the dirtiest, most depraved, gravely tone you’d ever heard from him. “Want you to close those lips for me, wrap them around me tight as you can honey.”

You whined, feeling fresh tears trickling down your cheeks as you did what he asked. He started fucking harder, picking up to a bruising pace. You could feel the fat head of his cock hitting the back of your throat painfully, but you weren’t going to stop him. You could handle a bit of pain…especially for Marc.

“I’m gonna come baby, and I’m gonna fill up your mouth with it, but I don’t want you to swallow yet, alright?” He looked at you, waiting for your response. “You just hold it there for me, okay?”

He continued thrusting, and you moaned an affirmative over his cock. You felt his ass cheek tighten while his thrusting slowed. You felt his sticky hot cum coating your mouth as his length twitched and throbbed, stretching out your tightly wrapped lips. Marc sounded so good when he was at his climax; his voice so rough and wrecked with every exhale.

You were surprised when he pulled out of you and knelt so his face was in front of yours. You kept your lips closed to make sure his cum didn’t fall out. He pushed you by your shoulder so that your back was resting against the footboard of your bed.

“Move your hand honey, let me take care of you. You’ve been such a good little girl, sucking my cock so well.”

You pulled your fingers from your cunt. You tried hard not to open your mouth and spill his spend all over yourself when he replaced your digits with his much larger ones inside your needy hole. While he pumped himself three knuckles deep into you, he leaned in, lips almost touching yours.

“Kiss me honey.” You were shocked by his demand, looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Do what I tell you.”

You opened your mouth just enough so you could kiss Marc. He was harsh, grabbing the back of your head and pulling you in close. You gasped in surprise, feeling his tongue searching for yours in the sea of his cum. He found it, melting his mouth into yours over and over. You felt his spend dripping down both of your chins and onto your bare chest. 

It was the wettest kiss you’d ever experienced, and yet it still wasn’t as wet as your soaking cunt was with his fingers stuffed inside. You arched your back into him. Feeling the way his lips kept moving against yours made the heat pool in your core even faster. He pulled back from the kiss, smiling against your mouth and talking through the mess.

“You’re going to come for me now aren’t you honey?” He chuckled, “can feel your pussy squeezing so tight, come on, give it to me. Come all over my hand baby, wanna be covered in you.”

He went in for more kisses; sloppy, wet, cum coated kisses. You couldn’t hold out any longer, not that you were really trying, and you had to break your mouth from his to hang your head back and moan deep through your climax. Marc leaned in and slotted his lips back over yours, continuing to kiss you through your orgasm. He ate every one of your moans while your cunt gushed over his digits until finally, you felt your mind coming back to reality.

When you were done, Marc looked at you. He smiled, appreciating his work. You were a fucked out little mess, makeup running down your face in black streaks, lips puffy and swollen from his harsh kissing. Not to mention how perfectly glossy your mouth and chin were, coated in a layer of his spend.

“That’s my pretty little girl,” he kissed you again, “so pretty.”

----

Marc Spector Masterlist

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Take What You Need

Yandere Marc Spector X m!Reader

Not Beta Read - Requested by @theluciansystem

Kinks - Sexual Frustration + Character Offering Themself

Summary

Marc hasn't fronted in a while and is feeling some pent up sexual frustration. He comes to you to satisfy his needs.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, anal sex, anal creampie, unprotected sex, dubious consent, reader was kidnapped previously and has been living with them for a while, hand job, simultaneous orgasm, Marc is a top, reader is a bottom.

Word Count: 942

Marc came barrelling in through the door to your room, face filled with an expression you’d seen before on a few occasions. He started removing his belt immediately, and you gulped feeling fear pour over you in a wave. When he got like this he was rough, and while you could handle it, that didn’t stop you from feeling a small pang of terror pooling in your gut when he looked at you that way. He must’ve just come back from arguing with Khonshu or one of the boys.

“Come on, how many times do I have to tell you to get ready for me when I come in here? Huh?”

“S-sorry, sorry,” you said hurriedly, sliding off your sweats and scrambling to position yourself the way you knew he liked: face down in the mattress and rear poised in the air.

He always expected you to get ready the moment he walked in, and you were already failing, only serving to piss him off further. You knew the rules, yet you were acting like this was all new to you. Despite his aggravation, Marc smirked when he saw how good you looked from behind. His cock ached between his legs. He was so ready to fuck every ounce of frustration he had into you.

“That’s a good boy,” he said in a low, gravelly tone, striking your ass cheek with an open palm. “Haven’t been inside you in a while. Jake and Steven have been having all the fun, you sure you can handle me honey?”

You nodded, “yes, yes I’m ready.”

It wasn’t like you really had a choice. If you didn’t offer yourself to him willingly, he would just take you anyway. You felt a glob of spit trickle down over your tight ring of muscle. Marc pressed his fat tip against the furled skin, pushing against it to test how easily you would open for him. Marc spit over his cock, grabbing it firmly in his hand and making the length wet before pressing against your hole again.

“You better relax little boy, or this is gonna hurt,” Marc pushed into you, sliding forward full to the hilt, letting out a choked groan as his hips pressed flush against your rear. “You’re so damn tight, fuck…f-fuck.”

Marc slid back and then snapped his hips forward again, resulting in a muffled whine from your lips as you stuffed your face into the mattress. He reached his hand around, caging his fingers around your thick cock, chuckling as he stroked along the length.

“You’re so fucking needy, always playing coy and acting like you don’t want it, but you do want it don’t you? Huh? You need it.”

“Y-yes I need it Marc I–ah!”

“That’s a good boy.”

Marc leaned back, and looked down at the way your hole puckered around his girth. He had you stretched out so wide, you were squeezing him so fucking tight it took a bit of effort to pull back far enough to slam into you again and again…but he did it. He rocked into you, putting every bit of aggravation he harbored into each deep thrust. You whimpered into the mattress, clutching your fists around the sheets tightly.

“Yeah, that’s it, cry for me little boy, cry while I fuck you wide open. Feels good right? That’s why you’re whinin’ like that for me isn’t it?” 

“Yes, fuck-yes!”

He leaned forward again, grabbing onto your girth once more and stroking along your length. Your entire body shuddered under his touch, forcing your hole to clench around him. You heard him let out a choked moan, dropping his face into your shoulder blade. You gasped when you felt him bite down into your flesh. He let out a growling groan.

“F-fuck–honey–shit,” he rasped, mouth still pressed against your back. “You’re squeezing me so tight, so goddamn tight. Steven and Jake haven’t been doing their job have they?”

You were too fucked out to respond anymore. He continued jerking you off, keeping a steady and even pace in tandem with his thrusting hips. The sound of his pelvis slamming against your rear was almost deafening.

“They’re supposed to keep you nice and stretched out for me, but guess they haven’t been doing that very well huh?” Marc snickered against your shoulder, “or are you just this tight all the time?”

You felt yourself getting close, the way your balls tightened and your cock grew harder under the pressure of Marc’s closed fist. He moved faster, angling himself to get deeper inside of you, cock continuing to split you open around him. His other hand was squeezing onto your hip so hard, trying to keep you in place so you didn’t fall forward.

“Can feel your fat cock leaking all over me…my-needy-little-boy–fuck!”

Marc’s hips stopped suddenly with his length buried deep inside you. You felt your hole stretch wider as he throbbed, filling you to the brim with his hot cum. He didn’t stop his fast paced stroke around your own weeping shaft, forcing a choked sound to escape you while you came in his hand. Marc waited until you were finished and growing soft to bring his hand to your mouth.

“Clean it.”

You obeyed, darting out your tongue to lap up your own spend from his fingers. You heard his soft, pleasure laced breaths from behind you while you did. He pulled out of you, making you feel empty immediately with the absence of his cock inside your hole.

Marc stopped in the doorway on his way out, “I’ll be back in an hour…and you’d better be on your knees and ready for me.”

----

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Prized Possession

Marc Spector + Steven Grant X f!Reader

Not Beta Read - Requested By @lonelyisamyw-0love

Kinks - Possessiveness + Double Penetration

Summary

Your boyfriends Steven and Marc finally give you something you've wanted to try.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, the boys are in separate bodies, the boys are not related, poly relationship, double penetration, anal, p in v sex, p in v creampie, anal creampie, squirting, praise kink, soft marc, sex, smut

Word Count: 1,209

You, Steven and Marc had talked about this before, but you hadn’t done it until today. You’d been dating for a while, but you’d never taken them both at once, they usually took turns, and that was always fine with you, but not today. Today, you were on your back, laying against Marc’s chest with Steven in front of you. Steven’s hands were holding the backs of your knees, keeping you spread out for them.

“We got you all good and ready ahead of time baby, so this shouldn’t hurt too much, okay?” Marc said softly in your right ear.

You nodded, “okay.”

“I can feel you shaking love, you sure you’re ready for—”

“She can take it, she’s fine,” Marc cut him off with a forceful tone, “you can take anything right, honey? Just make sure to breathe through it.”

You took a deep breath and nodded again, closing your eyes as Marc pushed through your well prepped, lesser used hole. Your eyes shot open wide, meeting with Steven’s beautiful but concerned gaze. You gave him a gentle but wobbly smile to reassure him that you were fine.

He looked down, seeing Marc’s thick length disappearing into you, stretching your hole out around him. Steven impatiently lined himself up to your cunt, feeling the slick of your arousal coating his girth while he dragged it over your folds. Steven’s grip around the backside of your knees tightened as he slid forward, bottoming himself out inside your wet heat. His entire body trembled as he felt Marc through the thin barrier.

“Oh shit, love.”

The three of you let out a unified and pleasure filled groan into the apartment. They began alternating thrusts, pistoning back and forth into you at a moderate pace, letting you get used to having yourself stuffed with both of them at once. Steven tossed his head back, messy curls falling into his eyes while Marc kissed the side of your neck, just below your earlobe from behind you. You’d never felt so full in all your life, you felt like no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t breathe properly. 

“How’s that feel, honey? How’s it feel being fucked in both of your little holes, hm? I can feel you squeezing so tight around me…fuck.” The breath in his lungs punched out, hot on your cheek.

“I feel so…so full, Marc. So. Full.” You grabbed Steven’s strong biceps for stability while his hands stayed firmly around the back of your thighs, holding you open.

“Shit, you feel that Steven? Baby if you don’t relax I’m not going to l-last.” Marc reached one hand up to squeeze around your breast and the other moved between your legs, fingers rolling over your swollen clit.

You arched into them both, angling in a way that made Steven shudder and glide in deeper, bumping your cervix on the next thrust.

“Oh my—love, you feel so good, look how well you’re taking us. These tight little holes are always so good and ready for us love, they know who they belong to, right? That’s why you drip like a little fountain when we take you, yeah?”

“Y-yeah, yes Steven—ohhh!”

“You’re doing so good, such a good girl for us, honey. Taking us both so well.” His middle finger continued to glide over your hardened clit, moving faster now.

“Can feel you Marc, fuckin’ her so good, can feel it on my—oh I can feel it inside her. Go faster please.” Steven looked at you with lust etched into every pore, “you can take it right love? Been doing great so far, it just feels so…please Marc, fuck—please.”

You whimpered as Marc started fucking you faster at Steven’s command, both cocks punching into you at an unforgiving pace. Marc shushed you, nipping your neck softly and moving his finger over your clit in a more satisfying motion. You felt the unmistakable burning in your core…you were getting close.

Marc could feel Steven too while he thrusted harder and faster into your ass. He knew you’d tell him if it was too much. Your shaky moans and whimpers of pure intoxicated pleasure told him you were doing more than fine. 

“Oh love, your sounds are so pretty, that must feel good, yeah? Having two big cocks fuckin’ both your holes at once? You look so lovely.”

Steven looked down at where you were connected and tilted his head. Your pussy lips were swallowing his girth, while your tight rim did the same for Marc. He could see how your arousal dripped out of your hole, trickling over his cock and leaking down onto Marc’s length. You were wetter than he’d ever seen you. When he looked back into your eyes, you looked like a cock drunk mess…just how they liked you.

“You doing alright, honey? Oh fu—of course you are, can feel you about to—oh there you go, feel that, Steven? There you go baby, let it out.”

You were nearly screaming, body tensing while they continued fucking both of your holes through your orgasm. You threw your head back, feeling Marc latch his lips down over your throat. Your mind stopped working completely.

Steven’s and Marc’s did too. The way your holes squeezed around them, clamping down in waves while they continued alternating their rocking hips. They were close, but not quite there yet. You were completely spent though. Marc didn’t stop rubbing your clit, despite your cries for him to stop.

“Shh, you’re ok baby, I’m almost there, we’re almost there. Come on Steven, keep going. Shhh, honey, I know you can take it. You’re doing so good for us.”

It wasn’t their assault on your holes that made it difficult, it was the way Marc was still toying with your clit. You couldn’t take the over stimulation. It was building inside, and you felt like you were going to…oh no you were about to…

“Steven, Steven move I’m gonna—FUCK!”

Marc knew what it was you were doing. They’d never made you squirt before, but oh you sounded so beautiful when you did. Steven could tell right away that this was something new, not urine, not cum, but something else entirely, and it was amazing. Your entire body was trembling over them, cunt clenching around him even harder. Steven’s abdomen was covered in this new liquid. It soaked him and trickled down his thighs to the bedding. Marc was…the man was a genius.

“Did you just—? You’re so wet, love, I’m gonna— not gonna make it love. Oh god, oh god —ahhh!”

“Yeah that’s it, Steven, fill her little hole, you feel that, honey? You like getting stuffed full, don’t you? Don’t you? Oh shiiiit— gonna fill you up too baby—shit!”

They were both groaning through their simultaneous orgasms while they fucked their cum deeper into you. You felt numb at the end there, like your body was just a sack of potatoes stuck between them. When they were finished, both going soft inside of you, they each were kissing your cheeks and lips telling you how perfect you were for them, and how well you did. As you all came back to reality, the door to the bedroom opened and the three of you looked over in surprise…Jake.

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Please

Marc Spector X f!Reader

Not Beta Read - Requested by Anonymous

Kinks - Restraints + Begging

Summary

Marc is normally the one in charge, but he becomes a begging, whimpering, mess when you’re the one making the rules.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, smut, sub!Marc, restraints, crying men, p in v creampie, unprotected sex, begging, sex, pwp, reader is kinda dom

Word Count: 918

----

It started as a joke with the ankle restraint. Marc was fronting and you were walking up to the foot of the bed when Steven’s makeshift solution for his sleep-walking caught your eye, wrapped around the post to your left. You took it in your hand, raising an eyebrow at Marc with a smirk he’d come to recognize as a playful and devious one.

Now, a few sexual rendezvous later, you had both of his wrists tied together to the headboard, and both ankles spread apart and restrained on the posts at the foot of the bed and he was crying. His throbbing cock was reddened at the tip, leaking clear precum down the sides like a little fountain, and you were such a fucking tease. You leaned in, hands gripping either one of his powerful thighs as you pursed your lips and blew a gust of air on his weeping erection.

Marc tensed, rattling the restraints on the bed as his cock twitched in response.

“F-fuck baby, please just…” He planted his feet on the mattress and bucked his hips upward into nothing, growling as he did “when I get my hands on you,” he spoke harshly through gritted teeth, “gonna tie you down and make you piss yourself you need to come so bad honey.”

“Oh, Marc, honey, that’s not how you talk to me when you need your release is it? Seems like you should be asking a lot nicer.”

You swirled your finger around his precum slick head, inciting another choked whine from his spit glossed lips. He threw his head back, whimpering into the apartment. Such a pathetic little boy he was being. You chuckled, popping your finger in your mouth and lapping it free of his fluids. You smirked, biting your lip.

“Ask me nicely, and maybe I’ll give you what you need.”

You brought your hand so it was hovering just outside the length of his shaft. He glared at you, and you knew you needed to up the stakes. So you dropped your hand, smirking at him and then you straddled him, resting a leg on either side of his waist, pressing your hands on his chest and leaning in. You brought your lips close to his, and he kept them tightly pressed.

“Really Marc? Are you so prideful that you won’t beg me to fuck you? You don’t want my soft…” you started to lower yourself on him, “wet…” you got lower, his face was red and he looked like he might bite his lip off, “tight little cunt.”

You sat down completely on his lap, and you felt him thrust upward, getting himself in as deep as he could before you pulled off of him quickly. You tsked, leaning over and kissing his cheek. You could feel the tip of his cock resting at your entrance, bobbing desperately, begging you to let it in there all on its own.

“Come on Marc. Tell me how badly you want it baby.”

You heard a frustrated sob escape him. You let your lips and tongue drag over the vein protruding in his neck. He moaned deeply, and you felt him thrust forward, trying so hard to be defiant and get his way without giving you the payment you asked for. You looked at him and grabbed his stubbled jaw.

“Look at you, crying because you want this pussy so bad. All you have to do is ask nicely honey and I’ll give it to you,” you had such a shit eating grin on your face, you wondered if he would just summon the suit and put you in your place for your bratty attitude.

“Please,” he murmured quietly. 

“Nope, speak the hell up baby, I know you can do it.”

“Fuck…I said…please fuck me!”

“Good boy,” you said with that same smirk you knew was making him angry in the first place.

You’d never heard such whiny whimpers come from Marc’s lips until you started sliding your impossibly slick cunt over him. You moved fast, slamming your hips down in a hard and steady pace. Marc threw his head back, nothing but a raspy air expelling from his lungs. You leaned forward, taking one of his nipples into your mouth and flicking your tongue over it.

He grunted and shot his head back up to look at you. His eyes were dark and hooded with desire. You knew there was merit to his words earlier, that he was going to make a mess out of you once you were done with this little game he was letting you play.

Your game came to an explosive end when Marc’s hips stuttered and you felt his fat cock twitching wildly inside of you with every hot spurt he fed into your cunt. You kept moving harder and faster, chasing your own release until you were gushing your own mess over him in waves, using his cum to slide easier against that spot deep inside of you that only he could reach. 

You were both a moaning and panting heap as you put your entire body weight on him once you were completely spent. He didn’t seem interested in resting. Marc moved quickly, calling the suit around himself underneath your limp frame. He broke the restraints free, and in the process snapped the headboard and posts at the foot of the bed. You squealed when he grabbed your throat and hip, lifting you up and pinning you down underneath him.

“My turn babygirl.”

----

Moon Knight Masterlist

while we untangle

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. DID. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.

Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.

It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.

“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.

“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”

Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.

Who? What? Where?

You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.

Who are you? Who are you?

Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”

He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.

“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.

“I’m - do we know each other?”

He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.

“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.

“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.

“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.

He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.

***

He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.

“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.

“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -

“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.

***

He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.

He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.

“You okay?”

He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.

That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.

“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

***

His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.

There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.

He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.

“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.

You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.

“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.

Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.

They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.

You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?

You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.

And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.

He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.

There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.

His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”

He should question that. Who?

You know who.

The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.

You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.

“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.

He wants to feel this.

He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.

It feels familiar.

His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.

He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.

His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.

You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.

He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.

Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.

At some point, they get naked.

You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.

That voice that’s like his voice, but not.

He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.

“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”

“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.

You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.

You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.

You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.

“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.

You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.

You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.

This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.

He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.

Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -

He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.

He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -

He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.

He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.

You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -

He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.

His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.

He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.

while we untangle

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. DID. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.

Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.

It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.

“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.

“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”

Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.

Who? What? Where?

You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.

Who are you? Who are you?

Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”

He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.

“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.

“I’m - do we know each other?”

He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.

“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.

“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.

“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.

He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.

***

He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.

“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.

“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -

“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.

***

He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.

He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.

“You okay?”

He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.

That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.

“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

***

His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.

There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.

He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.

“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.

You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.

“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.

Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.

They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.

You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?

You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.

And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.

He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.

There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.

His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”

He should question that. Who?

You know who.

The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.

You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.

“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.

He wants to feel this.

He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.

It feels familiar.

His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.

He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.

His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.

You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.

He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.

Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.

At some point, they get naked.

You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.

That voice that’s like his voice, but not.

He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.

“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”

“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.

You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.

You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.

You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.

“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.

You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.

You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.

This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.

He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.

Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -

He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.

He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -

He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.

He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.

You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -

He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.

His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.

He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.

I read a Moon Knight (MCU) fanfic. I verbally share the funny moments to @littlesistersti. She then illustrates a scene.

So here’s an incorrect summary of Cover By Knight, Chapter 6: Richmond, by @erinptah.

Stranger in my house

Pairing-Moon boys x F!reader ( Secretly Jake x f!reader) Marc Spector x f!reader/ Steven grant x f!reader

CW-18+,MDNI,Angst,Fluff,Insecurities, inaccurate depiction of DID, reader is semi aware of Jake. Protective Marc, Steven being sweet as always. Established relationship with Marc and Steven.

WK-1.6k

Summary-Snippets of a life where Jake struggles to stay in the shadows.

A/N- Dedicated to my moonknight babes. I have not forsaken you.

[Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

You notice him one day.

  A year into your relationship and Marc is fed up with Steven and yours overflowing books on the floor of the flat. “We need another bookshelf.” He grumbles at your suggestion because he would just get rid of some if he had the choice. 

  That’s how you find yourself curled up on the couch with some tea and ironically a book while you watch Marc put together the new shelf you and Steven picked out. 

  It was ornate with cherry wood accents and came with a miniature ladder to help you reach the top shelf. You didn’t think it would be too complicated but it seems as Marc stares at the pages like they are ancient hieroglyphics, you may have caused a bit more of a headache than you intended. 

  He mutters something incoherent under his breath ‘déjeme ver’. You don’t bother to ask if he needs help when the scowl on his face deepens even further into an almost unrecognizable version of your boyfriend. 

  You glance up occasionally to watch the way his back strains against the tight black t-shirt, or the way his ass looks in his jeans when he bends over. Marc and Stevens movements are so unalike and yet even now the way he stands up and straightens as he rolls his neck is so unlike Marc. 

  You stop ogling to resume your book and find yourself several chapters in when you look up to see it finished. “Oh honey, it looks so good.” 

  The look he gives you when he turns around is more of a smirk of amusement. You glance down briefly to mark your page before standing from the couch to inspect his handy work. You don’t notice the way he’s watching you as you slide your hands along the smooth wood shelves. You grab a few of your favorite books that were piled on the floor and strategically place them in some specific secret order that no one but you is privy to. 

  You turn to him and wrap your arms around his neck, waiting for him to scoop you up as he usually does. His hands hover hesitantly at your waist and then he pulls you flush against him. You almost have no room to breathe as you chuckle lightly into his neck. You swear he smells your hair before he abruptly lets you go. 

  “Hi love, do you like the bookcase?” Your sweet Steven has a slightly wild look in his eyes as waits for your response. 

  “Of course I do, we picked it out together silly.” You lean in and kiss him on the cheek and he relaxes at your touch. “If you’re listening Marc, I love it, since you disappeared on me.” 

  “Right ya…Marc. He says you're welcome.” 

  ****

  You notice one day

  You had spent all afternoon preparing a special dinner and dessert for Marc. The flat is adorned with candles and smells of fresh pasta and apple pie. 

  When Marc walks through the door you can see it written all over his face. He doesn’t say anything about you making his favorites because technically it’s not his birthday. It’s the day after. 

  You enjoy each other's company in comfortable silence as you wait for him to finish. He raises an eyebrow at you as you hand him a small box, unwrapped because then it’s not a birthday gift. 

  He opens it slowly to reveal his watch that broke months ago, the small hand ticking away right in front of his eyes. 

  You should thank her mate

  She didn’t need to do all this for my birthday 

  Well it’s technically not anymore is it? 

  He doesn’t say anything but you decide to press on with your plan. Even if it’s not exactly the reaction you were expecting at the very least he’s not protesting it. 

  “I have one more thing.” You stand from the table and head to the kitchen to retrieve the apple pie on warm in the oven. To you it’s just a dessert, a non cake related dessert that just so happened to be his favorite. Steven helped you with the vegan crust because he was not about to let Marc have all the fun. 

  You return to the table with a slice and a fork to share. He stares at it for a moment and your heart sinks a little. 

  “I know what you’re going to say…”

  He cuts you off before you can finish, he stands so suddenly it startles you. He kisses you slowly at first, savoring the way you moan into his mouth. His hand is on the back of your head and the other around your waist and it feels so different. It’s like you’re sending him off to war and this is the last kiss you’ll ever share. Your lungs burn from lack of air but you don’t want to be the first one to break. 

  He pulls away as you look up at him. His eyes are squeezed so tightly shut as he tries to catch his breath. 

  “Honey,look at me.” 

  His brow softens as he opens his eyes revealing that deep chocolate brown, with a look that could only adorn your sweet Stevens face. 

  “Thank you, love.” 

  ****

  It goes like this for a while. You noticing him…him noticing you. 

  You notice as You quirk your eyebrow at him in the kitchen when he picks out the tomato on his sandwich and drops it in the trash like it personally wronged him.  

  “I thought you liked those?” 

  He notices After a long day at work in shoes you know we’re too uncomfortable he picks up your feet and places them in his lap. He rubs them at first bordering on painful that settles into something soothing. His fingers brush the bottom of your feet and you flinch at the ticklish feeling. He tsks at you under his breath and you still your movements when you meet his unfamiliar eyes. 

  You notice When he doesn’t hear you enter the flat. He’s at the kitchen sink washing dishes, shirtless in those gray sweatpants you love. He’s humming some tune you’ve never heard as you place your things down and toe off your shoes. You didn’t mean to startle him as your cold hands met his side and he turned quickly knocking a glass off the counter. 

  “Mierda quédate ahí!” You don’t speak Spanish but you’re too stunned to move anyway. He grabs you with one arm around your waist and carries you like a duffel bag over to the couch away from the glass. 

  “Sorry love, clumsy me. I’ll get this cleaned up.” Steven doesn’t look at you as he grabs the broom from the closet. 

  ****

He notices when he slinks in through the window in the early hours. It’s still dark outside as he strips himself of his moon knight clothes, the blood only distinguishable on his hands. As he slips past you to the shower he can see your shallow breaths while you lay out flat on the bed. 

  After a while you feel the bed dip beside you as you try to calm your breathing. He wraps his arm around you as he pulls your back flush to his chest. His breath is hot on your neck and you can feel his heart beating rapidly against you. 

  “You’re a terrible faker mi amor.” Your breath hitches in your throat as he speaks the words into your ear. 

  “You have to slow down your breathing if you want to pretend to be asleep.” His voice a low growl as he places his hand on your chest. You can feel him take slow deliberate breaths as you try to match the rise and fall of his chest. ‘así’

  “This isn’t how you lay when you're asleep.” His hand leaves your body momentarily and you miss the heat of his touch. He grabs your thigh behind the knee and pushes it gently until it’s bent. His hand slowly guides you to your stomach while his other arm supports the weight of your head.‘es mejor’

  He envelopes you under the blankets and it takes all your willpower not to roll him over and straddle him. You don’t even know him. He buries his face in your neck and sniffs again inhaling your scent. You’re practically skin to skin in your satin slip dress and his bare chest and boxers. 

  “Is this okay?” His voice barely above a whisper as you nod your head. His lips ghost over your back before he kisses your shoulder. It’s those soft sleepy kisses adorning your body until the real sleep claims you both. 

  ****

  You awake to the feel of cold sheets beside you as you feel around for him. A sliver of light hits the room from the bathroom door slightly ajar. 

  “I swear to god Jake, if you fuck this up.” Jake 

  It’s mostly Marc speaking idle threats as you listen in to a one sided conversation. Whatever his reservations may be, it's none of your business. You do know that he would never do anything intentionally to fuck this up. 

  Your boyfriend exits the bathroom still dressed only in his black boxers. “Love…we need to talk to you about something.” 

  He sits on the edge of the bed as he rubs circles on your legs under the sheets. 

  “I know.” 

  They knew…it’s why they can’t be mad when you finally talk about the stranger. You fell in love with him a long time ago. The one they tried to keep a secret. He no longer wanted to be kept in the dark. He loves you too much. This stranger in your house. 

@chichimisaki @simpforbritgents @casa-boiardi @missdictatorme @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @melodygatesauthor @missbeverlyhills

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Dejeme ver-Let me see

Mierda quedate ahi-Shit stay there

Asi- just like that

Es mejor- that’s better

There needs to be more (reader x moon knight system x Layla) out there

Care to join?

Pairing- Layla el Faouly x f!reader x Steven Grant x Marc Spector x Jake Lockley

This is my submission for @flightlessangelwings pride month celebration. I’m new to writing but this month is very special to me so I put my nerves aside and came up with this self indulgent fic.

Summary-Steven asks you about your feelings for Layla after she shows interest in you. Will this change your relationship?

Dialogue prompt- “Can I kiss you?”

CW-Explicit 18+MDNI, mentions of DID,eventual poly relationship,FF dynamics, talks about sexuality, kissing,cursing,light angst,fluff,thigh riding, smut,threesome MFF,oral sex female receiving, fingering, unprotected piv,piv cream pie

WC-3.8k

A/N- Layla is married to Marc and has been previously in an established relationship with the system. Reader is in an established relationship with Steven.Reader is not described or race coded. I will often write that the system can carry/pick up the reader and I am a plus size person who can not be carried by my partner but I like to believe that since they are superheroes they have superhuman strength.

Not beta read

***

    Wednesday 

  You’re lying under Steven, your legs  wrapped around his waist while you both try to catch your breath. You’re rubbing slow lines up and down his back as his hot breath blows on your neck. 

  “Love...that was… incredible.” He raises on his elbows to peer down at you with his sweat tousled curls on his forehead. You can’t help but fall in love with him every time you look into those deep brown eyes. He’s grown soft inside you but he refuses to move. He drops his head down onto your shoulder and lets out a deep sigh.  

  “Just give me a minute please.” You know he can be needy but the annoyance in his tone is concerning.

  “You know I never rush you.” You say as you continue to trace lines up and down his back.

  “God no! no! I wasn’t talking to you love.” 

  “Oh...” It was still weird knowing Marc was present sometimes. You haven't been intimate with him obviously not wanting to cross a line with Layla. You were with Steven and she was with Marc. You’ve been on a few dates with Jake but his shyness prevented him from fronting too often. 

  “I…well we have been meaning to talk to you about something.” You can sense his more than normal nervous behavior. “It’s about Layla.” You have been dreading this moment for months, the conversation you knew would come when she grew tired of sharing. She married Marc and later became established with Steven and Jake but according to Steven he’s not been with her since you met on your first day at the museum.

  Surprisingly you took to his confession of having D.I.D very well. It took him several more weeks to reveal they are moon knight to which you also took in stride. It was the follow up conversation about the fact that he was technically married that you didn’t take lightly. It took you a week of reflection and a long conversation with Layla to convince you to give him another chance. No one has ever treated you like Steven and you didn’t want to give that up. 

  Steven often stayed at your place to give Layla her space, you knew she missed him but she always respected your relationship. When they were off doing khonshus bidding you would often have a girls night with Layla. Recently you weren’t sure how to grapple with the feelings you’ve been having towards her. You haven’t felt this way about a woman in a long time. There was no need to further complicate your already intricate relationship. 

  “Um…Steven, if I need to talk to Marc I would prefer we get cleaned up and put some clothes on.”

  “Sorry love I didn’t mean to worry you, he’s not here anymore.” You relax a little but can’t help but worry about the impending conversation. He climbs off you and you shudder at the sudden change in temperature, no longer having his body as a barrier to the cool air in your flat. 

  “Let me run us a bath and we can talk while we get cleaned up.” The prospect of a relaxing bubble bath with your boyfriend would normally have you on cloud nine, but you’d rather not have such an uncomfortable conversation in such an intimate setting. 

  “Steven, if you’re going to break up with me I’d rather you do it now,I can just take a shower when you leave.” Your legs are curled underneath you and all you can do is stare at the rumpled sheets desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. 

  “What!” Steven is standing in the doorway of the bathroom wide eyed and horrified at your assumption. 

  I told you not to bring it up after sex, she’s too vulnerable right now.

  “Will you buzz off Marc!” Steven strides towards you and is back on the bed in moments. He bunches you up with the sheets and pulls you into his lap sideways. “ I’m not breaking up with you

Love,  I just have something I need to talk to you about and I am a bit nervous.” You look up at him with tears brimming your eyelids and you can all but see his heartbreak. 

  He cradles your head and kisses you slowly as if it’s your first time. “This is not at all how I wanted this conversation to go.” He stands from the bed with you still in his arms and carries you to the bathroom. He gently sets you down on the toilet as he begins to draw a bath. You can’t help but admire his arms and his broad back as he leans over to test the temperature of the water. He places your favorite lavender bath bomb and chamomile bubble bath in before unraveling you from the sheets and helping you into the bath. You’re enveloped in that warm fuzzy feeling as he finds his place behind you pulling your back into his chest. 

  “I’m just gonna start and I don’t want you to say anything until I let you know I’m done.” You nod your head and you’re thankful you’re not facing him as the tears begin to well again. 

  “Layla has…really enjoyed your company lately when we’re out.” He pauses and tightens his grip around your waist. “She said it helps her not worry about us so much.”

  “I enjoy her company to Steven.” You know he told you not to speak yet but you figured he needed a moment to gather his thoughts. 

  “She’s actually grown quite fond of you and thought that you might feel the same about her.”

  A long silence passes between you and all you can hear are the ragged breaths of Steven and the crackling of the bubbles. You don’t think Stevens even realized that he hasn’t said he’s done speaking and is waiting for you to respond. 

  “Of course if you don’t feel the same then we don’t need to mention it again, I’m sorry I even brought it up. It's just that Marc pressed on about it…and actually he’s quite fond of you too and well that’s besides the point…I don’t even know what I’m saying any…”

  You turn in the bath and stop his rambling with a kiss to his lips as you cradle his face in both hands.

You rise in the water so you can settle yourself in his lap. You lean in to kiss him again and he parts his lips to let your tongue slide in. This slow languid movements leave you both breathless as you pull away for air and can’t help but giggle at his face covered in bubbles.

  “I thought Layla had grown sick of this situation and wanted you to end things with me.” He begins to say something but you place a finger on his lips, prompting him to wait just as you had. 

  “I am still getting to know Marc and Jake but obviously I can’t help but be attracted to someone who looks like my boyfriend.” You know Steven would accept all parts of you but it still made you nervous to open up to him. 

  “Steven…I’ve been with women before you, but I never wanted to make you uncomfortable. I’ve grown to like Layla a lot and I wasn’t sure how to come to terms with my feelings.” Steven releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

  “That’s wonderful love…Layla was quite nervous that you wouldn’t feel the same and she didn’t want to pressure you.” Steven is beaming up at you as if you’ve presented him a million dollar grant to research Egyptian mythology. “You know I love and accept you for who you are.” 

  You’re suddenly feeling exposed as the bubbles dissipate and your mind starts wandering. What does this mean? What does she want? He said something about Marc. Would Jake be involved? Would Steven be upset?

  He can see you spiraling before his eyes. “Talk to me love.” He starts rubbing soothing circles on your arms.

  “Where do we go from here?” You don’t even recognize your voice as you look anywhere but his eyes. He grabs your chin with his forefinger and thumb and pulls you into a chaste kiss.

  “Whatever you want to do we will do…no

pressure.We all want you and what’s best for you, as long as you’re safe and happy that’s all we care about.” You wrap your arms around his neck in a tight hug, feeling this most content you have in years. 

  Nice job hermaño, I knew you could do it.

  ***

Friday 

  You’ve never been this nervous before to just have dinner with Layla. This was something you did every week while the boys were out but this time felt different. You’ve torn your room apart looking for the right thing to wear, finally opting for a simple blue babydoll dress with a flowy skirt. You wear your hair in its natural state and put on some light makeup to complete the look. 

  It’s just dinner, relax

  You’re standing in front of the door of their shared flat trying to calm your nerves as you smooth down the front on your skirt. You can already smell the wonderful aroma wafting under the door as you begin to knock. Layla opens the door and pulls you into a hug but you’re apprehensive to hug her back act normal.

  “Hey hon, come on in, I'm just finishing up the pizza.” You enter the flat and set the bottle of red wine you brought on the counter and take in the sight of delicious homemade pizza. 

  “I’m making Marc’s favorite for you, he insisted.” She looks up from placing the toppings to wink at you. Why did he insist? 

  “Oh…everything smells wonderful.” You’re standing nervously at the kitchen island fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “I brought some wine,would you like me to pour you a glass?” 

  “I’d love some, you know where the glasses are.” She points absentmindedly to the cabinet behind her while she finishes topping the pizza. You pour two glasses for the both of you and once she places the pizza in the oven all attention is on you. 

  “How has work been? Steven said you’ve had to put in some late night shifts.” You’re staring at her wine stained lips and the curls that frame her face. How does  she always look so effortlessly beautiful? She has an inquisitive look on her face and you realize you haven’t answered her. 

  “Umm…it’s been fine, I’m sure you know how much of a pain Donna can be.” You're focused on the wine in your glass instead of her piercing gaze. 

  “Hey…I can tell you’re nervous and I know Steven talked to you. Nothing has to change. I just wanted you to know how I felt.” It makes her heart swell noticing  you’ve put more effort into your appearance than you normally do for your weekly dinner.

  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous…I care about you a lot and I want to do this right.” She takes your hand in hers and you finally look up and meet her eyes. Neither of you say anything, whatever is happening between you can go unspoken for now. 

  You both finally relax into a comfortable calm as you eat Pizza and finish the bottle of wine. As the night progresses it feels more and more like how things are supposed to be. Conversation flows freely as you both relax on the couch gossiping about work or sharing your thoughts about the boys.

  “I know they look different but Marc and Steven  both get that furrowed brow when they’re focused.” She shifts on the couch to face you mimicking that stern look they get. You burst into a fit of laughter at the accuracy. 

  “Okay but have you seen Jake's serious face?” You squint your eyes and  muster up the best version of Jake that you can manage. She leans in close,her lips just a breath away. 

  “That face is much more adorable than Jake's.” Suddenly you're feeling hot,neither of you pulling away from your close proximity. The tension that’s been building for months is threatening to burst as you wait for her next move. 

  “Can I kiss you?” She’s practically touching your lips when she asks and you wish she would just do it but you know it’s in her nature to wait for you. 

  “Yes please.” In a moment her lips are on yours as her hands caress your neck and trail down your jaw. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, feverish in the way her lips slot against yours. She pulls away and you chase her lips with your eyes closed and lips parted trying to catch your breath. 

  She brushes her thumb along your bottom lip and looks at you as though you hold the world in your eyes. “Your lips are so soft.”

  “Do it again please.” The desperation in your voice is unfamiliar but she doesn’t hesitate to oblige your request as her lips crash into yours, you part your lips to allow her tongue to slide in as you moan into her mouth. She pulls you slightly into her lap as you straddle her thigh. Your lips move in tandem as she grabs your waist. You can feel your panties soaked as she grinds your clit over her jeans. 

  “Sweetheart…you gonna come like this, I’ve barely touched you?” You’re a panting mess as your climax approaches and she doesn’t relent as she trails kisses down your neck,leaving love bites along the way. She moves one hand from your waist and slowly starts trailing your inner thigh. Her fingers dance along the hem of your underwear almost reaching where you need it the most. 

  The floorboard creaks and you both halt your movements. You look up from the couch and see Mr. Knight standing near the window, the moon still illuminating him in his stark white suit. He’s masked and you can’t see the expression on his face but his chest is heaving and you can’t help but notice the growing bulge in the front of his pants. 

  You slide off Layla suddenly embarrassed at the state she had you in. She grabs your hand before you can stand and sends you a reassuring squeeze. 

  “Steven…care to join?” She says in this sweet honey tone. Yet he doesn’t falter, as if he’s frozen to the spot. 

  Steven move your goddamn feet or I’m taking over the body.

  Snapped from his trance Steven begins to walk towards the couch. He takes a seat beside you so that you're situated in between them. He’s yet to reveal his face but his demeanor is definitely your Steven as he begins rubbing soothing circles on your thighs. The combined touch of their hands is all too real and this is territory you’ve never covered before. 

  “Are you okay with this Love?” Steven is always the observer making sure that this is truly what you want. You slowly nod your head. 

  “I need you to use your words honey.” You turn your head to Layla and the pet name she’s used many times before holds more weight in this moment. 

  “Yes this is okay…as long as Steven is…” 

  “Yes I’m great love this is perfectly alright.”He cuts you off before you can finish. You can’t help but giggle at his sudden burst of enthusiasm. 

  “Steven…why don’t you give her a kiss to calm her nerves.” Steven grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gently tilts your face to him. He withdraws his mask and you can see his pupils blown wide. He kisses you softly as though it’s just the two of you in the room. Two sets of hands are on you as Layla leans against your back leaving hot kisses along your neck. 

  A soft hand trails up your inner thigh as another cups your breast over your dress. You kiss and bite at Stevens neck as you palm his erection through his pants. He whimpers in your ear as he bucks his hips into your hand. A soft finger pulls your panties to the side and rubs along your slick folds. You drop your head to Stevens shoulder gripping his arms for purchase. She dips two fingers dip into your entrance and you whine into his neck as you begin to rock your hips. 

  “You’re doing so good for us sweetie.” Layla coos in your ear. She withdraws her fingers from you and you whine at the loss. She holds her fingers up to Stevens lips and taps on them lightly, he takes both fingers in his mouth never breaking eye contact as rolls his tongue around coming off with a loud pop.

  “Tastes so good love…why don’t you let her have a taste hmm.” Your brain is short circuiting at the sight. “Yes.” It’s all you can manage with your voice barely above a whisper. 

  “I think the bed would be better for that…don’t you think?” She says as she takes your hand to stand. Your body is no longer in your control, you can’t feel your legs beneath you but you know you’re moving towards the bedroom. Layla at your front and Steven close behind. 

  Steven retracts his suit and begins to undress when you enter the room. Leaving him only in his boxers, you can see the strain of his cock against the fabric where a wet spot has formed. 

  “I think you two are a bit overdressed.” He stands at your back pulling your straps down your shoulders letting your dress fall to the floor revealing your green matching lace set. He moves behind Layla pulling her shirt over her head as you work on the button of her jeans. He slides down her pants and kisses her shoulder when he stands. 

  This is so not fair

  Callate pendejo 

  Steven does his best to block out the sounds of his head mates but doesn’t shut them off completely. He wants them to see this. 

  “Lay down against the pillows Steven.” He lays down on the bed with his legs spread wide and his hands at his side. She directs you to lay against him facing her while she sits between your legs. You're shaking from the anticipation and he begins rubbing soothing lines up and down your arms giving you goosebumps. She grabs the hem of your underwear and gently lifts your hips to slide them down. 

  “Is she always this wet for you?” She smirks at him as she drops her head down between your legs, licking a stripe through your slit. You arch your back at the sensation and Steven moans as you press further into his hard cock. He pulls your knees back to hold your legs open as she dips her tongue into your slick heat. Your whimpers and moans of her name are muffled as Steven swallows them with his mouth on yours. 

  “She does taste good.” She rocks back on her heels and pulls you up into a kiss. You can taste yourself on her lips as she dips her tongue into your mouth. You start to slide your hand beneath the band of her panties but she stops you. 

  “Tonight is about you sweetheart.” She’s definitely in control and you decide not to push. “Take off your boxers.” Steven practically rips them trying to get them off as his cock springs free slapping against his abdomen. You don’t think you’ve ever seen it so big, the angry red tip leaking precum all over his stomach. 

  She coaxes you back to lean against him and grabs the base of his cock causing him to gasp. She drags the tip along your dripping folds and Steven lifts you slightly as he guides you down onto him. 

  “Oh fuck…Steven it’s too much.” He’s not even all the way in and from this angle he’s hitting something devastating inside you. “Shhh love you can take it just relax.” Your cunt flutters around his thick cock causing a guttural moan from him. She straddles you both and you sink to the hilt. She places her hands on Stevens chest as she rides you grinding her hips into yours. Your mind has gone numb as she fucks you into Steven, each roll of her hips catches on your clit and slides you up and down his length. 

  “M’so close.” Steven chokes out from behind you as his grip tightens on your hips and his pelvis bucks slightly. She reaches between your bodies and begins rubbing tight circles on your clit as she leans in close and kisses Steven. He picks up his pace slamming you down on his cock over and over as he arches his back lifting the both of you. 

  “Right. There. Please . Don’t. Stop.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust and you come undone; she grabs your face, pulling you into an awkward three way kiss. Every nerve in your body is alight as she doesn’t let up on your clit, you don’t know if this is the same orgasm or a second that has tears streaming down your face. You clench down on him as he comes with a loud groan shooting hot ropes of cum into your core. 

  “You did so good, sweetheart.” She kisses you deep as you try to control your cries and aftershocks. 

  As you come down from your high you realize you’ve been moved. You’re laying on your side facing Steven as Layla plants small kisses on the small of your back. Steven places a soft kiss to your sweat soaked forehead and rolls out of bed. 

  “I’ll be right back love.” He retreats to the bathroom as you hear the water running. 

  You turn to face Layla and she can see the worry on your face. “What’s wrong hon? Was this too much?” 

  “No it’s not that it’s just…you didn’t get very much attention and I feel bad.”  She grabs your neck and pulls you into a soft kiss. 

  “There’s always next time.”

  Next time 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

Happy pride 🏳️‍🌈

Cuddle His Angst Away || Steven Grant x fem!reader

Summary: Steven doesn't show up for your scheduled date once again, so you decide to visit him.  As a result, you cuddle him to sleep to ease his stress

Warnings: none

Words: 2890

Authors: Cass & Fenrir

"Of course, this is the main hall; I don't think I need to explain it to you," Donna grumbled, bored and a little annoyed. She was lucky enough to be given the opportunity to introduce a new employee for some strange reason. "And here's our lovely gift shop, complete with Stevie." She tapped her fingernails against the counter as she spoke.

Because you didn't like her tone, you merely smiled and fawned at the poor man who looked like he had been up for days. "Hi.”

After a second blink, Steven realised what was up, as if he had been shaken awake from a deep state of reflection. "Hello." He replied. Welcome. You must be Y/N person. The tourist guide position has been replaced, I've been told. And it's Steven with a "v”, not Stevie, Donna."

"It's Y/N, not Y/N person. Bloody hell, Stevie, it's time to wake up," Donna said as she looked at her watch. "Y/N, you don't have any tours scheduled today. Just get to know this place. Stevie, and then you can get back to work." She walked away without saying anything more.

"Isn't she a lovely person?" You inquired, your eyes rolling. "So! Once again, hello, my name is Y/N and I'm a new tour guide." You smiled and extended your hand to him.

Clearly, Steven hesitated before taking your hand in his for a brief shake. He fixed his gaze on you for a few moments before he cleared his throat to say, "Just so you know, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me. I've been here for a while, so I know what, where, and how."

"This will be hugely helpful. Thank you incredibly much, Steven." You smiled as you looked at his name tag. "I'll contact you as soon as I need something. I honestly wouldn't dare to ask Donna anything." You nodded quietly, giggling.

"After all, she is the boss. Everyone in a position of power is a little bossy. She is the master, and I am the servant." Steven yawned quietly, covering his mouth with his curled palm.

"Being a boss does not imply being a jerk." You sighed and took a quick look around. "Difficult night?"

If it was just a bad night, he thought to himself, sinking back into his thoughts. Soon after, he shook his head and said, with a flat smile glued to his face, "Rather a difficult life filled with questioning the reason for being." His tone was still so low that he had to repeat twice before you could hear him properly.

You gave him a slight smile and nodded. "You say? As another of Donna's servants, can I purchase something from the gift shop? Or will she sever my head?"

Steven frowned briefly before breaking into a bright smile. "Sure. I don't presume any of those less would pose a problem for our beloved leader," Steven pointed to various items gathered in baskets or displayed on the counter and shelves behind him. "What would you want to get? Have any of those fancy souvenirs caught your eye, Y/N?"

"That Taweret plushie," you exclaimed happily and giggled as Steven handed it over to you. "Dear God, I wish she looked like she did in all the books. Goddess of fertility and childbirth. But for visitors, it's sold as cute stuffy. How much for it?"

"To you for free, this one's one me." Steven smiled as he ran his hand through his dark hair, which resembled a bird's nest. "I'm also not a fan of turning goddesses and gods into those," he said, pointing to a few other small statues and Osiris, who had been transformed into a whistle, "But money is money. As long as people are willing to pay for plastic Osiris to blow into his buttocks, they will be manufactured. There is nothing more or less. The essence of life."

You couldn't help but laugh quietly. "This is more than true," you said as you moved in closer. "Just between you and me, outside, whoever made those banners did a terrible job considering Ennead had only seven gods."

Steven's shrug was followed by a slight nod. "I believe you already know who came up with the idea."

"I'm betting on Donna. I believe she simply does not care to be accurate." With a shrug, you stuffed the plushie into your shoulder bag. "Thank you so much for that wonderful gift. I won't take up any more of your time, Steven. I should go take a look around."

Grant asked a simple question with an unexpected burst of courage that surprised him, "Do you want to meet for coffee later? With me? We could, for example, discuss museum related stuff. Or just drink the hot, black liquid that's supposed to enlighten your brain and burst your endorphins."

Looking at him, you blinked, surprised by the sudden invitation, but he was the only normal person you'd met here so far. You gave a nod. "Sure! That's perfect for me. So, Steven, I'll see you later."

Grant followed you with a careful glance, feeling a little dizzy as you walked away.

When a pair of children came to the gift shop looking for souvenirs, he simply pulled a sign with WE'RE CLOSED written on it and placed it on the counter, right in front of the children's faces. He then left his desk and went to the restroom, despite protests from children.

You obviously noticed him leaving, but you didn't give it much thought because you were too occupied with your surroundings. He was an odd lad, a tired one for sure, but he was nice, much nicer than your boss. Hopefully, you would make at least one good friend here.

In the bathroom, he sprayed his face with cold water and wiped it with a paper towel, looking in a large, long mirror.

"You're fucking stupid." Suddenly, a deep voice said within his head.

Even though Steven knew he was alone in the bathroom at the time, he took a moment to look behind his shoulder. "Who said that? WHO SAID THAT?!"

"Idiot. Did you just looked around even though you have a fucking mirror in front of you? Just so you know, this is not how you hit on a girl. How come you're so stupid to first talk about some plastic shit and then asking her out?"

Steven slipped hands in his hair, shaking his head. "You're not real."

"If I'm not real then you're not real as well, idiot."

Steven sat down on the floor for a few moments, gasping and thinking. Soon he realised the voice was gone.

You walked around the museum, making certain that you understood everything. On your latest tour, you even bothered the security guard, who was standing behind cameras, but he appeared to be more preoccupied with kitten videos on his phone.

When the work day came to an end, you decided to wait at Steven near the main entrance.

You both went to get that promised coffee after he joined.

Soon, you and Steven were sitting on the park bench, sipping your coffee. Your shoulder bag was next to you, plushie peeking out from beneath the clap.

"I hear a strange accent, so I'm assuming you're not from here." Steven said casually as he sipped his coffee.

You chuckled as you licked your lips after another sip of coffee. "Is it really that obvious? I was certain I'd be fine after my mother, who was actually from here." You sipped one more time and nodded. "I moved here from New York because I no longer felt safe there."

"All the superhero stuff, huh?" Steven inquired casually as he finished his coffee. "I, surely, would not want to live there. It's much calmer here."

"Exactly, I'd never heard of aliens wreaking havoc on London. So here I am, trying to find a job." You shrugged as you finished your coffee as well.

Steven indicated with a nod. "A reasonable decision."

"And you're the one who decides which decisions are reasonable and which are not?" Within his head, a deep tone whispered. "You're unable to gather yourself even."

Steven took a quick look around. "Be quiet." He muttered through clenched teeth.

"Steven... "Are you all right?" You asked, your eyebrow raised at him.

He shook his head quickly. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I apologise. Sometimes... Sometimes I'm a little odd."

"Don't we all at times?" You made a joke and threw away your cup. "I'm really worried about tomorrow. I'll be meeting with my first group."

Steven, after a brief moment of thought, stated, "I am confident that you will succeed. The previous tour guide was a stutterer. Can you imagine how long it took him to finish the sentence? He was never able to complete the tour on time, according to schedule."

"You've made me even more nervous! Oh my goodness, I hope I can stick to my schedule! What if I don't? That bloody woman will rip off my head." You became a little concerned.

"Well done, dumbass, you scared Y/N." Steven's inner voice screamed angrily. "Apologise."

Steven jerked up, startled by a sudden sentence he heard in his head. "Don't tell me what I should do!"

He noticed you glaring up at him after a brief moment; your head tilted as you blinked. "Please accept my apologies...," Steven referred to you, scratching the back of his neck. "I think you'll fit the role perfectly, don't worry."

"It's all right." You shook your head and took a few deep breaths to relax. "I apologise. I am a very nervous person, and being a tour guide is a little intimidating for me, but as you put it, I will be successful."

He simply rubbed your shoulder and patted it at the end. "You'll see, you'll do fantastic."

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

Two months have passed.

Steven tried to see you as often as he could. He knew you were upset with him for disappearing a few times and failing to show up for dates, being late for several days, but you kept forgiving him and his oddities.

Steven was an odd fella, and even after getting to know him better, that didn't change.

In terms of friendship and caring for him, you tried to be patient with him when he told you about some of his problems.

When he failed to show up yet again, you decided to go and see him yourself; you wanted to ensure that he was well. Fortunately, you knew where he lived, so you knocked on Steven's door soon after. "Steven! Are you in there?"

Steven eventually opened the door, peeping out of his flat, and smiling hesitantly as soon as he saw you standing on the corridor with your arms folded over your chest. "Y/N, hi, hi, I didn't expect you here, I thought we were set on Wednesday."

You said, tapping your foot against the floor with anger, "That's why I'm here. It's Wednesday, and we were supposed to meet an hour ago. Do you mind if I come in?"

Steven hesitated, but when he saw your cold stare, he let out a loud huff and stepped aside to make way for you to enter. "I still haven't cleaned so it's messy."

"I don't have a problem with that, Steven. I'm more concerned about you than your messy flat." Nodding, you stepped inside. "It's nice."

When Steven closed the door, he hurried to the living room to gather dirty dishes and place them in the sink. 

"Steve, it's fine really. You better tell me what happened? I was worried."

Steve yanked on his shirt and replied, "I've lost my sense of time." He continued, "Of course, I think I dozed off..."

You sighed. "To be honest, I was worried something would happen to you." You said. "Let me help you clean up here."

"I'll do it later on my own. Do you want something to drink? Have a seat... Wherever there is free space."

You nodded as you walked to the couch and moved a few books to sit down. "Tea would be nice."

Steven then went over to the aquarium to feed Gus after the tea was served.

"So, it's Gus the fish. He's cute." You smiled, taking a sip from the cup.

Steven agreed and joined you right away. "I apologise once more for forgetting our date and for messing up dates in general... You know how difficult that is for me."

You moved your hand through his messy hair as you sighed, "Steven, you know it's hard, but it happens more often than when we started. I'm worried." You said, sighing. "Is there something we can do with that?”

"What would you like to do? We know there's nothing much we can do at this point."

As you sat there, you thought. In reality, he was right and this made you a little frustrated.

"Okay... You're right... I really don't know. Also, it's getting late. Maybe," shrugging, you glanced around a little, "I could stay here and keep you company?"

Nodding, he rubbed the back of his neck. "That would be wonderful. I think Gus already has enough of me and my talking. I would appreciate someone with whom to converse."

You joked, "Is it okay if I go home to grab some clothing? Since I don't think I could sleep in your clothes."

Steven glared at you, rolling his eyes back, and hummed loudly. "You don't need to change your clothes, Y/N, you can stay in them. If you feel the need to change, I can give you one of my t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants."

You nodded. "That would be lovely. It's hard to sleep in jeans. I hope those little requests won't bother you.".

Steven shrugged. "No, I don't mind at all. As far as I can tell, Gus has no objections, either."

Gus was probably sleeping in the water as the fish floated gently.

"Well, I am glad." Your reply was short as you looked in the direction of the kitchen. "Have you eaten yet?" 

Steven didn't reply as he rummaged through his small closet. "I did... Some time ago... I'm not sure anymore."

"Do you feel hungry?”

"No, but if you are, I can go out to grab some takeouts."

"Well, I was planning to make something tasty, but since you aren't hungry, I won't go through your fridge," you said, getting up from the couch. "Tea?"

"No thanks. The refrigerator is empty, so no food can be found there."

Nodding once more, you walked to him and accepted the clothes he chose.

After changing in the bathroom, you returned to him as soon as it was done.

Grant was already in bed with his ankles cuffed.

It caught your attention as you sat on the bed. "Wow, I must say, I didn't fully believe this part. So, would you like to cuddle?"

He only nodded hesitantly after looking down at his ankles. "As you can see, I didn't lie. It's only for protection. I would appreciate some cuddles as well."

As you laid on the bed, you relaxed and opened your arms for him soon after.

"Come here, Steven. I'll cuddle you to sleep or simply carry you through the night." Your tone was sweet and soft as you placed your offer.

Steven rolled onto his side as far as his cuffed ankles would allow, creating an ocean of curly hair on your belly as his head was placed there.

As soon as you moved a little closer to make him more comfortable, you grabbed a blanket to wrap him a little. As you hugged him, one of your hands reached into his messy hair, gently stroking them, while massaging his scalp.

While humming softly, he let you fully embrace him and rolled to his side as much as he could. "Will this ever end?" Steven asked quietly.

One of your eyes was open when you looked at him. "What do you mean?" 

"Will I ever feel normal again?"

"Steven... Do not say it as if you were some kind of maniac killing people all the time. You are a normal guy." You sighed and kissed his head. "Maybe someone can help you manage it."

Your tone made him feel as if his heart was melting.

"Even though we missed our few dates, I will still help you in any way that I can. Don't worry about that." You squeezed him a little.

Steven once believed that his emotional scars were a net that would sink him into briny depths. Nevertheless, he stood on the rock and the scars became bright sparks in the sunlight, golden fireworks giving light to the dawn, promising a brighter tomorrow. Your presence by his side made him think so, always being so caring and patient with him and all of his oddities. Grant felt relieved knowing you were always nearby to ease his worries.

Although Steven's problem was difficult, you knew better than to abandon him because of it.

Tucking the blanket around him a bit more, you held him. Throughout the night, you simply held him and offered him whatever comfort you could. He was the man you loved in the end.

Più di te ♥ || Steven Grant x Reader & Marc Spector x Reader

Summary: As Layla searches for Marc, she discovers that there are two more people involved in the case. A big surprise awaits her when she discovers that her husband is not the same as he used to be.

Warnings: none, just Marc punching Steven & Steven punching Marc in revenge 😶

Word count: circa 3520

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader, Layla El-Faouly & Reader, Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly, Steven Grant & Layla El-Faouly, Marc Spector & Steven Grant

Authors: Fenrir & Cass

A/N: Marc's words are in italics

As you stood in the kitchen, you tried not to burn the breakfast.

You let Steven sleep in a little bit instead of waking him up when you awoke. All you wanted was to make a small, nice surprise for him.

After a loud groan, you heard a loud gasp that sounded almost like a scream, followed by an even louder noise.

Worried, you moved closer to the source of the spinning and gasped when you caught sight of Steven face-planting the ground due to the ankle restraint. "Oh my God, Steven! Are you okay?!"

 Trying to sit up a bit to undo the restraint, Steven repeated a few times, "Was I dreaming? Was I dreaming? Yes, apparently I was. Y/N, what are you doing here? I thought we were set for Friday."

 "Friday was yesterday and you let me stay here overnight," you reminded him and then helped him sit up before removing the ankle restraint. "You didn't hurt yourself, right?"

 "Friday was yesterday? Are you sure? I'm almost certain it's today..." Steven rubbed his head, trying to keep a straight face. "Oops, did it again?"

 You took his hand as you helped him to stand up, telling him, "I think you did, sweetie. Come on now, I made you breakfast. I'm hoping you'll like it."

His blushing was accompanied by a feeling of nakedness as he wore only a plain t-shirt and boxer shorts. "Give me a minute." Steven asked.

 You nodded and kissed his cheek, then headed back to the kitchen.

 As you were finishing up with breakfast preparation, a knock came at the door. As you went to open, you frowned.

 A visibly angry woman walked into the apartment like she owned it. "Where is Marc? Where is he?!"

You just stood there stunned by the whole thing.

While brushing his teeth, Steven peered into the main room from a bathroom, a toothbrush stuck in his mouth. His eyes were fixed on you. His mouth was full of foam as he asked, "Hhho datttt?"

Woman's frown deepened and she looked at you with her eyebrow raised before saying, "I should ask who is that?"

 Blinking and raising his hand, Steven indicated he would be right back.

He joined two women and stood close to you after a longer moment. "I'm sorry? Do you know me?" He asked, visibly surprised by the situation.

 Layla stared at him in disbelief. "Do I know you? Do you think I'm nuts?"

"I am his girlfriend, and this is Steven, not Marc." You told her.

 "His name is Marc and I am his wife." She protested.

 You instantly turned to face Steven. "Do you have a wife?"

 "Do I have a wife?" Steven blinked, his face turning pale as if the blood would float off. In fact, I don't have any! At least, I'm not aware of having any... By the way, my name is Steven Grant, not Marc. Steven. S-T-E-V-E-N. I work in a museum, I'm a gift shopper and I don't even know you! Y/N, I promise, I don't know that woman. This is the first time I'm seeing her. I assure you that I have never cheated on you. This is some unfunny coincidence!"

"This appears to be an unlucky coincidence, but it doesn't seem that way. It seems she knows you very well." You frowned harder, crossing your arms over your chest.

 "Steven Grant? What is going on here? Is this a cover for you?" The woman asked angrily. "It's sad you had to play with this poor girl like that."

 Steven wrapped an arm around your shoulders and exclaimed, "She's my girlfriend! And who do you think you are to attack her and me in my apartment?"

 "Exactly." You added, nodding.

The woman shook her head and began to walk around the flat. "This is crazy," she said to herself. "I searched for you for so long, but you just found all of this here. My name is Layla and I am your wife. Perhaps this will remind you of us." At that moment, she walked up to Steven and gave him a kiss.

He blinked a few times, his lips stiffening as she pressed against him. Steven tilted his head and gazed intently into her eyes as he pushed her a bit. “What the hell was that?” He growled, shaking his head. "Why did you kiss me?"

In an instant, one of his hands curled into a fist and threw a strong punch directly into Steven's own face.

You wanted to say something, but there were so many things happening that you stood there motionless.

Only Steven's shot at himself made you jump and scream out of pure fear mixed with shock. "What the hell is going on?!" You shouted, blinking.

 Steven stood up slowly, a look of surprise on his face as he said, "I'm not sure! I didn't strike myself!"

 "Don't you dare kiss my wife," a voice inside his head said.

 Steven cried out, looking around for the source of the voice, "But it was she who initiated the kiss!"

"Did you hit your head too hard, love? Who are you talking to?" You asked, reaching out to touch his cheek.

 Layla gave you a disapproving look as she asked, "Can you please not touch my husband?"

 "Would you please leave me and my boyfriend alone?" You snapped back.

Steven blinked, taking a few steps backwards. "As I said, my girlfriend is Y/N, and I don't have a wife!" The man reminded.

 As he glanced in the mirror with the corner of his eye, he was horrified to see his reflection in a different position. It was facing him fully, arms folded on the chest, and chin angled to the front.

Layla shook her head in disappointment. "Marc, this is madness. Drop the act and talk."

"I swear to God, if you don't leave, I'll call the police or scream so someone else will." You warned the woman.

Steven's reflection said coldly, "You kissed my wife, you fucking dumbshit. Do it again and I'll kill you."

Grant screamed loudly, trying to get as far away from the mirror as possible. "Have you seen that?! That damn mirror speaks!"

Layla and you both looked at the man even more confused than before. "Love, we're the only ones here. No one else." 

 Layla's annoyance was obvious. "Mirrors cannot talk."

 Steven exclaimed, "I'm telling you, it talked! I swear!"

 "You realize you look like an idiot to them now, don't you?" Reflection replied. "I am Marc and Layla is my wife."

 "Marc is speaking to me! He is inside the mirror."

 You looked into the mirror and then at him. "Love... I'm sorry to break it to you but it's just a mirror."

 Layla looked into the mirror as well, and said, "Maybe he really hit his head hard..."

 The man suddenly replied, but his voice sounded completely different. "He didn't hit his head that hard but he kissed you."

You looked at Steven. "He?" 

You didn't like it even a little bit as it was getting weirder with each passing moment.

Marc, who took control of Steven's body, scoffed. "Yes."

Angry and frustrated at the whole situation, you snapped at the man, demanding an explanation of what's going on. "Either you explain or I'm out of here forever!" You swore.

"I'm not Steven. I'm Marc." The man replied. "It's nearly impossible to explain. I don't even know where to begin."

"From the beginning would be nice, Marc." Layla replied irritated.

In one moment, you're Steven and the next, you're Marc?" You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I don't understand any of this."

"I'm Marc, but Steven sometimes takes charge."

Feeling lost, Layla asked, "Is this some kind of joke?"

"Exactly. Are you playing us both?" You questioned as well, feeling probably just as offended as the other woman.

"Ask me questions only Steven or I can answer."

"Where did we meet?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Where did we go before you disappeared?" Layla added with a frown, tilting her head a little.

"Well..."

As you looked at the other woman, you shook your head. "Is it okay if I offer you a cup of tea or coffee since our boyfriend and husband are acting crazy and cannot express a word?"

Layla nodded in agreement. She followed you to the kitchen and said, "Yes, I would kill for something warm. I've been looking for him for such a long time. Coffee, please."

Marc followed both women with a cold glance and then looked into the mirror. "Great. Any ideas on what we should do now? The very last thing I need is for my wife to be upset with me. Your fault, dumbass."

 Steven strode away from Marc, not looking at him through the mirror, as he told him, "Don't be rude and stop calling me names, I hate it."

The bulk of your time was spent in the kitchen with your unexpected guest. While you tried to be courteous and polite, every smile you made was fake just to keep the atmosphere calm.

 The two women were soon joined by Marc. "Listen, once again, let me explain the entire situation. But how about you opening your minds as well?" He looked at Layla and then he looked back at you. "It is required if you want to understand me well."

Layla nodded, looking at him.

As you nodded, you added, "But I warn you. I have a kettle full of hot water."

 He leaned his hip against the kitchen counter and said slowly, "It's difficult to explain. It's like I have more than one personality within me. Sometimes my other self, Stevie, takes over."

 "Steven! It's S-T-E-V-E-N! Please stop using Stevie on me, I get anxious." Steven growled within Marc's mind.

 Laya and you looked at each other.

 After a moment, you looked at Marc or Steven or whomever and frowned. "So it's like two in one?”

 "I think it's more than two in one, but yes, that's what it is."

 "Why didn't you tell me?” Layla asked, expecting an honest answer. "I am your wife. I should know about something like this, don't you think?”

Marc rolled his eyes, resting one hand on his hip. "It is like my alternate personality. Sometimes I reluctantly give him control."

 Looking at him, you bit your lip nervously as you rubbed your palms together. "So, Marc, do I understand correctly? You are the original owner of the body, while Steven is a guest?"

 "You are correct, sweetheart." He gave a brief nod. Looking at the other woman, he frowned. "Moon Knight is well known to you, so why don't you believe me when I tell you there's another one called Steven?"

 Layla sighed heavily as she responded, "I saw the suit, so that was totally different, but it doesn't seem so hard now since you put it in a clear way. I'm just mad that you didn't tell me sooner."

Steven took control of Marc's body before he could react. "Marc wanted to say he pushed you away to prevent you from becoming Khonshu's next avatar."

"And... What about me? Why did I not know?" You asked hesitantly, not sure how to feel. "I don't even understand what you two are saying anymore."

Steve immediately walked closer to you, wrapping his arms around you as he hugged you. "I'm sorry. It was my fault. I didn't know if everything was true or if my mind was playing tricks on me."

As you shook your head, you gently pushed him away. "Then why didn't Marc or whatever his name is come and say something? It's his body, it's his wife, and what the bloody hell am I in all this?"

Steven protested, "You're my girlfriend. I love you... And... I don't care about Marc! Sorry, Miss El-Faouly, but I want to be happy as well as I and Marc are equal beings."

"Do you really mean all that?" You asked, looking up at him.

"Of course, Y/N. I cross on my... On my heart and on the Scarab of Ammit."

Chuckling softly, you nuzzled his chest as you hugged him. Strangely enough, you began to cry, most likely due to the entire situation and the unexpected stress. It was still very jumbled for you at this point, but you felt like you wanted to understand more.

 Layla sighed and got up from her seat. "Okay, fine. This is all good, but could I talk to Marc now? I came here to settle some business with him."

Steven hugged you tightly, kissing the top of your head and rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks. “Don't cry... It breaks my heart... I didn't mean to hurt you in any way..."

The man glanced at Layla coldly when she spoke. "Don't you see I'm soothing my girl?" Steven asked. Then, he cupped your face in his hands as he looked down at you. "Don't you mind if I let them speak?"

 Wiping a tear from your cheek, you nodded at him. "Of course I won't. They are married in the end and it seems it took her a long time to find him. Let them talk."

Steven stepped back, looked into the mirror, focused and summoned Marc.

When Spector regained control, he looked at Layla.

"We have a lot to talk about Marc. But let's not drag Y/N into it." The dark-haired woman stated.

They both walked to another part of the flat so they could talk while you stood in that bloody kitchen.

Your chin rested on your curled palm as you took a seat at the table.

The amount of information you had to process was so overwhelming that you felt like your head would explode.

__________________________________

After talking for maybe an hour, Layla walked into the kitchen and gave you a friendly smile. "All is clear for now. Will you take care of him?"

You were surprised by her words. "I'll do my best."

Layla nodded. "Thank you." She then turned to Marc. "Keep an eye on her for Steven's sake."

Marc crossed his arms over his chest and nodded slowly. "You know I will. And you, you take care of yourself as well, okay, Layla? Don't get your sweet ass in trouble."

 "As long as you won't, I won't either. Call me when you know more. Okay?"

 Marc walked up to the woman, wrapped his strong arm around her waist, and gently kissed her. "Deal."

 You shouldn't be jealous; it wasn't your Steven, but still it was the body he was residing in. Despite being madly jealous, you looked away so as not to start a fight.

It wasn't long before Layla left and you were alone again with Marc or Steven. You were unsure of what to reply or do next. "So... Uhm..."

 "What?" The man asked in a rather harsh tone.

 Because of the tone, you flinched a bit and shook your head. "Nothing. Sorry."

"No, no, speak your mind." Marc said, taking a seat at the table.

"Honestly, I don't know what to say. This is so odd because there is this body and there is a man I love, but there are also you. You have a wife and I feel like this whole thing is so crazy." You told him with honesty within your voice.

 "Truth be told, it's not any easier for me," he said, stroking his messy hair with his hands. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not me anymore."

"I know. It must be challenging for Steven too." You whispered, shrugging a tad, not sure what to do with your palms. "I wish I could help, in some way."

"That's so kind of you. I'm happy he found someone like you. I find it very difficult to believe that someone with his strange personality can attract a girl though." Marc commented wryly.

"I don't mind him being a bit odd; he is just a sweet man," you replied with a smile. "If you are in the driver's seat, how does he feel... Does he feel exactly the same things as you do?"

 "Yes. The same applies to me since he is the one steering." Marc replied, getting up to stretch his back a tad.

 As you thought, your nails tapped against the wooden table. A moment later, you stood up and hugged him, wrapping your arms around him. "This must mean he would feel it." You replied and got up on your tippy toes to touch his lips with yours.

Blinking, he gave you a kiss in return, soon putting his hands on your shoulders to keep some distance when the kiss ended. "What was that? You're aware it's me, Marc, aren't you?"

 "But Steven definitely felt that," you said with a teasing smile. "And you returned the kiss in the end."

Marc frowned slightly, feeling a bit of blush appearing on his cheeks.

 As you walked away, a powerful blow was delivered to Marc's face. "Don't you dare to kiss my Y/N." Steven warned in Marc’s head.

 "Steven, don't do that! Marc, are you alright?" You asked worriedly, immediately returning to the man.

 The man was holding the bridge of his nose. Mark grimaced, saying, "If he breaks my fucking nose, I'll fucking lock him up somewhere."

 "If you do, then I will be the one locking the two of you somewhere and accidentally losing a key,” you warned..” Can I get Steven back, please?"

 A sigh escaped Marc's lips. "And what will I get for offering him my handsome body? Nothing. Not even a good word, but fine."

 A familiar voice spoke to you soon after the man's eyes rolled back. "I had to hit him. He kissed you."

 "Was hitting him worth it?”

 Steven growled loudly, shaking his head. "It wasn't."

You gently touched his nose before placing a soft kiss on it. "My poor thing. Don't do that again. Any of you," you said, fully aware now that Marc heard you as well. "I'm glad to see you again."

"Wow... I didn't realize how much it would hurt..."

"Oh, my baby. You need to be careful with that body. You want something cold on that nose?" Your voice was worried as you cupped his cheeks.

Grant nuzzled to your palms. "Yes, I think there is ice in the freezer."

"Sit down."

As soon as he did so, you went to the kitchen and looked into the freezer. Thankfully, there was ice there. Taking a few cubes and wrapping them in a towel, you returned to Steven with them. Placing the towel carefully over his nose, you asked, "Steven?"

As he pressed the cold compress to the base of his nose, his eyes became watery.

When you get better, can we go out for a snack? I didn't eat breakfast because Layla came in and it all turned cold. And I'm hungry." You said shyly.

Instantly, he smiled at you. "Of course, Y/N. You can choose whatever you want."

"I love you."

"I love you too. But please, do not kiss Marc next time. It makes me jealous. I mean, I asked you to be my girlfriend in the end... So please, don't kiss him. Just me. You can kiss me, but don't kiss him."

It was impossible not to laugh. My apologies! I won't kiss him again. Cross on my heart and on the Scarab of Ammit."

"Don't forget he's married. He has a wife he loves. Or that's what he says all the time." Steven rose to put the ice back in the freezer after his nose stopped hurting. "And I love you and I want to keep it this way."

"I'll dress up." After that, you ran to the bathroom to get ready for the day with Steven.

Steven smiled at you, but his smile disappeared as soon as you left the room.

Then he walked to the mirror and stood before it. "Don't you dare to touch my girlfriend," Steven said, pointing his index finger at the surface of the glass. "It was the very last time, Spector."

Marc reminded in a scolding tone, "And you don't put your hands on my wife."

"Deal."

"Okay, then, but I gotta admit, your girlfriend is a pretty decent kisser."

The redness on Steven's face increased as he gasped in anger. "Spector, quit it!" He commanded.

"I was teasing ya, buddy. Now get ready for your date."

Steven spent the rest of the day with you by his side. Your empathy and not treating him as a weirdo won him over. You were very kind to him, and didn't judge his mental state; instead you treated him like a normal man. You always understood the significance of things. You were that listening ear, the one who would wrap Steven in your love just with your soft face, tiny smile dancing in the corners of your lips and kind words.

Finding true happiness, Steven felt that it was what he had been searching for so long.

The Loyal Priestess || Khonshu x fem!reader

Summary: as a newly appointed priestess in Khonshu's temple, you hold a great deal of responsibility. On one night, the God of the Moon decides to visit his followers in response to their profound prayers 

Warnings: smut (deflowering)🔞 & the body of Marc is being taken over and fronted by Khonshu 

Word count: 3575

Author: Cass & Rouge

A/N: the green sentences refer to Khonshu's speaking

It's an ancient ritual performed mostly by high priestesses because it was a skill that took a lot of practice, but you knew exactly what to do and weren't afraid of doing something wrong. Being a newly marked priestess in Khonshu's temple demanded a great deal of self-assurance, skill, and interior renunciation.

You had the honor of leading the opening prayer to the god himself that evening. "Our Lord, hear us out," you began, head bowed and hands pressed together in front of a massive stone figure depicting Khonshu standing proudly with his staff in his left hand. "We have gathered here to seek your protection, our Lord, and your enlightenment."

Marc could feel cold, unpleasant creeps running down his spine, causing him to shake and hiss visibly. "What the hell was that?" He exclaimed, perplexed as never before.

Of course, Khonshu was there with him, unconcerned by Marc's remark. "My followers are praying to me."

"Followers? Praying? To you? Do you still have them?" Marc inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course I do, worm! Who do you think I am?" snarled Khonshu.

"Excellent. I was simply inquiring. There's no need to be so aggressive," Marc sighed and rolled his eyes. "I just hope they're over soon. I don't like the way it feels," the man muttered, uncomfortably rolling his shoulders.

"They will as soon as I acknowledge their presence."

Marc didn't have time to react before the robes encircled him and he swooped up into the night sky, going to the source of chanting. He didn't like what he saw when he landed. This was the temple. The one where he lost his normal life and self.

Candles and incense filled the room with a soft glow and the scent of olive and lilac. Few wicked baskets filled with things like fruits, dates and furs were placed on the stone altar.

Khonshu's followers in the chamber were humming an old melody that matched the words of your fervent prayer. "Our Lord, Master of the Night Sky, please listen to us. Send us your light and wisdom, keep us safe from evildoers. We're offering our modest sacrifices for you, our Lord."

"Modest sacrifices? That sounds intriguing, I'm curious what those are," a loud voice could be heard echoing off the walls. Khonshu entered the chamber in Marc's body, overtaken by the god; Marc's eyes glistened with white light.

All of the followers knelt and bowed their heads to the person who entered the chamber.

You were the only one who raised your head slightly to look the creature in the eyes; eyes gleaming with light that highlighted the god's nature. In the process, you bowed your head and knelt on the sand as well. "My Lord, we are honored that you have chosen to illuminate us with your presence tonight. Long live, Khonshu!"

The greeting was loudly chanted by the rest of the followers.

"Finally, someone who understands how to respect me," Khonshu hummed proudly, smiling at everyone. "However, I think I should punish you all."

Chanting ended as soon as it started; the silence filled the chamber.

You dared to raise your head up, looking at the man with glistening eyes. "Did we do anything wrong, my Lord? If yes, please, say a word and we'll do our best to fix the error."

Khonshu chuckled deeply as he approached you. He grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him. "You want to know what your blunder is? Where have you been all these centuries? I can hear every prayer, and it has been quiet for many years."

A cold shiver jolted your body to its core, and you began to wonder if calling Khonsh was a good idea. "My Lord," you said as you looked into his glistening eyes, "We'd been praying to you all the time, on a regular basis. We'd never forgotten you or your deeds, my Lord, and we'd always admired your wisdom."

He squeezed your chin between his fingers. "Human, don't lie to me!" He yelled. "I couldn't hear any of you praying for years! You've dared to arrive at my temple and now you're selling me a lie!"

"My Lord," you said quietly, trying not to aggravate the deity, "How could I lie to you in your temple? I would never do so. Some of your older priestesses have passed away, they were old and died of old age or were killed in the civil war going on," you elaborated. "My Lord, I and those gathered here tonight are from a new generation. Perhaps our prayers were not loud enough for you to hear."

"Maybe they weren't. You will all try to do better from now on," Khonshu demanded. "What about the offerings? I'm interested in what mortals like you brought me."

You waited for him to let go of your chin, and when he did, you went to the altar and pointed to the wicked baskets. "We don't have much to offer you, my Lord, but we'd like to give you our best. Our crops provide the fruits and dates, and our animals provide the furs. We also have the best wine in Egypt, fresh olives, and gold, all for you, our Lord Khonshu."

"That's all?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Some poor fruits and old wine?”

You bowed your head and knelt again. "This is all we have, my Lord. As I said, we can't offer you much more than our faith in you."

"And what do you think I'm going to do with it?" Khonshu inquired, looking at you. "I am the god! Not some pitiful, mortal being like you all or that meat puppet I had to use to see you. I'm not interested in wine or food."

You bowed your head even more, being afraid to look at the god. "Forgive us, my Lord. Please, have mercy!"

"You dare to refer to yourself as my follower? My old priestess, they were the ones who always knew what to offer!" Khonshu yelled angrily, his voice echoing off the walls.

A single tear rolled down your cheek; you were truly terrified with the god being angry with you. "Forgive me, my Lord. What can I do to fix this?"

He gave you a low chuckle as he looked at you. You were a lovely, little thing as for a priestess. He could make good use of his ability to gain complete control over Marc. "I'll tell you what I want as a gift, and you'll grant it to me."

"Of course, my Lord, I'm here to fulfill all of your wishes."

"Clean the altar," Khonshu ordered, waving his hand.

As he wished, you took all the baskets off the altar.

Khonshu turned to face the others. "Tonight, you all let me down. I have nothing else to say to you, worms, no blessings or encouraging words. Leave. Everyone except you," his gaze fixed on you again.

His strong voice echoing off the stone walls made you shiver once more as you watched your fellow citizens get up and leave with bowed heads.

You dared to look at God after everyone else had left the chamber except you. "Your wish, my Lord, is my command."

Khonshu was overjoyed. Finally, someone was listening to him and acting in accordance with his wishes. "I want you as an offering."

You tilted your head and blinked few times. "Excuse me, my Lord? You want me? In what meaning?"

"You good know. You seem like a smart girl."

Your brow furrowed. "Oh, Lord... I think I know what you're thinking about, but I can't give you what you want because I've never done those things before, and I don't want to disappoint you. We have a lot of lovely ladies, just say the word and I'll bring one over."

"I want no one else but you," Khonshu said, gently taking a lock of your hair between his fingers. "You are young and attractive."

"My Lord," you whispered and closed your eyes at the touch of his warm, calloused hand. "I see. Your wish is my command, but I'm scared of letting you down."

"You'll do fantastic, I'm confident you will, little priestess," Khonshu gave you his assurance. "Now. Remove those robes."

You nodded and began taking off your clothes. You began by slipping the sleeves of your long, beige gown, revealing your bare chest and round breasts. Second, you pushed the silky material of the dress down your body, allowing it to fall to your ankles. You stood fully naked in front of the god in human form with hesitation.

One of his hands boldly cupped your breast. "So soft and pleasant," he claimed as his thumb rubbed your nipple, which hardened within the seconds. "My precious, little priestess. Little, innocent thing, you belong to me."

You gasped quietly when his calloused palm cupped your breast, squeezing it. You looked up at the man with your eyes wide open, sighing. "Whatever you order, my Lord. I'm yours."

Khonshu nodded before grabbing one of the furs brought as an offering and tossing it over the stone altar. "Lay down."

You climbed the altar and did as he asked - you laid on your back, rubbing your thighs together, attempting to cover your breasts with your arms crossed lightly across your chest. As you looked up at him with sparkles in your eyes, your Y/H/C hair spilled over the fur.

Khonshu smiled and gently kissed your lips before moving the kisses to your neck and then collarbone.

"My Lord," you whispered lightly, your head rolled back a little, providing him with better access. "Can I touch you?"

"You can," he whispered into your ear.

You gasped quietly and put your hands to his arms, your heart beated faster when you sensed his tensed muscles under the shirt he was wearing. Soon, you moved one of your arms around his neck and begged him for another kiss.

"Little priestess, you're so needy. Your desires will be granted tonight," Khonshu hummed and gladly pressed his lips against your cheek, cupping one of your cheeks.

You shifted in his arms, giving the kiss back, letting your tongue slip past his lips, tasting him and imagining all of the things he was about to do to you.

Soon after, he drew back and began undressing himself before joining you on the altar.

You watched his perfectly shaped body, wondering if the man he picked for his avatar was someone random. If yes, Khonshu had a very good taste.

"Do you like what you're seeing, little one? I wouldn't choose a random mortal as my avatar," Khonshu reassured you, just as he would be able to hear your thoughts, and kissed your neck again, this time moving down to your chest and wrapping his mouth around one of your nipples.

You grabbed by the edge of the altar and arched your back a little, moaning at the feeling. With a little, hesitant smile, you nodded your head. "Yes, my Master, I like everything I see," your tone was nothing more than a whisper. "My Lord Khonshu, please."

"Please what? Use your words."

"I want you to..." Your voice cracked as you blushed hardly; realization hit your mind clouded already with overwhelming pleasure. "I want you."

"So now you want me? I was sure you're terrified of this. You're not anymore?" He hummed as he moved his hand down your body.

"I've never been so scared in my life, my Lord, but I trust in you, I trust in everything you do," you assured Khonshu, your cheeks flushed.

Khonshu moved between your legs with a low laugh. He picked your legs up and set them on his shoulders, then began to place kisses and bites on the inside of your thighs.

You moaned quietly, arching your back slightly and sucking your lower lip in. You initially felt compelled to run your hands through his hair, but quickly dismissed the thought as too daring. His lips on your thighs felt like a blazing fire, and you couldn't stop being vocal about how good he made you feel. "Please, My Lord, I need to feel you," you pleaded quietly.

He decided to grant your wish and gently sucked his lips around your clit, observing your reaction carefully.

Your back arched even more as a loud moan escaped your lips. Your hands slid down instinctively to meet his palms on your hips; you placed your hands on top of his rough ones. "I've never felt anything like it..."

His fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing your hand. Khonshu didn't respond to your words, but he continued to eat you like a starving man.

Your moans became louder; you barely could bear the tight knot forming in your abdomen. "Khonshu, my Lord, please, I want more!" You begged, holding stronger onto his palms.

"Is that so, my little priestess? And what do you want?"

You bit your lip. "I want to do this, but I've never... You'll have to guide me, my Lord."

"Do what? Use your words or I won't please you," Khonshu continued the teasing.

You propped yourself on elbows and looked at him; he looked perfectly sweet with his head between your thighs. "I want you to take me, my Lord."

He got off the altar and began to completely undress himself, tossing the pants and Marc's boxers to the side. Then he returned to you and wrapped your legs around his waist tightly.

Of course, you watched him with your heart beating fast and strong within your chest, like a tiny animal trapped in a cage trying to escape danger. When he removed his boxer shorts, his already rock-hard cock sprung free and stood proudly against his abdomen, making you blush and gasp. You did just what he expected you to do. With a moan, you pulled him into a kiss. "My Lord..." You whispered. "I'm all yours."

"Of course you are. You're my sweet, little priestess," Khonshu agreed, gently pushing inside of you so as not to injure you too much with his force.

You rolled your eyes back and let out a quiet scream mixed with a moan, your eyes close shut and you hissed at the sudden feeling of being stretched out painfully. "Ah!"

Khonshu smiled wryly as he observed your body's reaction to him. Your little whimpers and arched back were adorable. He'll definitely miss it once Marc is back in charge.

You wrapped your palm around one of his hands placed by either of your sides, then looked up at him, right into his eyes. "It.... hurts and stings..."

His palm moved over your belly and lover. "Hush. Just breathe, relax."

You followed God's instructions and went a little quiet. It didn't last long though - the pleasure and knot developing in your abdomen were impossible to ignore, igniting the lust in your soul. Your palm squeezed his hand, and other one wrapped around his neck as he kept on thrusting into you. Soon, you were moaning for him like all those whores you've heard about from your friends visiting public houses.

"You're a good girl. My dear priestess. You will be the only person to ever experience this," Khonshu murmured as he began to move his hips carefully while still stroking your belly with his calloused palm.

You looked at his face; the man whose body the god was using was dangerously handsome, with dark, brown eyes and fluffy, dark hair. "Kiss me," you whispered.

He couldn't say no to you, so he pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your whimpers and moans as he quickened his pace.

With a loud moan and overwhelming dizziness, you rolled head back when the kiss broke and let him fuck you the way he wanted. You wrapped your legs around his waist to guide him deeper into your dripping cunt.

He continued to fuck you hard and deep, kissing you on the neck. "My tiny priestess. You're taking good care of your god."

Holding tightly onto his neck, you moaned loudly. "Can we, ah! Try some else? I want to be on top."

Khonshu chuckled proudly before flipping you both over so you were on top of him. His hands were pressed against your hips, squeezing the tender flesh.

You began rolling your hips, smacking them back and forth, resting both hands against his broad chest, quietly moaning whenever his cock hit the right spot within you. "It feels divine, so good."

"Good. Excellent work. Please me, little priestess," Khonshu praised you, moving his body slightly to match your movements.

You increased your movements, moaning louder and louder. After leaning forward, you placed your palm to one of his cheeks and kissed him deeply, your tongues dancing together in a slow, passionate dance. "I feel so full, it's unbelievable."

"This is insignificant. I will continue to fill you up, little human. You'll be so full of me that you'll never forget how it feels," Khonshu assuredly moved his hand to your clitoral region. He began to play with your bundle of nerves, watching your reaction.

Your curses filled the chamber; your head rolled back and your pace quickened. His clit teasing didn't help at all, it only heightened the sensation. With a loud scream, the knot in your abdomen ruptured, and incredible wetness floated down, coating his member still buried within your tight cunt. "Oh, fuck!"

Khonshu continued to praise you while thrusting into you in order to quickly fill your nice, tight cunt with his hot load. He used all of his strength to flip the two of you again, to pick up the pace even more, chasing his own release; he hadn't felt so needy and desperate in centuries. When your pussy was still clenching around his shaft rhythmically, his cock throbbed painfully, triggering his orgasm, and he spilled all of his warm seed deep into you with nothing but a curse rolling off his parted lips. ”Fuck. Fantastic. My precious, little priestess. You made your god happy."

You tried to raise your body to kiss him once again. The wetness in you was unbearable and you didn't really want to move to not get rid of the pleasant feeling of warmth and thickness.

While returning the kiss, he almost purred into it. His arm wrapped around your waist with a soft hum, his hand gently tucking some of your hair behind your ear, and he grabbed your chin to take one more good look at you. "You're a lovely, little thing. Even though it was your first time, you did not let me down."

"Did I do well, my Lord?" You asked in a soft tone, putting your head to his chest; his cock still buried in you. "You've made me the happiest person alive, my Lord. I'm grateful and I will never forget it. Can I just have one question?"

"What is it, my beautiful?”

"Can you take me with you? I will give my life to serve you in the afterlife."

"This isn't going to happen," he said simply, playing with your hair. "There are some things I need to take care of myself. Besides, I require the presence of my priestess here."

"My Lord, will I ever see you again then? Or was I daydreaming?"

"If you serve me well, priestess, I will visit you again, and you weren't daydreaming, I assure," Khonshu said as he kissed your cheek. "You are mine now."

"I've been yours since the day I was born, my Lord," you shivered, grumping quietly at the emptiness as he pulled his dick out. As quickly as possible, you put your robes on, gaze lowered to not bother Khonshu.

Khonshu slowly sat up and began gathering his belongings in preparation for dressing up. "Are there any more requests, little one?"

"How could I request anything from you, my Lord? Your wisdom and presence is the best thing that happened to me, my Lord Khonshu. I, your faithful priestess, will preach your word even harder."

"And this shall grant you my visit again," Khonshu's laughter spilled all over the chamber.

Marc awoke in his bed, perplexed as he had never been before. He was uneasy and felt bad in general.

He remembered going to see Khonshu's followers, but there was a gap in his memory. "Khonshu! What the fuck?! How come I can't remember anything!"

The god appeared, sitting on the bed, holding the staff. "We came across my followers, led by a dedicated, young priestess. What did you expect?"

"That I will remember a fucking thing!" Marc growled loudly.

"We took part in a little ritual. Don't bother yourself with that. Did you rest?"

"I guess," Spector muttered, rubbing his forehead. ”Shall I be worried?"

"Why?"

"I have no recollection of anything. Who knows what you did while in control of my body."

"Who do you take me for, Marc? Have you forgotten? Your body is mine, you agreed to that on your own."

"Still, you took control of my body and played with it like a puppet," Marc shrugged and flopped back onto the bed, slipping hands under his head.

"As I said, your body belongs to me. And if you only saw her," Khonshu said quietly to himself. "We'll get back there eventually. To keep my followers focused, I must remind them from time to time who they worship."

𝓓𝓪𝔂 8 - A Concept Of Desire || Khonshu x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: In the wake of centuries of longing, Khonshu realizes that the girl who works with his avatar, Jake Lockley, is responsible for rekindling his hidden desires.

Warnings: smut (unprotected p in v, hair pulling)

Word count: 1757

Author: Rouge

A/N: the prompt for today is: Hair Pulling orange italics - Jake speaking Spanish

The concept of desire was defined as a psychological force that ultimately fabricates a need, a craving, or lust, most commonly and aptly associated with a sexual longing.

Khonshu's situation was no different. He could say with great certainty that nearly all males have experienced this torment. The unbridled desire for sexual pleasure ran through his veins. A burning sensation in Khonshu's stomach, a reminder of the hunger he could not satiate, the thirst he could not quench. Khosnhu sometimes felt woeful - he always thought he was above the basic human instincts, the primal needs that people eagerly sought. Yet there he was, engrossed in his own desires, centuries old longings still unfulfilled.

As you walked into the bar each week to meet Jake Lockley, 8 pm - his nostrils flared, his pulse soared - physiological reminders of Khonshu's desires and cacoethes.

This week was no different, Khonshu was at the bar, invisible to all but Jake. The week was like all others that came before, that evening was no different; but when you and Jake locked eyes like you did those many moons ago, the fire in Khonshu resurged - he was never to have you as you were just a mortal being, but he couldn't deny his inner desires, burning himself like a blazing fire, his imagination running wild as his glance moved along the curves of your figure.

You were a smaller woman, you were perhaps 160 centimeters tall, but the heels you wore were so deceptive - and Khonshu realized with astonishment that he was quite attracted to women of smaller stature.

The shoes paired perfectly with your seductive black, garter leg wraps. The tight leg straps highlighted your healthy skin, your perfectly toned legs flowed into a stunning red-velvet corset-dress that hugged your bust and curves perfectly. He looked up at your matte, red lips; your smoky eyeshadow highlighted your beautiful Y/E/C eyes, which transported him to a place of ecstasy, a realm of euphoria. In a way, it was as if you had fallen from heavens and reminded mere mortals what it would be like to be sculpted by the Gods. Beauty is, and forever will be in the eye of the beholder, Khonshu reminded himself.

Khonshu knew that lust could last for months, years, even centuries. In spite of this, his passion seemed to have been brewing for only a few weeks, five, maybe six - when his mind was torturing him, he lost track of time. Despite not brewing for that long, his concoction of lust was explosive and effervescent. 

Thoughts of the good, the bad, and the naughty whirred through Khonshu's mind as a sense of controlled panic overcame him as he finally locked onto a more clear-cut image in his own subconscious and plunged into his own imagination as he remained trancened by your hypnotic gaze.

If Khonshu were mortal, he would love nothing more than to sink his inquisitive fingers, adventurous tongue, and plump lips between your legs.

With his venous and vascular hands, Khonshu would stroke one of your breasts, kissing the trail from your navel to your abdomen. Besides twirling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, he would wrap his lips around your other nipple, flick it, and swirl your areola clockwise with his tongue. After incorporating some teeth, Khonshu will continue ascending towards your neck. Your hair would be brushed aside in a loving and caring manner. Khonshu would nibble on your earlobes while moaning and whispering in your ear; sweet nothings and dirty talks echoing in your ear canal.

Taking another deep breath, Khonshu reabsorbed himself into his vivid imagination once more after a brief lapse in concentration as he listened to your conversation with Lockley about yet another target. The god was thinking about the morning after.

It would be heaven spooning you. His cock would be squeezed between your legs tightly due to its stiffness and fatness. 

You would send shivers down his spine as you scratched his abdomen with your velvet, red, and freshly manicured nails. During the time that his lips would feel comfortable on yours, the veiny ridges on his cock would stimulate your pussy, allowing your tight, little, sweet-nectar slit to do its job and coat his hardened shaft with your slick wetness. Khonshu would gently pull back your hair, a good clump in his tight fisted hands; he would tug at it harder and harder if you didn't protest. The stout lips of his mouth would trace the back and side of your neck as he kissed you, once again whispering sweet nothings and dirty teases - what he was going to do to you, how he was going to enjoy you and your gorgeous body.

Khonshu would detach his hips from you after a while to angle his body to tease the slit with his swollen cock, already glistening in his pre-cum. In slow motion, his digits would explore every curve around your waist, rubbing your clit occasionally as well. "Do you think you deserve this?" Khonshu would whisper softly into your ear. Determined to get as deep as possible, he would pick up your smaller frame and throw you passionately onto the bed again. While your legs rested over Khonshu's broad shoulders, he would kiss down the inside of your thighs. His one hand would be placed at the base of his shaft, angled downward to push his cock inside you slowly, while his other hand would be placed on your clit to rub it gently.

He would push deeply into your pussy, then trace his fingers up your neck, wrapping them around it possessively, before leaning forward to change the angle of penetration and pushing even harder. He would reach up and grab a handful of your hair. By wrapping it around his hand and holding your hips in the other, he would drive his dick into your waiting pussy. After pulling out his shaft, he would slap it on your pussy lips, which would elicit a grunt from your parted lips. A delicious, wet echo would emanate from Khonshu's hefty cock in harmony with your beautiful slit.

Khonshu would then turn you over and push you to your knees. Pushing your head into a pillow, you would try to muffle the whimper of pleasure as he again slipped his length into you. Khonshu would lean forward to yank his arm around your waist, to play with your nipples, as his torso rested on your arched back. In the process, he would grab your hair and pull it tightly into a ponytail, causing you to roll your eyes while a moan escaped your lips as he pounded into your pussy from behind. Khonshu would pull your hair harder the harder he thrust. You would try to escape the position for a pleasure so primal and intense would overwhelm your body, setting a knot in your abdomen that was so tight it was only a matter of time before it snapped. You would be drawn to Khonshu by his hand in your hair, hardly tugging. “And where do you think you’re going, Y/N?” He would groan angrily. “Better be a good girl and stick your ass more to me, otherwise I’ll have to rip your hair off.”

His lower torso would smash into your magnificent arse as he grasped your hip tightly with one hand. He would use his hands not only to compliment each thrust and pull you in deeper, but also to create red handprints on your ass. Khonshu would pull at your hair and spank your ass occasionally. Whenever you tried to lay your chest on the bed, he would tug on your ponytail, urging you back into a position that would allow him to penetrate deeper into your pussy. 

The urge to release his load would tighten his balls and make his cock twitch.

Your moans would become louder. "Harder! Fuck me harder!" You would plead.

Having no choice but to obey his desires, the dam would be broken and his cum would be released; his seed filling your pussy, dripping from your body when he pulled his cock out.

After the intercourse, Khonshu would cuddle your face against his chest.

Khonshu's reverie was interrupted by Jake's thick accent, "Khonshu? Are you even listening?"

The Egyptian God of the Moon tilted his skull head slightly, looking at Lockley. "Could you please rephrase that, Jake?"

As Jake frowned, he put his hand on his gear lever as the idiot driving in front abruptly braked. “Por Dios, ¿y ahora qué te pasa?”

Despite not even intending to reply to Jake, Khonshu asked simply, "What was your question again?"

After Jake parked the limo in front of his apartment, he turned off the engine and placed his arm around the headrest of Khonshu's seat. "I was wondering if it would be okay if Y/N stayed here for a day or two. Since we're working together on that guy, it would be easier, you know, ol' bird."

Khonshu poked Jake with his beak on the shoulder. “You can trust me when I say I have no objection to Y/N visiting us, my friend. She might stay as long as she needs to."

The frown on Jake's face deepened; he could not persuade Khonshu to let him bring a girl into the apartment for a date or just a friendly meeting. The situation is dangerous, more for her than for us, Khonshu would argue. Jake pulled the keys out of the ignition switch, asking, "Since when are you so willing to let extraños into nuestro apartamento?"

Khonshu shrugged his shoulders in response, exiting the car quickly. "If we want to deliver the vengeance soon, we've got a lot of planning to do."Jake watched the tall, lanky figure enter the apartment and disappear into the darkness. A smile spread across Lockley's face. In spite of being Khonshu's avatar and not much else, he knew things. It was little known to Khonshu that Jake was able to sense god's true, hidden feelings, especially those that were so intense. The smirk on Jake's lips did not fade as he stepped out of the limo to join Khonshu. In order to complete the job, Jake was willing to do whatever it took to lure you into his apartment. In addition to planning, this was also a way of releasing Jake’s own male greed. Perhaps Khonshu would also be able to make use of his hidden lust.