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#god marc what's wrong with you
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moonshynecybin · 2 months
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Vale forcing himself to be physically close to Marc when he can (arms around him in parc fermé, hand at the small of his back on podiums, tucking Marc to him after they've knocked champagne bottles, etc etc) and someone (Alex? JL?) pointing out to Marc that the photos/videos are not much different than the ones that were being taken of them pre-Sepang 2015 (except back then Marc was always the one looking on Vale when he wasn't looking and now it's the opposite) (none of them is noticing that)
screaming at this..... the official motogp instagram account posts like. a picture compilation of vale doing a marc-style little freak stare at him in a bunch of recent press conferences and smooching him on the temple on the podium and grabbing his waist in parc ferme with a caption like. LOVE IS LOVE <3 get someone who looks at you like @ valeyellow46 looks at @ marcmarquez93 hashtag pride hashtag motogp. and marc sees it and stares at his phone for a full 30 seconds blankly systematically shutting down every single one of his emotional responses. cannot believe this is his life. so close to what he wants but he still thinks its fake and that vale hates himmmmm
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romanken · 2 years
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Compilation of. Something
#still in hell in case ur wondering.#its all a journey of understanding. trying to know and learn new life. trying to overcome barriers of language and culture. trying to#discover the truth of the mission gone wrong. trying to understand a man who fears he can never be understood!#it all happens because they sing... because they sing and we have to know them. because in the whole wide expanse of the universe there is#something like us and we have to know them. we have to understand#i will learn if you teach me! emilio is so full of hope and joy for the future he wants to know and learn and understand. and then it all#gets turned on its fucking head. and originally everything that grows wrong is because emilio wanted to understand. and then its because he#fails to. he eats children because he cannot understand. marc dies and his hands are destroyed because communication fails.#jesus. and then. it. happens and he is desperately trying to know why this would happen to understand why god would allow it and it breaks#him. and all he wants is to stop understanding to stop learning to make it all go away. 😁🔫. and then when he finally gets home and its#supposed to be over everyone just wants. they want what he used to want: to understand and to know. and how can he possibly give that up#how can he communicate that in any way that matters. because it wont make anything better and it wont fix what happened to him#and they cant they cant understand all they can do is offer forgiveness. absolution. and hope that can be enough!#the sparrow
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fettuccin-e · 5 months
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Man in the Mirror
Kinktober Day 19: Voyeurism
Tags: Marc Spector x Reader x Steven Grant, afab!fem!reader, consensual voyeurism, unprotected piv (pls wrap it in real life omg), dirty talk, slight degradation, Steven watches Marc fuck you through a mirror idk what to tell you (w/c: 1K)
A/N: Back with the boys because I love them and I cannot help myself okay!!! And this is consensual, even though Steven doesn't exactly know it at the beginning, he just thinks he's being a perv. But in my fics, everyone is a perv alright! (this month I have been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)
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Steven knows it’s wrong, God, it’s fucking wrong, but it’s like he can’t stop himself.
There’s something about the way Marc fucks you, the way you scrabble at the bedsheets when the shoves you into a lewd arch, his hand pressing into your back. The way you moan for it, heaving breaths into your lungs. It’s the way Marc talks to you through it, talking to you like you’re the filthy one, like you’re the one who’s desperate for it, even though Steven knows it’s both of you.
“God damn, baby,” Marc snarls, fucking into you hard enough that tears are starting to leak down your cheeks. “You’re fucking sucking me in, sweetheart. Feels good, huh? Getting fucked like you need?”
“Yes, fuck, yes,” you gasp through the moans he forces out of your mouth with every thrust. “It’s so fucking good, Marc, you’re so fucking deep.”
Steven should stop, right now. Go hide in the headspace, go to sleep and let you both have some privacy. Fuck, he's as naked as Marc is right now, he should feel exposed, have some god damn decency. But it’s like he’s stuck in place, staring in through the mirror as Marc rips you apart in ways he’s never dreamed to. It’s fucking addicting to watch the way your eyes roll back, the way your ass smacks back against Marc every time he shoves himself in, in, in. He reaches down to his bare cock and squeezes, unable to help it.
You’d only put this mirror up a week ago, and he hadn't even thought about the positioning of it. It’s placed on the wall right across from the foot of your bed, and fuck, he can see everything. He hadn’t noticed, hadn’t thought about this view when he had helped you set it straight, Marc coming into view in the reflection and smirking at Steven like he knew something he didn’t. Steven had brushed it off.
He shouldn’t have fucking brushed it off.
Because he’s sure, almost fucking positive, that Marc had somehow known. He’d known that Steven would watch, just like this, how Marc takes care of their girl. How he destroys you in ways that Steven can’t even think up on his own. It’s a special kind of torture, seeing you like this and not feeling it, not feeling you.
Marc’s thrusts are brutal, violent like the man himself. He treats you with so much care normally, Steven has seen it, but this isn’t gentle in the least. And you love it, crying out and drooling onto your sheets as Marc rips you to pieces, pulling you back onto his cock with thick fingers digging hard into your hips. He’s not sure how long he’s been watching intently, unable to tear his gaze away, when he sees Marc’s head snap up.
Looking right fucking at him.
Steven should go, disappear from the consciousness entirely, but it’s like he’s glued to the spot, his gaze locked with Marc’s. Marc’s thrusts don’t stutter, don’t stop, and you’re blissfully unaware as Marc watches Steven watch you.
Until Marc grins like the bastard he is, and leans down to mutter, just loud enough for Steven to hear, “Guess who’s here, gorgeous?”
“Wh-what?” you gasp through Marc’s unrelenting thrusts.
“He’s watching, baby,” Marc smiles, glancing up at Steven. “Just like you wanted.”
You wanted- you wanted? Steven’s breath catches in his throat, he’s pretty sure his heart stops fucking beating. 
“Steven,” you moan like it’s been punched out of you. “Steven’s here.”
“He’s watchin’ in that mirror you put up, sweetheart,” Marc says, “Watching me fuck you.” Steven is flushed beet-red, he knows it, but still, he watches. “Look at him, baby,” Marc growls, “Fucking look at him.”
Marc reaches up and curls a fist into your hair, tugging your head up to look straight into the mirror, straight at Steven. And God, you’re beautiful, tears falling down your face, your lips plump from the way you’ve been biting at them. You can’t see him, Steven knows that, but you look anyway, like you really can.
“She wanted this,” Marc snarls, and you clench your eyes shut, like you want to hide from Steven’s gaze. “She put that mirror up, hoping you’d watch like this. Wanted me to watch you both too, Steven.” You whine, and Marc’s thrusts seem to get even harder. “Our baby’s a little slut, just wants someone to watch her get fucked, isn’t that right, honey?”
“Your-” you gasp, staring into the mirror, like you’re talking to Steven, too. “Your slut, fuck, just yours.”
Marc fucking growls, his hips driving his cock into you. Steven can hear the way your pussy squishes around him, so wet you’re dripping down onto the sheets beneath you. Your body is covered in sweat, glinting in the light, practically glowing.
“Gonna let him fuck you after this, baby?” Marc grits, “Fucking whore for this cock, can’t get enough.” You slur a stream of yesyesyesyes as Marc reaches beneath you to start rubbing furiously at your clit, and you tremble beneath him.
“C’mon, gorgeous, cum for me.” Marc glances up at Steven. “Cum for both of us.”
Your eyes go wide, your mouth gaping open around a silent scream as you gush down Marc’s cock, body shaking as Marc fucks you through it, letting out a strangled groan of his own. Steven is hard as a fucking rock, straining against his stomach, begging for your touch. He watches as Marc thrusts deep and stills, his eyelids fluttering as he pumps you full of his cum.
You slump into the sheets, and Marc slides out of you, leaning down to kiss down your spine, muttering little praises of “such a good girl,” and “took it so well, looked so pretty,” into your skin. You roll onto your back, tugging Marc down to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Marc smiles against your mouth, and Steven feels that familiar pull to the front.
He shuts his eyes, and when he blinks them open again, you’re smiling up at him, reaching up to brush a reverent hand across his jaw.
“Enjoyed the show?” you whisper, and Steven can’t help the way he grins, the way his heart flutters.
“More than you know, darling,” he mutters, and leans to lick into your mouth. “Got to give Marc a show now, yeah?”
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mgparker · 2 months
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Come Back to Me
Marc Spector/Steven Grant x F!Reader
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Summary: Mark leaves on a mission for Khonshu while you deal with a confrontation of your own. Unfortunately, this particular foe is aware of your specific skill set and uses your weakest spot to deliver a fatal wound. Laying there defenseless and abandoned, your final desire is to speak to the love of your life one last time.
warnings: ANGSTTTT!! (the fav), character backstory, flashbacks, character death, reader wound, sadness, despair etc etc, cliffhanger
masterlist!
“M-Mark?” Fuck. Fuck. Your voice was wobblier than you had expected.
“Baby?” You heard some shuffling. “What’s wrong?”
You pulled the phone away to clear your throat. “Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart. I just wanted to hear your voice.”
Despite your assurances, he wouldn’t be fooled. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” you breathed. “Yeah, I just wanted to talk.”
The pain was spreading from your side, crawling through your torso like deadly vines. It was nearly blinding. Pulling the phone away from your mouth, you tried to steady your breathing.
This isn’t how you wanted to go. Whimpering in pain and regretting every decision that got you here.
No. What you wanted was to hear your lover’s voice one last time. The warm timbre of his essence. Your favorite sound in the entire world.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” He pressed. “Where are you?”
Your man was nothing if not stubborn. “Yes, baby. I’m okay—“ you really weren’t. “What—what did you do today?”
Marc sucked in air through his clenched teeth, gripping his phone with white knuckles. “It was meant to be a surprise, but I’m coming home for a few days… our leads haven’t gotten us anywhere and Khonshu believes we just need a comfortable place to think.”
You would’ve scoffed at that if your chest and throat weren’t on fire. Khonshu believes?
The big bird knew what Marc would be returning to. He knew you were lying in a pool of your own blood.
The thought sent a surge of panic through your body, even as the pain was beginning to overwhelm you. “No! Uh—um you— you’re already so close. W-what are you stuck on?”
Tears welled in your eyes, it felt like a blazing iron rod was being shoved into your chest and dragged up slowly until every organ could feel the flame.
It was silent on the other end for a heavy moment, before Marc’s deep voice hesitantly spoke your name. His tone lifted, suspended in question.
A shake courses through you, fear beginning to blossom in the pit of your stomach. The last thing you wanted was for him to panic… and now you’re beginning to panic as well.
You weren’t ready.
A sob broke through your lips before you could stop it. As if you even had the strength to.
“Marc,” you sobbed, turning your head to gaze at the phone beside you. As if it would give you one last glimpse at the love of your life.
His breathing picks up frantically. “Where are you? Tell me now.”
On his end, fabric is wrapping around his body at a faster rate than it ever had before. He could feel the strength of Khonshu enter him, the god’s presence filling the void.
The corners of your vision darkened and just when you thought you’d scream from the pain— it was gone. Miraculously, you felt nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Your heart dropped.
“I’m sorry,” a daze washed over you. There was nothing else to do but wait. A forlorn smile graced your paling face. “I’m so sorry, baby. There isn’t much time left.”
“What time?! Stop this shit, where are you? I can make it there as soon as you tell me.”
“There’s not enough time,” you pressed. You were coming to terms with the distant bright light that was supposed to be illuminating your vision.
You would’ve wished that that was what you were seeing as you drifted off, but one wish stood above all the others—
Your desire to be with Marc and Steven.
You barely notice the frantic yelling on the other end of the line before you’re cutting it off weakly.
“I—“ you go to clear your throat but the numbness had spread too far now. “I love you. Every part of you, baby. I just— I just wanted to hear your s—sweet voice one last t-time. Okay? I love you…”
The last word died on your tongue. And the darkness had taken over before you could hear Marc’s broken response.
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A strangled yell left Marc’s lips. His stomach was knotted. The shadow of Khonshu appeared in his peripheral vision.
But Marc was rooted in his own grief. His lips were quivering, snot mixing with salty tears as he bared his teeth, shaking from the pure emotion of it all.
Why wasn’t he home? He had vowed to protect you, shield you from the horrors of the world— his world— but it wasn’t enough.
He couldn’t be there all the time, and you’d always reassured him that it’d be okay. That you didn’t feel like you constantly had to look over your shoulder, you didn’t want Marc or Steven to spend every second of their life protecting yours.
It’s his fault. God, the thought made him choke. Hands flying up to grasp at his throat as if he could stop it from tightening. It’s all his fault.
Maybe—maybe it’s not too late. Maybe, just maybe, you’re alive.
He could still feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder. “Take me to her.”
It’s silent. The wind breezing past his ears, the serenity of the night sky brazenly mocking his wild panic.
“Now, Khonshu!” He spun around quickly, voice wavering in rage.
If it hadn’t been for the God’s power over him, Marc would’ve been with you. The only person who truly matters to him in this world.
By some beautiful twist of fate, Khonshu unexpectedly relents, nodding his giant head in the direction of a portal.
Marc couldn’t find it in himself to thank him, everything else had faded away until all he saw was your mangled body on the other side of it.
His feet took him across the rooftop at an immeasurable feet, practically flying over the distance, until his surroundings had changed completely.
“No,” he cried, dropping to his knees painfully. Shards of glass pierced his skin as if he weren’t already bleeding out with you. “Baby? Baby, wake up. Wake up!”
Your body was lifeless in his arms, and the embrace felt strange, nothing like how you’d lay in his arms at night. Fingers gripping his necklace loosely, head tucked into the crook of his neck… legs tangled with his as if your bodies were one.
Blood left a trail from your nose to your chin and shaky hands went to wipe it away before pausing in midair to hover over your face…
“Love?”
Bewildered, Steven nearly gave himself whiplash as he snapped his head away from the sight of your bloodied body.
And despite wanting to run away, his hands tightened around your frame, his lungs failing.
Everything burned, his chest, his stomach. God, his arms and legs were going numb.
And where Marc couldn’t go, Steven went.
Denial.
“Love, come on,” his head has turned to you again but his eyes were squeezed shut. “Wake up. The gag has gone long enough.”
No response. Your laughter wasn’t shaking your frame, your voice wasn’t reassuring him that it’d all been a silly, cruel joke.
“Lovie…” he knew how much you hated the name and despite it, absolutely nothing.
Weren’t you going to argue? Playfully punch him in the shoulder as you giggled at him to never call you that again. Weren’t you going to put on that half-assed angry frown that you always did before smiling and pulling him to your lips?
Weren’t you going to kiss him and tell him everything would be alright?
His heart dropped with the realization that you already had.
You already spoken those words sweetly and he’d dismissed them, twisted them into something rageful when all he should’ve done was pulled you into his arms and never let you go.
“Steven,” you tried, grabbing onto his hands with an unusual hint of desperation. Almost as if you knew something he didn’t. “Sweetheart, it’s going to be okay. Everything is going to be alright.”
The sincerity in your eyes practically sparkled or maybe that was just the pure love that you felt for him. But it didn’t get through to him this time, instead his panic and anxiety twisting his words and actions into something else.
“How can you say that?” Steven stressed. “How can you be so positive all time?! Consider the possibility that maybe sometimes you’re just wrong!���
His soul shattered when he realized… it was the last time he’d ever hear those words.
He hadn’t believed in them and now this happened.
Steven forced his eyes to open slowly.
In the pale moonlight, your face was still as beautiful as the first time he ever saw you.
It was early in the morning; the sun was barely over the horizon and the streets of London were not all too busy for this hour. 
Thankfully for Marc, the little coffee house that was nestled in the array of buildings on Russell Street was practically empty. Save for the steady stream of customers who would fly in and out with a streaming cup of coffee or tea in their hands.
But tucked in the corner of the large window seat was you. 
Exactly as he’d seen you in his numerous hours of laborious research. Hair tucked behind your ears, oversized round glasses slipping off the tip of your nose, lips tucked in concentration, a loose sweater hanging off your shoulders. 
There was a sense of tranquility about you. A stillness despite the bustling customers mere feet from you. 
A girl immersed in her own world; a utopia all within the threads of your pale green sweater, the gentle sway of your feet under the table, the hint of a smile at the corner of your lips.
How odd it was to find such astounding beauty in someone you knew everything and nothing about. 
Because in your little world, you may have been closed off from the reality around you, but an open book to anyone who cared to look. 
And Marc couldn’t see why anyone wouldn’t.
He just hated that he had to be the one to shatter your universe.
“Excuse me,” Marc said when he finally worked up the courage to enter the shop. “Do you mind if I sit here?”
Then you looked up at him and he knew it was a sight he’d remember for the rest of his life, an image that would flash behind his eyelids whenever he closed his eyes.
Your eyes piercingly studied his through your eyelashes for a long moment. The hint of a smile was gone. 
“Sure,” you eventually smiled brightly. 
A dazzling smile that kept him rooted to the spot a little longer than necessary. 
Thankfully, you didn’t seem to mind it. “You’re American?”
Marc finally sat down next to you, gripping his chocolate muffin tightly. “Actually, I’m from Chicago.”
If your chuckle was charming, he couldn’t imagine your laugh. 
“Which is in America, if I recall correctly.”
“You do, it is... in America.” God he needed to work on his social skills. He felt like a bug under a microscope. Partly because of your particular line of work, mostly because you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. 
You shut your book softly. “What brings you to London?”
Marc was sure you would’ve shut him down by now, questioned his intentions or tried to put his ass down. But you were graceful, serene... Seemingly not worried at all about his intentions.
If he’d asked, you would’ve told him that you had a keen eye for vibrant souls. His being one of the brightest you’d stumbled upon. 
“Uh, work,” he replied unconvincingly. “What about you? You’re a fellow American yourself, aren’t you?”
“What gave it away?” You were teasing him.
Maybe he could hear that laugh again after all. “Your accent and the whole sweater thing you’ve got going on? Practically screams California.”
Your laugh was surprisingly booming, genuine. He found himself smiling at the sound of it.
It can’t be this easy to fall in love with someone you just met. 
“It’s New York actually,” you corrected between fading giggles. “Close enough.”
Embarrassment tinted his ears red. “It’s not.”
Smiling widely, you shook your head in agreement. “It’s really not.”
It’s silent for a few moments and just when Marc thinks you’re going to open your book again, you speak softer than before. 
“I’m assuming you sat in my little corner for a reason, Mr. Spector.”
The gravity of your simple statement uncharacteristically flew past his head. Instead, he was a little more focused on trying to hear that twinkling laugh again. 
“What’re you doing?” You rose an eyebrow, watching as the man wildly looked around the space you were occupying. From the two adjoining walls to the wooden round table. 
“Looking for any indication that this is in fact entirely your corner. So far I see nothing except...” There was no way he wasn’t making a fool out of himself but he was in too deep to stop--
The pin suddenly dropped.  
“I didn’t tell you my name.”
A nonchalant expression adorned your face. “People like you don’t seek people like me unless they need something.”
His brain short-circuits. 
“People like me...” Marc repeated, his voice lifting slightly as if almost in question. 
“I’m aware of every single entity within my range whom fit the qualifications of a very secure database. Yelena Belova, Alexei Shostakov, Spider-Man who happens to be around on a school trip...” you listed idly, twirling the little stick that was stained with your hazelnut coffee. “... Marc Spector.”
The rose-colored glasses were slowly slipping off. His years of servitude under Khonshu’s hand began to harden his exterior until he could finally look at you as a threat. Just to be sure. 
“Why would I be on that list?”
You motioned toward the untouched muffin. “Are you gonna eat that?”
“Why would I be on that list?” His jaw clenched.
“Well, why wouldn’t you?” You take a sip. “Moon Knight is an incredibly promising prospect in the eyes of those who protect our world. You’re incredibly powerful.”
Marc scoffed. Is that what he was to you? A potential business deal, a recruit?
“But it doesn’t really matter to me anyway.”
His eyes shot up in interest. The corner of your lips had turned up again.
“I don’t work for any agency anymore,” you explained. “I’m just a girl with an incredible skill set and impressive resume.”
“Humble much?”
There was a knowing twinkle in your eye. “Only when I need to be.” 
Your stares met with a shared interest. As if you two were really seeing each other for the first time. 
To Marc, your beauty was astounding, ethereal. He could only hope that you’d choose to stay in his life.
“I did come for a reason... I have a mission and I could use someone with your specific skill set.”
“You need help.”
“Well, I didn’t say that exactly--”
“It’s what you meant,” you narrowed your eyes playfully. “Thankfully, I’m a woman of the people. But why should I help you?”
“I’m backed into a corner. I’m just trying to do things right in the best way I can. But I need you to trust me.”
“Trust is gained, Spector.”
“Then allow me to earn it.” The mercenary countered.
You allowed your eyes to look over him. At his open grey button up, his ironed white shirt and black pants. His ebony hair, brushed away from his face, sprinkled with a hint of grey. The scruff on his jaw and the brown of his eyes. 
Falling in love with someone you just met can’t be this easy.
Your resolve crumbled and you knew he was going to be in your life for the unforeseeable future. The fluttering in your abdomen pulled you in before you could stop it. 
Not that you wanted to. 
“So what does this mission entail?”
Slowly, a genuine smile curved Marc Spector’s lips, one that you reciprocated with a blinding beauty that made his heart nearly stop.
And as he walked out of the coffee shop that morning, your number scribbled on a note that was neatly folded in his pocket, there was a sudden change... brief but enough for Steven Grant to suddenly find himself on Russell Street. Confused and a bit frightened, but only for a quick moment-- 
Until he turned his head and gazed into the large coffeehouse window...
To see you for the first time, with eyes that had adoringly gazed upon yours for hours. 
And the sight was like a breath of fresh air, filling his lungs with something he didn’t quite know he needed. 
The close-lipped smile that spread from cheek to cheek behind the fist of your closed hand, idle strands of hair that fell to cover your joyous expression, the simple rise and fall of your chest...
And between the moment that he saw you and Marc reemerged to front, Steven Grant couldn’t help but wonder who had made your eyes light up in that way. 
Steven Grant wondered if he had the chance, could he make you happy?
But he couldn’t see the light in your eyes anymore. Eyelids rested over those effervescent eyes and a part of him finally shattered. 
“I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly. Bringing your forehead close to his, his lips tenderly touched your warm skin. “I’m so sorry, love. I’m sorry.”
Softly, as if to not disturb you, he reached for your hand, catching a glimpse of the fading paint job he’d done on your nails before he left last week. 
“I-I-I can’t, I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He couldn’t breathe anymore, gasping against your body as he tightened his embrace. 
Acceptance. 
With a shudder, Marc kept his eyes closed despite the sudden switch. 
This way he could imagine that you weren’t dead, you weren’t cold and lifeless. No, you were alive. Finally squeezing in a nap between your tireless research, hours upon hours at the computer, hacking databases and trying everything you could to help the boys. 
Yes, yes, he could take a moment to indulge in that fantasy. 
Because once he opened his eyes, it was finally over. Marc Spector would have to live without you. 
“How wasteful...”
That pent-up anger reared its ugly head. “What?”
If he wasn’t holding onto you, Marc would’ve committed violence against the god. 
“To let such a valuable asset go would be a pitiful waste,” Khonshu drawled from behind his avatar. 
Marc shook his head at the audacity. “I don’t want to hear this. I--I don’t want to hear this.”
“Perhaps you do, Spector,” the god insinuated. “Feel the warmth of her skin... look at the color beneath her skin...”
This was cruel. “No...”
“Your grief may be premature--” what? “-- her fate lies in no one’s hands but her own.”
He finally looked up. “Stop with the riddles. What the hell are you talking about?”
“Just as I once appeared before you, the goddess Isis requires an avatar. Your lover is still in the fight between life and death.”
Deception was a skill Marc was certain Khonshu had mastered but yet, he found nothing but the truth in his tone. He felt the god’s sincerity. 
Shock stilled his body, mouth slightly open as he stared into the night sky and then slowly back at you.
Despite his aversion to serving a god, the only thought running through his mind was the desire for you to come back to him.
In any way, he’d have you. 
Otherwise, neither he nor Steven would make it. 
“This is up to you, baby,” Marc whispered into your hair. “But fight. Please... fight. Come back to me.”
Please.
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Come back to me.
The voice bounced off the walls of the chamber, echoing until it faded away.
It was the voice that would always bring you back. 
“You have a choice to make,” a different voice reminded you, sweet and smooth. “Be my apprentice and help me restore the world to what it once was.”
You were on the tip of the iceberg, held back from what you’d seen Marc and Steven deal with for years but itching to get back to the broken man that was begging for you. 
“What does that even mean?” You groaned. 
Isis gave you no further explanation than what she’d told you before. You glared at her for another moment before feeling a phantom pain shoot across your body. Well, metaphysical body.
You realized you’re running out of time.
“So I do this or what? Die? I love how you all deal in absolutes,” your snark was still intact. “Any room for negotiation?”
The Goddess of Magic and Fertility towered over you, mighty with large wings that spanned the length of the golden chamber. Eyes that pierced into your soul, quite literally, and a beauty that wasn’t made to be seen by mortal eyes.
It was easy to tell why. Such beauty was captivating, breath-stealing and enough to send any man or woman to their knees.
But yet here you stood, slightly annoyed and about three feet under. 
Unamused, Isis blinked expectantly. 
Please... Air caught in your throat. Baby...
The decision suddenly wasn’t hard at all. 
And it seemed as if Isis knew it as well. 
“Will you be my apprentice and help me restore the world to what it once was?” She repeated.
The other half of your soul was missing and you knew how to soothe the agonizing pain for the both of you…
“Yes.”
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tvgals · 9 months
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*+:。.。 NOT THE ONLY ONE, FOR YOU.
— you find a pair of eyelashes in miles’ room that you’re sure aren’t yours…until you weren’t ..
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you and miles were sat up with each other on his bed watching pitch perfect on your macbook that you brought. you and miles occasionally laughed and talked during the movie, just overall having a good time. that was until you saw a pair of lashes stuck onto his cover, 12mm and jet black. when was the last time you had lashes on? you genuinely couldn’t think. last week you weren’t able to get your lashes done because the girl who did them was out of town…the week before that you had falsies in, but why would miles keep a pair of your lashes from two weeks ago?
“miles.” you say abruptly, visibly startling him. “what?” miles asks, turning to you. “whose lashes is them?” you ask, plucking them off of his covers and examining them between your acrylics. “mami, those are yours?” he chuckles, taking the lash out your hand and looking at it himself. “no the fuck they aren’t.” you say, taking it back from him. miles falls into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. how is this funny?! miles has an anonymous pair of lashes on his bed and he won’t tell you where they came from and he’s laughing? you huff and get off of his bed, sliding on your uggs and grabbing your marc jacobs tote back, shutting your macbook and shoving it into the bag.
“baby, don’t leave!” miles whined, wiping tears from his face. “nope, you obviously got some other hoe over here. i’m finna go home.” you shrug, taking your phone off of miles’ charger and walking out the door. you can hear miles’ groan from the hallway while you were walking towards the door, you hear his bedroom door open and miles is following behind you. you stop at the door and turn to face him, thank god his mom isn’t home. “what do you want.” you say, lookin at his phone in one hand and the lash in the other.
“mami, look at this picture.” miles instructs you, turning the phone screen into your face, showing a picture of you and him where you were kissing his cheek, an annoyed look on his face. but the real picture here, were the lashes on your lash line. 12mm, jet black. shit. “what about it?” you ask, acting like you didn’t know what he was talking about. “y/n, these are yours,” miles says holding up the false eyelash. “we literally took this picture two weeks ago.” you take your shoes off, again, and hug miles.
“yeah, you right.” you giggled. i mean, sure you were tripping just a little bit, but your boyfriend was always there looking out for you. even if you were in the wrong.
— written with BLACK READER in mind .
TAGLIST :— @looking4chanel @draculara-vonvamp @therealcees-blog @laylasbunbunny @lovelytayy @d7n3 @deadgirlkisses @darkknightpeanutbagel @thecoloredpages @xricly @chinaza444 @princesslilisworld @baboon-milk333 @marcelineormars @mxspiderman2099 @ts1mp0ne @23victoria @stevenknightmarc @laaailuh @madz-rulez @planetspiderzz @chinieh @asensitivecookie @tourbug @anikaluv @mainvamp @strawberryshortcake143 @spectr3inl0ve @anitatvd @yuckyygutz @janaeby @millerworld @milesmoralesesposa
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astroboots · 2 months
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Kiss Me Again
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CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS
Summary: You discover that Marc has a thing for lipstick
Content: Marc blushing -- Oh mai, domestic shenanigans, lotsa yearning, creampie, explicit sex babeh.
Credit: Inspired form Leslie's gorgeous Love Mark series and in particular this beautiful image. Part of the @moonknight-events Bingo scorecard Challenge: Morning After.
Word count: 3.5k
ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS’ MASTERLIST |MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST
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There is something about waking up in the morning to the sight of Marc standing in the kitchen.
The sight of that wide back turned to you. His firm shoulders fill out that t-shirt oh-so-perfectly, and you can make out the rounded curve of his bum practically bursting out of his jeans. The familiar rigid stiffness that is stitched into every nook and cranny of his frame while he's standing in front of the stove cooking you breakfast.
It's Sunday today, which means the familiar warm and breadlike smell of pancakes permeates the attic flat. It also means that Marc has let you sleep in.
God, what time is it?
Judging from the brightness of the sun, blinding your eyes, he must've let you sleep in late.
You glance at your wristwatch on the bedside table, squinting your eyes to make out the time.
Fuck! Eleven Twenty-Seven?!?!
You grumble, dragging yourself out of bed, grabbing the neatly folded clothes next to you and pulling them on haphazardly. "Why didn't you wake me? It's nearly noon."
Marc is unmoved by your accusatory tone. He flips the pan with a flashy move, flinging the pancake into the air before catching it with ease, right back into the pan.
"You were tired from last night."
He doesn't turn around, but you don’t need to catch the expression on his face when you can hear the playful smirk in his voice.
And he's not wrong. Marc did wear you out last night. The soreness between your thighs as you're making your way to him would prove as much. As does the state of the bed and its rumpled sheets.
You're practically hobbling your way to the kitchen when you  finally manage to join him and perch yourself on a stool near the counter.
From the corner of your eye, Marc turns ever so slightly until you finally catch the amused wry quirk of his lips in person.
"What?"
He doesn't answer you. Just slides the pancake onto a plate, pouring in more batter into the pan, before he brings your plate over to you. Then he looks at you with that same amused expression.
"What is it?" you ask again. Have you suddenly grown horns on your head? Why is he looking at you like that.
Your confusion only adds to his amusement. A huff (that is borderline a laugh) escapes him as he looks at you with a fond expression.
"You're a mess."
Wow. Rude.
You shake your head, your boyfriend never was known for his manners... This boyfriend at least. Steven has the manners of an angelic saint.
Scanning the space, you spot your handbag that's conveniently sitting on the counter and reach for the small pocket mirror, flicking it open.
A deranged Alice Cooper impersonator looks back at you. Mascara running halfway down your face.
Shit.
Okay, Marc might have a point. Your hair looks like a runaway freight train blazed through it, mascara has run halfway down your face, and your lipstick is smeared all over, vivid red splotches and smears dotting your chin and cheeks. How did you even manage that?
You grab a wad of face wipes to take care of the worst of it. Then you glance back up at Marc. He is in considerably much better shape than you are. Hair combed back, already dressed in his regular t-shirt, with his grey jacket and fitted jeans like it's his designated uniform.
That's Marc for you. Unfazed. Un-rumpled. Untouchable. 
Your Mr. Tidy, who needs everything to be in its proper place, no matter the time and place. It leaves you craving to achieve the unachievable, to make a mess of him.
Always put together. Always in control. Always has the upper hand on you.
Well… Your eyes drift to his honed cheeks and you can't help but grin at the sight. Almost always.
Today, there's a chink in his tidy armour. A red smear on his throat, matching the ones you just removed from your own face. Unsurprising perhaps, given the way you mauled this throat last night.
"You're a mess too," you counter.
He tilts his head questioningly, and you flip the mirror back at him to let him see the damage. 
You expect him to frown. Expect him to grumble and reach for a wipe or scrub off the offending mess with the back of his hand. 
Marc does none of that. Instead he freezes, eyes growing wide as he just stares into your pocket mirror. 
You don't know how long he just stays like that, frozen in place, and you can practically see the little spinning wheel icon indicating that he brain has stalled out over this new input. It’s fascinating. You have half a mind to just leave him be, curious to see how long it takes his mind to reboot, but then you smell something off in the kitchen. Burnt, like smoke.
"Uhm, Marc? I think... the pancakes are burning."
That snaps him right out of it. 
"Shit!" 
He leaps into action. In a split of a second, Marc is back at the stove, yanking the offending pan off the heat. He seems a bit off kilter, grumbling to himself as he carries the whole thing to the bin and starts scraping the burnt remains of charcoal pancake off. 
The whole scene takes you aback. You don't think you've ever seen Marc just freeze like that. What could have happened?
Was it the mirror? Mirrors serve as a neat conduit for communication between the boys. Perhaps Steven or Jake said something that distracted him? 
You watch as he moves back to the sink without so much as a glance in your direction.  Hoping for some insight you hop off the stool and walk up next to Marc, but he stiffens unexpectedly at your presence, ducking his face towards the sink, and avoiding your gaze.
Something is off with him. Something is definitely wrong... and-- 
You don’t see it at first. His head is tilted down, casting a shadow over his cheeks, but you think you see… 
Wait wait wait. Is Marc... blushing? 
You lean in closer, peering over his shoulder to stare at his face. 
"This is distracting. I'm trying to clean," he mutters, tilting his face away from you.
Oh wow!
He is! 
Marc is blushing! 
Your veins buzz at the revelation. You're so excited by this new development, you don't even connect the dots at first.
He's blushing! Why is he blushing? God knows!
But it’s adorable! You need to know how to make this happen again.
Mirror. You need to get the mirror– Or wait, no. That doesn't make any sense does it? It's not the mirror that made him blush, why would it?
You retrace your step. Not the mirror, must've been something he saw in the mirror. It could have been something Steven or Jake said, but…
You think back to the night before. The way Marc’s dark eyes had gone darker, deep and bottomless, as he watched you get ready to go out. The way his eyes never left your face as you talked, always circling back to… your lips.
Excited to test your new theory, you leave Marc at the sink and head for the corner of the counter where you left your bag, fishing around until you can locate the tube of lipstick. 
Yanking off the cap, you nearly end up mashing the red tip with how hard you press it on your lips. That done, you recap the tube and drop it back into the depths of your handbag, and rejoin Marc at the stove where he’s already poured another round of batter into the newly cleaned pan.
He's not looking up at you, eyes glued to the bubbling forming on the half-cooked pancake with strained concentration. But you bet you can change that now that you know what you know.
You tip-toe forward, reaching up to press your lips square centre on his cheek. You keep the contact soft and brief. Just enough pressure that you can make sure you've marked him in red with the shape of your lips.
Marc freezes again bound in shock. His eyes are so startlingly wide, for a moment you could almost mistake him for Steven.
Bingo.
You're grinning so widely it almost physically hurts. "Sorry, I think I got some lipstick on you."
He doesn't respond. If you didn't know better you'd think you'd turn him into stone with that small kiss. But you can see the way his fingers are wrapped so tight around the handle of the pan, the cast iron could crumble from the pressure. 
Oh my, this is fun.
Leaning up you do it again. Pressing your lips to his cheek again, inches from where you had before, just as soft. Just as brief, and watch the red mark join the other one.
Marc tenses up all over again. Slowly but surely, you see that gorgeous crimson spread across his cheeks. It's a fascinating sight. And god, it makes you want to paint every inch of his skin in lipstick red, like a blank colouring book.
It takes him entirely too long before he gathers himself again. Eyes blinking rapidly like trying to wake himself from a drunken stupor, before shock is replaced by that familiar grumpy scowl.
"I'm–" he pauses to clear his throat, "I’m trying to make breakfast here."
"So do it," you respond cheekily, leaning in to kiss him again, "Don't let me stop you"
You keep pressing little kisses to his skin, leaving red lip prints all over and delighting in the fact that his face gets hotter with each one. More than a little bit smug to see the pink flush deepen and spread over his cheeks and down his throat.
For once, Marc-nothing-can-faze-me-Spector is struggling to keep his cool, and you are taking entirely too much joy in being the cause of that. 
You reach up again, hands cupping his cheeks to tilt him to your mouth and press a kiss against his lips until they are stained bright lipstick red. 
Marc remains still, but you can feel the frustration vibrating off the surface tension of his skin.
This time he lets go of the pan, and it clatters loudly back onto the stove. 
You step back to the sight of that familiar irritated glare in his eyes even as he's blushing an unfamiliar bright barbie pink on his cheeks. His thumb hovering over his lipstick smeared bottom lip. 
At first you think he's going to wipe it away. He doesn't. Instead his thumb just lingers over the mark, hand trembling slightly.
"Stop teasing," he grumbles.
It’s meant to be a warning, you’re sure, but all you feel is excitement of what's to come.
There's a saying isn't there? About not poking a bear with a stick. Except in that scenario it’s because you don't want to anger it and have it maul you, and in the present, that's exactly what you want from Marc. 
You step in close again, tilting your face up to deliver another kiss.
All you can hear is a low growl, and then Marc is moving. His hand comes to the back of your neck and reels you into him, so close you can feel the embarrassed heat radiating from his cheek as if it were your own. 
Then his lips are on yours, and joy and love surge through you, blending in a dizzying concoction that makes your surroundings spin. 
You expect his kiss to be harsh and hungry, but Marc continues where you left off, pressing gentle, nearly chaste kisses to your lips over and over again. 
It could almost be innocent if it weren't for the way he's panting against your lips. The way his strong arm wraps around your waist. The way his fingers dig into your hip as he drags your hips against his, crushing you against him until you can feel him—all of him, the length of him hot and hard against your stomach—even through his jeans. 
His hand slides down over your hip to your thigh, one firm palm gripping and lifting to hook your leg over one side of his wide hips so he can grind against you. It's desperate and frenzied, the bulge of his cock slotting perfectly between your legs. Pressing forward until you’re so close that you can feel it jerking against you with each shuddering roll of his hips.
And through it all, he kisses and kisses and kisses you, gentle presses that grow just a little bit harder with each one. It sparks through your veins like an ember, heady and sweet until you think you could melt from it.
His lips drag against your own until finally, he parts them. The slight edge of his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, like he wants to devour you whole. 
And you'd let him. You’d let him bite in and swallow every morsel of you without resistance, but for some unfathomable reason, he… doesn't. 
Instead he stills. Pulls back. Both of you gasping and shaking as you just look at each other.
He doesn't say anything. His gaze drops to your lips, his own parted and trembling.
You're just about to ask him what's wrong, when you realise that nothing is.
You've been together long enough now that you are finally starting to get the hang of hearing the things Marc leaves unspoken. Can read that hesitant look in his eyes and know what he’s thinking.
You know that in this moment all Marc wants is more. That’s what he doesn't know how to say.
Because Marc is still learning to ask for what he wants. And you know that the more he wants something, the less able he is to ask for it. (And the more you want to give it to him.)
And right now, the thing he wants more of is…
"Hang on a tic," you tell him, holding up a single finger. Your voice sounds throaty, but somehow miraculously calm despite the way your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. You reach behind you, scooping up your discarded handbag and plucking your lipstick from it as easy as you please. The small round tube nearly falls into your hand like it's guided by divine inspiration.
Marc's hands tremble on your hips, fingers gripping tight, tighter, tightest until it's almost painful. Somehow that only makes it better.
How many people on this earth can say that they've managed to make Marc Spector tremble?
Somehow your hands are still rock steady. Uncapping the lipstick, you feel his cock jerk hard against your thigh once, and then again as you twist the tube and begin to slick the bright stoplight red onto your lips.
You don't have a mirror. Don't need one. Don’t even have to look to know this is the cleanest application you'll ever manage, for all that your lips were already smeared to hell when you started. Your lipstick is perfect. You can tell by the way Marc is looking at your mouth. Staring at your mouth. Staring at you, like you're a goddess come to life. Every desperate desire he's ever had made flesh, made divine. 
Marc Spector makes you feel divine.
Twisting the lipstick back down, you recap it, barely managing to tuck it away in your bag with hands that are just beginning to shake. Then you reach for him.
Framing his face with trembling hands, you lean forward to press a single, perfect kiss to the corner of his mouth.
"There we go," you manage, before the need for him rises up to swallow you whole and your voice goes ragged, unspooling at the edges.
"Now, Marc. Please, now."
You don't need to say more than that. You watch the muscle in his jaw jump as he grits his teeth.
The ground beneath your feet vanishes in an instant, all you feel is Marc's arms wrapped around your waist as he hoists you up against the nearest kitchen counter. Firm, thick thighs framed against your sides as he presses you down against the hard surface. All you hear is the fumbling and swearing as he struggles to get his tight jeans undone and pushed down because his usually-rock-steady hands are trembling.
You’ve never seen him like this. All of him is shaking, every muscle in his body straining, so worked up he's practically vibrating with need. And you feel it too, his desperation seeping into you like a contagion, until you can barely breathe. Until you feel sick with want for him. 
You reach down to help him with his fly, the material of his jeans sticky against your fingers, his cock jerking under the fabric at your touch.
"Fuck. Baby," his voice is a raw and ragged thing, dragging in his throat like the air from his lungs has been wrenched from him. 
Everything inside you tingles with excitement at his tone. It doesn't matter that you're still sore from last night. That your legs are still wobbly from the pure physical exertion of it. All you want is more. More of this. More of Marc.
Clumsily, you get his zipper down and reach inside. He's hot and hard, the skin velvety smooth and slick, his cock jerking under your touch as you free him.
He shoves a hand between your legs in return, drags the soaked crotch of your knickers to the side, and unceremoniously slides two fingers into you, filling you so perfectly that you gasp at the sensation.
Heat spears through you, your hips bucking forward so hard you nearly fall off the counter, but he's there to hold you down with his weight.
His hips pressing forward. His hand pulls back, knocking yours out of the way so he can grab himself. Line himself up. The slick, fat head of his cock pressing against you. 
It's hurried and frantic. Your head spins from the blood rushing through your head so fast your vision blurs.
Then Marc presses inside. 
His cock is hot. Slipping into you like a fiery brand. Like the missing heart of you coming home. Burning you from the inside out. You both moan, gasping into each other's mouths.
When did you start kissing again?
You don't know. Why did you even stop? You never want to stop.
You can't move. Can’t think. Can't fucking breathe, but it's okay. You don't need to. Don't need anything except this. His cock pressing into you. Lodging itself inside you until it's as deep as it's possible to go.
You gasp again, and your head falls back, breaking the kiss as pleasure spears though you, sharp and blindingly sweet. It’s too much. It’s perfect.
Marc says something as his hips retreat, but you don’t register what it is, barely realise that he’s spoken.
You don’t register he's talking to you, asking you for something, until he stops moving. You whine, clawing at his shoulders because whatever he wants, the answer is, 'yes.'  
"Again," he repeats, and yes, that’s what you want. You want him to fuck you again, but he’s not doing it. Why did he stop?
"Baby," he says, the word scraping its way out of his throat like it's made of broken glass, "Kiss me again."
Oh.
It doesn’t register with you then—not really—the significance of his ask. How unusual it is that Marc is asking you for something that he desperately wants. You’ll remember later. Notice later. But for right now, it doesn't matter, because you want to give him what he wants regardless. You always want to give this man anything and everything he wants.
You lunge forward, his stubble scraping against your lips as you glance off his chin leaving a red smear.
Hot pleasure blooms as he thrusts forward into you.
"Again," he says.
You whine as he pulls back, but you're quicker on the uptake this time. Kissing his throat and get to watch his Adam's apple bob under the red lip print you leave behind, before your vision goes fuzzy with the next overwhelming thrust.
"Again."
You kiss his jaw, and he barely pauses before fucking back into you.
"Again."
His throat, again. and you're rewarded with the hot perfect press of him inside.
"Again."
Everything starts to blur. His words slurring together; your lips barely leaving his skin. The heavy weight of him pushing its way inside you.
You're panting open mouthed against his shoulder, lips sliding and sticking against his skin.
"Again," he demands, even though there's no longer any lull in your movements, 
"Again."  No break in contact of your lips on his skin. 
"Again." No pause in his rhythm.
"Again." No respite from the way the feeling swells. Coils tight, right where his cock is pounding, relentless, into the very centre of you.
"Again."
You can't–
"Again."
Oh god, you’re about to–
"Again. Again. Aga–ngh"
The litany breaks off, words dying, replaced by a strangled groan, when you come hard, your body clamping down, clenching around him. 
Through the waves of overwhelming pleasure, you feel the sting of his blunt fingernails digging in too hard at your hips. Hear the tiny, ragged "Oh. Baby. Fuck." that leaves his lips like it's been punched out of him.
You swear you can feel the heavy weight of him swell inside your still-clenching cunt, and then the reflexive, aborted jerk of his hips, as his cock begins to pulse.
He holds you there, tight against him, or maybe you hold him or both of you hold each other, as you shudder there together for long, endless moments.
When it's finally over, he presses one last, gentle kiss to your lips and pulls back.
You watch, heart so full of love for him that your chest aches, as one side of his red-smeared mouth pulls up in a rare, happy smile.  You trace the corner of it with one mostly-steady finger, and can't help smiling back.
“Well now," you say, once you're certain your voice won't betray you too badly, "I've made quite the mess of you, haven't I?"
Marc's eyes roam over your face. One warm hand comes up to cup your jaw, and you lean into his touch, letting him drag his thumb over your lips. You can feel it sticking slightly on whatever's left of your lipstick, but what does it matter? It's not like he can make it any worse now, is it?
"Yeah," he says. His thumb lingers.  His gaze too. Eyes gone soft and warm the longer he looks at your mouth. "Your mess."
Something constricts in your chest at the words. A deep-rooted, possessive protectiveness that takes hold, then unfurls, spreading everywhere, warm and sweet.  
"Yes," you agree, tightening your arms around his back to pull him closer to you. "All mine."
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A/N a sequel to the angsty Love Bites where Marc gets his yearning fulfilled. @thirstworldproblemss and I wrote this ages ago before Christmas but then we felt that there needed to be more ✨ yeaaaaarning✨ Hope you had fun reading.
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angel-of-the-moons · 4 months
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Small Surprises
Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Single Mother!Reader
TW/CW: Some mentions of past childhood abuse, cheating partner, mostly fluff
A/N: Like the Symbrock one I did, this one will be one whole fic with a few times skips here and there! This fic will also explore a bit more into the autistic side of Steven as a character, based off my own experiences with my autism, tics, habits etc! Also, once again, featuring snippets of the hobby headcanons done by @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction! (I love those headcanons so much they are canon as far as I'm concerned asdfghjkl)
Taglist: @chrishy973 @katitakenway @queerponcho
EDIT: Part 2 is out now!!! Read it here!
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Another droll day at the museum, the same disinterested customers and more nagging from Donna. Honestly, Steven was lucky he got his job back at the museum--though he only surmised it was due to the fact nobody else wanted to work for Donna--but he was grateful for the extra income.
And it definitely helped provide a distraction from Jake's night activities for Khonshu, as well as Marc's from time to time.
But of course, even though it provided a distraction, it wasn't much of one.
That is... until the day a poofy mop of curls bounced into the gift shop, eagerly looking at the wares within with big sparkling eyes. The child couldn't have been older than four--maybe five--as she happily looked at the myriad of items available.
Contrasting to most of the little girls he's seen come in (which, were admittedly few) she didn't immediately run over to the cheap horse figures with the chariots or even the cat plushies.
She went right for things like the plushie scarabs, the statues...
This of course had Donna proverbially chewing her nails as she watched the unaccompanied minor scamper about the gift shop.
"I'm going back to do inventory," She warned Steven. "If she breaks anything, it's coming out of your pay, Stevie."
Steven ground his teeth when she called him that, and waited for her to walk away before muttering. "What little you do pay me, you bloody old biddy."
Steven fixed his name tag and walked up to the little girl, crouching next to her as her chubby little face scrunched in what appeared to be distaste.
"Hey there, poppet. What's got you upset, eh?" He asked, his big brown eyes meeting hers as she crossed her arms with a huff.
"They don't look right!" She complained.
"Oh? What doesn't look right?" Steven asked patiently, a warm smile on his face.
The child pointed to the small canvases and posters of the various Egyptian gods. Namely the ones of Bastet and Anubis, and in particular of the two, one of the canvases depicting Anubis surrounded by shrieking souls and flames.
He himself had raised a complaint with that depiction, as after his own time in the Egyptian afterlife (alongside Marc, and unbeknownst to them at the time, Jake) he knew the afterlife was not like that. While they hadn't met Anubis himself, they were guided and weighed by Taweret.
But he wholeheartedly agreed that the artwork of Anubis was entirely wrong, and frankly, offensive.
"'Nubis isn't like that." She said, stomping her little foot. "He's nice!"
Steven raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head as some stray curls fell over his face. "Oh?" He asked. "Then tell me little one, how is Anubis?"
"He's--!" She scoffed, rolling her eyes in the typical fashion a child does when they feel like they're explaining something painfully obvious to an oblivious adult.
"He's a good dog-man." She says to him. "He doesn't mess with skulls n' stuffs! He's nice, he helps people who might get lost when they die."
'That's a hefty subject for a kid.' Marc's voice spoke.
"No kidding." Jake remarked. "Where are her parents?"
Steven meanwhile, was positively thrilled that one so young understood that Anubis, while being the god of death, was not evil. And... naturally this sent him into info-dump mode.
"Why, yes! Anubis is good." He held up a finger as the little girl looked at him, awe on her face that he understood what she was saying and was willing to actually talk about it.
"He guided souls once they left their earthly bodies." He explained, grabbing a small replica of an Egyptian temple front. "Once their hearts were weighed, if they were good, he would help guide them to the afterlife. If they were bad..."
"They got ate by the crocko-lion!" The girl finished with a gasp.
Steven suppressed the urge to laugh at how she described Ammit. Jake and Marc meanwhile, held no such compunction and were laughing their asses off.
"I like this kid." Jake said as his laughter died down.
"Yes! They did. But did you know they also had to be judged? Not just with the scales?" Steven grinned at her as she bounced on her heels, the palms of her hands rubbing on her coveralls as she listened.
"Now that subject is very lengthy...." Steven leaned over on the flats of his shoes and plucked a small book about the Egyptian afterlife and mythos and showed it to the little girl. The cover was emblazoned with raised gold print; with images of sarcophagi, and motifs scattered on the front and back.
"But it's always worth a good read." Steven continued. "Now, if you want to know someone else who sometimes assists those who've passed on?"
The little girl plucked the book out of Steven's arms, nodding, her eyes tracking the way his mouth and hair moved. Not once did she make eye contact, instead settling for staring at other features instead.
Steven could understand, sometimes looking into people's eyes was... oof. It was difficult and frankly sometimes it made him uncomfortable, made his palms itch and the hair on the back of his neck tickle.
He stood up, and walked to another shelf, the little girl trailing behind him, the book looking three sizes too large for her tiny body as her little light up sneakers squeaked on the waxed linoleum.
Steven reached down, then, and grabbed a plaster statuette of a familiar feminine shape sporting a hippo head and kneeled back down, showing it to her.
"This is Taweret." He beamed proudly.
"She's the nice hippo lady." The child peeped, staring at the statue with rapt attention.
"Yes! Yes, she is! Very nice." Steven chuckled. "But she's also the goddess of motherhood and children, did you know? She protects women when they have their babies, and helps them."
The little girl nodded, "Yeah, I read a thingy 'bout her! She's--"
"Victoria! Oh my god." A breathless voice called from the front of the shop.
The moment Steven lifted his gaze, he could feel his heart catch on his throat when he saw you. Even Marc and Jake went quiet as you approached.
You were wearing some faded-out jeans and a t-shirt with a faded band logo that hugged your figure very nicely. You had a backpack slung over your shoulders and the keychains dangling from it tinkled and clacked as you moved, rushing to scoop up your child.
Steven could easily see that Victoria got her looks from you, those gorgeous inquisitive eyes, her nose, hair texture...
Jake had to give him the mental equivalent of a slap to stop his gawking as he stood up awkwardly, wiping the hand not holding the statue on his jeans as he gave you what he hoped was a charming smile, but judging by your wariness, you obviously weren't thrilled at the sight of your daughter talking to a strange man.
Steven was about to speak up, but Victoria did so instead for him, not reading the tenseness in the situation.
"Steven's my friend!" She beamed, holding the book in her pudgy little fingers, showing you. "He knows about 'Gyptian stuff, too!"
Steven blinked, feeling a blush creep up on his cheeks as you looked at him, raised eyebrows. It took him a moment of awkward glancing away to realize Victoria knew his name because she read his name tag. He hadn't once said it to her. Hell, he only knew her name because you said it when you ran in!
"Ah... Yes. I work here, in the gift shop. Egyptology is a major... um." He struggled to find a word.
"Hyperfixation?" You sigh, the tension easing from your shoulders as you smile tiredly.
"Oh! Yes. I s'pose!" He said, blinking his big doe eyes at you.
"Yeah, Victoria is... well." You chuckle, propping the young child on your hip with practiced ease. "She's obsessed with the stuff! I swear, the stuff she can shove into her noggin with how much she knows of ancient Egypt, it feels like she was born in the wrong era, I'm telling you!"
Victoria smiled happily and snuggled into you, rubbing her cheek on the soft fabric of your shirt with a content hum, almost like a happy little cat.
You didn't pay any mind to her as she rubbed her face on you, instead conversing with the man in front of you.
"Ah... A little scholar to be, eh?" Steven laughed awkwardly.
"Hah, more like she already is one. With everything she knows, I swear she outpaces me in the IQ department." You sigh fondly, brushing a stray curl from your daughter's face.
Steven's eyes anxiously tracked your movements, how your fingers curled, the way your eyelashes brushed your cheeks when you blinked, the way your foot tapped on the floor...
"I'm surprised she talked to you. She's normally very introverted." You hum softly, raising those drop dead gorgeous eyes to lock with his before he awkwardly dropped his eyes to your lips whilst you spoke.
"But then again, if you started talking about this stuff with her, it's no surprise. I'm the only person she talks to about it because nobody else understands."
You noticed his Steven was looking anywhere but your eyes, and how he nervously licked at his lips, his fingers wrapped around the statuette in his hands tapping idly.
"Oh! She's a lovely little conversationalist. Rather well-knowledged as well!" Steven replied, looking at Victoria again, who grinned as she once again rubbed her face on your shirt.
"Honestly, she's more learned than half the adults who try to talk to me about Egypt." He huffed out a chuckle.
His eyes dropped to the picture of Anubis that initially offended the child. "We got into a little debate about how inaccurate those pieces of Anubis are."
"Oh, don't get her started on those inaccurate artworks... She despises them!" You laugh softly.
"Oh, I fully understand why! It's so offensive!" Steven gasped. "Especially to a culture! Anubis is not an evil god by any means!"
"Oh yeah, believe me... we watched a movie the other day and she had a meltdown because they made Anubis the bad guy. She was so distraught it took thirty minutes to calm her down." You smile with infinite patience at your little girl.
"Oh, poor little dear! But I can totally understand that." Steven smiled, finally locking eyes with you as he reached some level of professional comfort with you.
"Mommy, can I get em?" Victoria peeped, interrupting you before you could get another word out.
"Hm?" You hummed at her, raising an eyebrow.
"The book and hippo lady!" She replied, holding up the book.
"Hippo Lady?"
"Yeah!" She said, sounding a little exasperated, pointing to the statue Steven clutched in his hands. "Her! Tawar!"
"Taweret." Steven chuckled softly at her mispronunciation.
"Tawww--" Victoria frowned as she tried to get the word out. "Tawweret."
"Close 'nough. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Steven smiled warmly, holding up the statuette.
"All right, all right." You laughed, following Steven to the counter so you could check out, having another nice chat about what he and Victoria discussed. He even tossed in a little keychain that held a preserved scarab beetle in epoxy, much to Victoria's delight!
What you didn't know as you left the shop, was how positively smitten he was with you already.
That was your first meeting with Steven Grant.
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A few weeks crawled by, and every other day you were at the museum, letting Victoria lead you by the hand as she animatedly discussed what every object or picture meant, and you struggled to keep up, making mental (and a few digital) notes on what she was talking about. Of course, she insisted that after every tour, you stopped to say hi to her new "bestest friend" Steven.
You were thrilled that you found someone who operated on the same wavelength as your daughter, knowing that it was hard for her to make connections with other children, let alone adults. But Steven and Victoria took to each other like ducks to water.
And hey, he seemed harmless enough. Cute, too, beneath that mop of curls. You even started researching more just to be able to tag into the conversations between your daughter and her unlikely friend.
Today, you were at the local grocer and Victoria decided that she wanted to walk with you instead of riding in the trolley on her tablet like she normally did. You were happy, but ensured she kept her noise cancelling headphones over her tiny ears to make sure she stayed comfortable.
You had picked up a pack of steaks to examine the cuts when Victoria slipped your hand free of hers and darted off, squealing, "Steven!"
You almost dropped the steaks when Victoria darted down the aisle and wrapped her arms around the legs of the man she ran towards.
One minute Marc was looking at a box of matzahs, the next, he had a child clinging to his legs.
His whole body froze as he looked down, immediately going rigid as the little girl looked up at him, babbling something he didn't quite understand because of how quickly she was speaking.
He did make out the name "Steven".
"Uh--" He said awkwardly.
"I'm so sorry!" You say, hastily bringing the trolley up to the two. "She just got excited to see you, and..."
Your brows furrowed as you looked at him. He looked like Steven Grant, but he didn't feel like Steven Grant. His normally messy curls were combed back neatly, his flannel hanging open with the sleeves rolled up and T-shirt untucked from his pants. His big brown eyes were wide, looking at you with a face that simply pleaded "Help me".
"Uh..."
"I'm... Marc." He said in an unmistakably American accent.
"Oh. Oh!" You lean down and scoop up Victoria, hastily plopping her in the trolley, willing yourself to ignore her little wobbling lip as you messily search up her favorite video to watch on her tablet to prevent the simmering meltdown you could see just beneath her surface.
"I'm... I'm sorry. You just look like someone we know from the museum, and..." You sigh, rubbing your hands together as you cringed.
"Steven, yeah..." Marc said, giving a stiff smile in return as he dropped the box of what looked like crackers into his basket looped over his elbow.
"You..."
'Play it cool, Marc...' Jake's voice softly warned.
"We're, uh, brothers. Triplets. All identical." He spat out with haste.
"Oh! Well... That's... That explains the looks, huh." You smile, hoping to ease the awkward tension. His explanation didn't sit well with you for some reason, as to why he suddenly blurted it all out. But you chocked it up to him trying to explain to avoid upsetting Victoria.
"But, yeah. Um... Your brother, Steven? He and Victoria are like, best friends now. She looks forward to seeing him whenever we're at the museum." You chuckle softly.
Marc's eyes soften as he smiles, giving Victoria a gentle look. "Yeah, uh, Steven's told me about her. She's a smart kid, huh?"
"Oh, yeah. A real genius." You smile at her as she starts tapping away at her tablet, selecting one of her drawing apps and beginning to scribble.
"Sometimes I can't keep up with her."
"Hey, that's good. She'll go places." Marc replied.
Your smile falters a bit. "Yeah, if people will give her a chance..." You mutter.
Marc was about to ask what she meant, but he kept his mouth shut, watching as Victoria was engrossed with her tablet, her little feet wiggling and tapping on the sides of the trolley as she moved her mouth silently, mouthing words to herself.
"She's... Eh." You rub the back of your neck. "She normally doesn't come to the store with me. She says she can hear the lights buzzing and it upsets her, which is why she has to wear her headphones. I mean I can't hear the lights or anything, but all I need to know is that she can..."
"Yeah, Steven is the same way sometimes. It makes him twitch so he has to wear headphones when we go shopping..." Marc said, frowning.
"Yeah. That's something I'm kind of amazed about. Victoria doesn't really have any friends outside of well, me... and your brother? Steven and her are just... man, they're like two peas in a pod!"
Marc stays quiet as you smile fondly at your child, and he notes the relief in your expression as you recount that your child was able to finally connect with someone. It warmed his heart to know that Steven was able to socialize with someone who shared the same mannerisms, even if she was just a kid.
His eyes flicked down to your hands as you put your hands on your hips, and noted the lack of wedding ring and a ring tan line.
'Focus, cabrón.' Jake snickered.
"She's autistic. It was a pain to get her diagnosed, but we managed. I could tell she was different. Namely how she would act with fabrics." You sigh.
Now that grabbed both Marc and Jake's attention. If Steven were aware and co-fronting, he was sure he would be rapt as well. Steven explained the fabric thing to hime a few times, but being in the same body it was still hard at times to understand that Marc or Jake could feel one thing but Steven could feel another.
"Uh... Fabrics? You'll have to forgive me, but..."
"Oh! It's a sensory thing." You explain, rolling your hand. "With her, it's fleece, or satin-like textures. They irritate her and make her fussy. As a baby I never understood why she flipped out when I would put her little socks on her until the doctor explained it when she was older. But for some people it's cotton, or microfiber... The way Victoria describes it is that it's, uh..."
"Scratchy." Marc murmurs.
"Exactly!" You snap your fingers.
"Yeah, Steven is the same way. Though he's not like that with satin, he usually prefers cotton--the super soft kind? Or silk." Marc nods, shoving one hand in his pocket.
"Yeah... It's thankfully easy to shop for her, she prefers cotton and soft microfiber. It's why she rubs her cheek on my shirts or pants. Some people mistake it for being affectionate--and don't get me wrong sometimes it is--but usually it's a grounding thing." You sigh softly. "It helps her calm down."
"Ah... Sounds hard. What about her dad? He know how to handle it?" Marc asked curiously.
He immediately felt bad when he saw how your expression fell, and you glared at the ground.
"He skipped out on us while I was pregnant. I caught him in our bed with someone I thought was my best friend the day I found out she was a girl." You spit, angry and full of venom.
Marc cringed. "God, your best friend? In your bed? That's a whole extra level of degeneracy..."
"I know! Ugh! I swear, if he wasn't stronger than me I would have stabbed him that day!" You groan.
Marc rocks his head back in shock at the admission. "You were gonna stab him?"
"When you're five months pregnant, hormonal, tired, and sore and walk in on your fiancee doing the deed in your own bed? Yeah, emotions get high." You run a hand through your hair, smirking as you looked back at him.
"Grabbed the knife right outta the block and lunged at him. Chased em both half naked out of my flat."
'Shit, I'd be in love. That sounds sexy as hell.' Marc could just imagine the grin that would be spread across Jake's face at that.
Marc laughed, unable to contain himself, both at the retelling of your story and Jake's remark.
'You got problems, Jake.' Marc shot back mentally.
'Pot, meet kettle...'
'Touché...'
"So it's safe to say, he's out of the picture, huh?" Marc says, his laughter dying down into a soft chuckle.
"Oh yeah. Had his parental rights severed, and kicked his sorry.... well. I tossed him out and told him that my "best friend" could deal with him and his lazy antics, considering I pay for the flat."
"Yikes. Sounds like a real dirt bag."
"Oh yeah, he was. I have no idea what I saw in him, to be honest... And knowing that Victoria isn't "normal" like other kids, I feel like he would treat her badly, or... hurt her." You say, shaking your head.
"Hey, if he shows up and does that just call me." Marc grunted. "I hate it when people do that crap to kids. I'll knock his teeth down his throat."
The words slipped out before he could stop them, and the weight of them almost made them feel oppressive as glimpses of his abusive childhood shone through. The memories of his mother swinging her arm down, the crack of the leather belt, the red, bloody welts in his skin...
'Ay, hermano. Come back, don't think about that.' Jake's voice said gently, urging that door in his mind shut. 'That's not your life, anymore.'
Marc blinked and looked back up at you, his eyes locking with yours. And the concern on your face... he felt so undeserving of it. He wasn't sure why, but...
"Ah... I mean... Let's just say I have experience with that sort of thing. So I'm..." He struggled.
"No, no, I get it. My dad was a piece of shhh..." You cringed as the word almost slipped from you, casting a short glance to Victoria, making sure she couldn't hear you. "Er. He was bad. So yeah, I totally get you."
"Oh... Sorry, people get weirded out when I..." He rubbed the back of his neck.
"Disassociate." You finish for him. "I used to do the same thing when it came to my dad. It gets easier once you're free of it, I promise."
The soft, sweet smile you give him was strong enough to make his heart jump into his throat.
'Wow...'
'Ask. Her. Out. Steven won't do it, so you do it!' Jake urged him.
Marc choked suddenly, coughing awkwardly to clear his throat at Jake's further commentary.
"You okay?" You ask him.
"Y-Yeah, I just... Uh..." He cringed again. "It's... allergies! I've been dealing with them since we dusted the flat, and... Yep. Allergies."
You chuckle softly at him as Victoria tugs on your sleeve and whispers in your ear.
"Oop, mama duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Marc." You grin, giving him a short handshake.
"Yeah... You too." Marc replied as you walked off, giving Victoria a wave as she peeked over your shoulder as you push the trolley away.
'Allergies? Smooth, Marc. Really smooth. How the hell did you ever bag Layla with romantic skills like that?' Jake sighed sarcastically.
'I swear Layla probably only married you for your dick, man. You're so BAD at romance.'
Marc knew Layla did love him, at one point but with all the drama of being Moon Knight, it quickly snuffed that relationship... They were still close of course, but they'd never open up to another intimate relationship again. Which was fine, none of them minded particularly.
Especially not now. Not now that there's a cute single mom with and adorably--scarily--smart little girl on her hip to occupy those thoughts.
And that... was your first time meeting Marc Spector.
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Now, meeting Jake was different. Completely different. You technically "met" Jake weeks after you met Marc and built a rapport with him.
One night, Jake was sitting in the window, munching on some saltines he'd spread with sunflower butter as he read some old knitting patterns in a book he'd picked up at a resale shop.
He thought he could knit something for both you and Victoria and have Steven give it to you, it would be a good way to start actually flirting, to hopefully open up that door for all of you.
But of course... well. He knew Steven was way too shy to ask you out on a date, and Marc was too chicken shit and awkward about the subject to bring it up himself.
And so, it fell upon Jake Lockley to find a way to get closer to you, two. He understood that many single mothers found it tricky to date, especially with a child like Victoria. It would require immense levels of trust to get past those walls you would have put up to protect both you and Victoria, especially after you'd told Marc about Victoria's biological father fucking your best friend the day of your ultrasound.
He could just imagine how your poor face fell when you closed your front door, hearing the ridiculously high-pitched, false moans and the squeaking of the mattress as that miserable excuse of a man was having his way with your supposed "best friend"...
All while your hands would have clutched the pictures of your unborn baby girl, tears bubbling up in your eyes as you screamed at them while they scrambled to cover their shame.
And then.... as you told Marc, you would have grabbed the knife and the rest was history; bidding goodbye to that cheating bastard and woman you once trusted.
You were strong, loving and oh so patient with your daughter and her needs. Jake found your whole being attractive, honestly. He hadn't seen you angry, but he just knew you were a badass if you wanted to be.
He chuckled as he picked up his knitting needles, and began to loop the soft, thick yarn through each line. He was sure to pick yarn that wouldn't upset Victoria and her sensory issues, so he picked the softest yarn he possibly could, selecting enough to make the both of you matching jumpers.
Victoria's would be a little big, to allow for comfort and her to grow into it as she wore it. He could just imagine how adorable she'd look with the sleeves hanging over her little hands, squirming and giggling as you two played together--
Jake's hands stopped knitting.
Shit. He had it down bad for you, too.
When he looked down, that's when he noticed the green laser pointed right at him...
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You were there, simply cleaning up the mess from dinner as Victoria happily colored on her dry erase board, drawing the shapes and hieroglyphs she saw in the book Steven selected for her.
She had been quiet and engrossed in her little art project for so long that you jumped and almost dropped a plate on the floor when she squealed loudly.
"Mommy, it's Steven! Or Mister Marc?"
"Huh? What?" You looked around your flat, for some reason your brain told you to look inside instead our our the window where her little finger tapped the glass excitedly.
"No, there!" She insisted. "Over there!"
You walk over to her and lean down, looking out the window.
And sure enough, across the street, in the building across from yours, an apartment had the curtains open with the lights on.
In one of the windows, at a desk, sat a man. The streets were close enough together that you could make out some details. The shadow of a mustache being the first thing you zeroed in on, and then the immaculately slicked-back hair.
He looked like he was... knitting? This man, who looked like Steven and Marc. Marc and Steven both mentioned on different occasions that they had a brother named Jake, maybe this was him?
And wow! So close by, too!
Victoria waved her arms, trying to get her attention, but the man was so absorbed in his task that he didn't notice her try to get his attention. When her little disappointed sniffles could be heard, you snap your fingers.
"I got an idea!" You say, dashing to the end table by the front door and rummaging through the various keychains you'd accumulated. It was a guilty habit of yours, you found.
But then you pluck up the laser toy and run back to the window. It takes shaking it once or twice for the green light to illuminate, but when it does, you shine it directly through the window and at the man's chest.
Then, he looked up.
You break out into a happy grin when he spots the two of you, and Victoria giggles with unabated glee as she waves some more, her whole tiny body moving with every shake of her overly excited hand.
You see the man smile back and he waves at the both of you.
"Hey, baby, why don't we use your board to say hi?" You suggest, rubbing her shoulders.
"Yeah!" She giggles, grabbing the board and erasing her painstakingly re-created drawings from the book, and messily scrawled the word:
Hi :)
The man laughed and looked around until he grabbed a notebook, scribbled something with a marker, and held it up for you two to see.
Hello
You chuckle as Victoria hands you the board, knowing that your writing is neater than hers is, and with how excited she is, she was bound to mess up.
You quickly and clearly write something down and turn the board to face the window.
Steven or Marc?
He smiled at you and scribbled back.
Jake
Marc n Steven told us about you. Hi!
They've told me a lot about you, too.
"That's Jake, honey. Remember what I said? How Steven and Mister Marc look alike? He's the same way." You explain to Victoria.
"Oh." She sighs. Poor little thing seemed dejected that once again, she misidentified someone as her "bestest friend".
You lift your eyes as Jake showed what he put on the notepad next. It was a badly drawn cat with a happy face on it.
You can't help but laugh and grin, nudging Victoria to look at what he drew for her.
"It's a kitty!" She gasps, snatching the board from your hands to draw pictures for him.
You spent much of the evening that night with Victoria and Jake drawing pictures back and forth, writing messages until he ran out of paper.
That's when you put down your phone number and told him to text, to make it easier on Victoria.
Victoria, upon realizing this, dropped her board and snatched your phone, starting a video call with Jake and chattering his ear off. He seemed to take it in stride, engaging with her. Not on the same level as Steven, but something about how he handled it gave you the impression he had experience with kids, or even worked with kids.
He didn't talk down or dumb anything down for her, he spoke to her calmly and clearly like he would anyone else, and the fact he was so sweet was endearing to you.
He was even teaching her little words in Spanish. For some reason, she liked to repeat the word "cat" because she liked how it sounded, and it was "funny".
That was how you met Jake Lockley.
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It was now half a year since you'd indirectly met all three "brothers" and quickly, the pressure was beginning to mount on them to reveal the truth to you as their crush developed more and more into full infatuation with you and your darling girl.
But they still hadn't asked you out, yet. They'd come close a few times, but it was never when Jake was in control so Marc and Steven backed down at the last possible moment. Every time Jake was in control it wasn't a "good moment" for them to propose a date with you. But now?
It was late in the year, the harvest festival being over with and the holidays around the corner with Christmas, as usual, dominating all others. Snow and ice encased everything. It came early this year, and Victoria couldn't be more thrilled. (She could build snowmen with her friends, Steven, Mister Marc and Mister Jake!)
You and Jake would text, and he gave in and told you that he, Marc, and Steven all actually lived together and he would "let" Steven or Marc use his phone so he could video chat with Victoria and you.
You didn't know the boys all shared the same phone regardless.
It was nice having a social life again, even if it was small. Outside work and ensuring a comfortable upbringing for your little girl, you'd forgotten how nice it was to have friends. Even if those friends consisted of three identical, quirky brothers who lived in the flat across the way.
The day was coming soon, for when they would have to confess to you about the true nature of their identities. And the three unanimously agreed that they would tell you about Moon Knight.
For your safety, and Victoria's. They didn't want you to agree to date them (if you ever would) only to find out they snuck out in the dead of night to do the bidding of some creepy ancient bird god who could frankly do with a wardrobe update...
They just didn't anticipate that day to be today. Of course, Steven would rather have broken the news to you over a nice dinner in the corner booth of a quiet restaurant. Or even on a nice walk through the park...
But no. No, it had to come out when you decided to pull out your phone and go through your texts or the day as Victoria sat in Steven's lap on the couch of your living room.
Jake had sent a meme earlier in the day, of a little cat wearing a sombrero and you chuckled. You sent a meme back in reply, of a snail holding some maracas on some drawn-on arms.
That's when Steven twitched when the phone in his back pocket vibrated and chimed with a silly little ringtone.
You blinked at him as he fished it out of his pocket, careful not to knock Victoria off balance as he checked it. He awkwardly cleared his throat and gave you a strained smile as he set it on the coffee table in front of you.
"You okay..." You say, eyeing the very familiar phone. They could just have the same model and case...
"Oh, yes, just an email alert, luv. Don't worry 'bout it!" Steven chirped, quickly shifting his attention back to Victoria as she practiced her reading from the book in her hands.
You squint at him suspiciously. Your finger hovered over the send button when you selected another silly little image...
But you decided to call instead.
That's when a song began to chime. One you recognized very well as Steven's favorite song...
♫"Lonely is a man,
Without looove~"♫
'God damn it, Steven! You forgot to put it on silent again!' Marc's panicked voice shouted inside their headspace.
'Ay, hermanito, not now!' Jake groaned.
Steven began to sweat profusely as Victoria handed the phone innocently to him, urging him to answer it, not making the correlation with the song, or your phone number...
Steven shakily held the phone to his ear and answered.
"H-Hello..."
"Steven." You deadpan, raising an eyebrow and tapping your finger on your arm.
'Shit shit shit shit.' Marc hissed.
'Busted.' Jake almost sang.
You look at Victoria, hesitant to interrupt her time with Steven, but you wanted answers. Why is it that none of the men ever agreed to all meet up in person to hang out? Why did you only ever see one at a time? Yes, work was a convenient excuse, but every single day?
And then there's the phone!
Yeah, you weren't letting Steven wiggle free from this talk, even as Victoria pouted and trudged back into her room to play with her toys.
You almost feel like a cop in a bad movie, the way you lean back with your arms crossed, almost like you were an interrogator in a police precinct.
Would this make you both the bad and good cop?
You felt so bad, knowing that this kind of behavior would only freak Steven out, so you relaxed your jaw and posture, leaning away from him and giving him breathing room as his sweaty hands began to pat nervously in the memorized tune of that specific song that was just playing.
"I'm not blind, and I'm not dumb... So start from the beginning." You sigh. "I don't want anything to come out and upset Victoria, but I have to know who I'm letting around my little girl."
Steven licked at his slightly chapped lips, taking his bottom lip between his teeth briefly.
"Okay..." He peeped.
'Just take it slow, Steven.' Marc urged him gently.
'I can take control, if you want.' Jake offered.
"No, that's too much right now." Steven muttered aloud, without thinking.
You tipped your head to the side. "What's too much?"
Steven jumped and covered his mouth, his big doe eyes wide as can be, like he's a little boy who was caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out.
He despised awkward situations like this. He could never tell what to say to keep someone happy and to avoid them getting angry with him...
"Steven, I'm not mad. I'm honestly confused. Please... Just... Tell me everything, okay? I just wanna know some things." You say, leaning forward to put your hand on his knee, your ever so patient eyes sweet and understanding.
Yeah, those eyes were his undoing.
"Do you know what Dissociative Identity Disorder is?"
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Whatever you had originally expected to hear from Steven, finding out that he, Marc and Jake all shared the same body was a lot to absorb. Especially after Steven blurted out about their superhero alter ego that apparently did bidding for an Egyptian god?
Steven expected you to be mad, braced himself for it, but instead, he and his two headmates were knocked entirely off center when you made the remark that if Khonshu ever got to be too much for the boys, they should lock him in a room with Victoria and her never-ending questions.
That would shut him up for a little while, surely.
Another thing you weren't expecting was the date proposal from Steven (and of course Marc and Jake).
You hesitated, at first... But...
They were so kind and sweet. They already have shown so much care for you and your daughter... And you were honestly happy to realize that you weren't crushing on different guys, that your feelings were no longer awkward and conflicted.
Or wait, were you crushing on different men? Yes they were completely different identities, but they shared a body, and... oh, this was gonna take time to learn more about.
Your first date was for later that week. Steven informed you it would be Jake, taking you out, as he felt like a "bloody awkward fool" and was afraid of messing it up, and Marc was just as bad at those social situations.
But you agreed, and when the date rolled around, you and Victoria were bundled up, all ready to go to the charming little Italian restaurant somewhere in town where apparently Jake was friendly with the employees there.
Victoria skipped in the snow, struggling to match her pace with yours, making sure her footsteps were measured so her prints mirrored yours exactly as she walked on her little tippy toes.
As you approached where Jake had his car parked, he smiled, his mustache quirking up as he scooped Victoria in his large gloved hands, laughing when she dragged her fingers over his hairy upper lip, comparing the stache to a caterpillar.
You stifled a snort and covered your mouth as you watched Jake buckle Victoria into a booster seat in the back of his car.
"Where did you..." You blinked. You fully intended to run back to your flat and grab the booster seat you owned, but you were surprised to see Jake already had one. A rather expensive-looking one, at that.
"Ay, cariño, you didn't think I'd let the little chiquita ride unprotected, did you?" He smirked at you, his dark eyes glinting mischievously.
"But, I have one. You didn't have to..."
"Hey, if it makes it easier, I'll be happy to foot the bill." Jake hummed, leaning in to check Victoria's buckles as she played on her tablet, snow-caked shoes kicking lazily as she did.
Normally, Jake was insane about his car. He always made sure his fares cleaned their damn feet off before getting inside. But for you two he willingly made the exception.
"Now, c'mon mamacita." Jake grinned at you once more as he enabled the child lock and closed the door on Victoria's side. "We got lunch to get to, right?"
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You couldn't remember the last time you were on a date. Actually wait, you could. The night you got pregnant. One of the only times Victoria's sperm donor was ever romantic with you, and he proposed the next morning after.
Yeah, you knew how that story ended.
But now it looked like a whole new book was being written right in front of you, as cliché as it all sounded.
Jake had treated you both well, engaging happily and drawing with Victoria on the activity mat the restaurant provided as you sipped your glass of red wine, watching; your heart was fluttering in your chest as you watched how happy she was interacting with them.
After a while, he went back out to his car and returned with a sparkly red gift bag for the two of you and you immediately felt your heart lurch up from your chest and into your throat.
He knitted the two of you matching jumpers. A mama cat and her kitten, of course, he managed to do it in an Egyptian style, much to Victoria's glee as she ripped off her regular jumper in favor of the one Jake made, immediately rubbing her face on the sleeve with a happy giggle.
You couldn't help but smile warmly as Jake helped her pop her head through the top, and you decided to slip yours on, yourself.
God, it was almost surreal how Hallmark it all seemed. Not one, but three men interested in you, a lonely single mother. All three men who adored your daughter and treated you both with respect. All three men, who shared the same body and nighttime secret.
And you found yourself falling just as hard, and somewhere in the back of your mind wondered if--if--you had met them first... would they have been Victoria's father(s)? Would they have rejoiced in your pregnancy? Gone to your appointments, held your hand in the delivery room? Would they have helped the doctors weigh and print Victoria for the very first time?
Your mind was knocked out of the what-ifs when your phone jingled, catching Jake's attention.
"Oh, it's Victoria's pediatrician. I have to take this." You sigh sadly, not wanting to step away from the cozy atmosphere in your booth.
Jake smiled at you and winked, "Go ahead and take it. I got her handled."
You smiled back, hoping the flush to your face wasn't as obvious as you feared as you got up and answered the call.
Jake continued to play and draw with Victoria, letting her explain how some of her learning games worked, what apps were her favorite, and who her favorite cartoon characters were.
Honestly, if anyone thought Steven was great with Victoria thanks to their same autistic traits? Jake was good simply because he was a natural with kids. Marc was, too, but he was a bit stiff and nervous. He needed to be eased into it just a bit more.
"Hey.... Psst. Mister Jake." Victoria whispered to him, blinking her big, bright, gorgeous eyes up at him.
"Yeah? What is it, gatita?" Jake hummed at her, grinning.
She waved her hand, urging him closer as she whispered conspiratorially, cupping her hand over his ear, "Look where Mommy's standing."
Jake lifts his gaze to find you among the crowd of people, where you stood on your phone, talking to the doctor about Victoria's upcoming appointment. He tracked where Victoria was pointing, and that's when he saw it: the mistletoe.
He knew immediately what Victoria was hinting at.
"That means you gotta kiss my Mommy." She whispered to him again.
"Oh, I do, huh?" Jake teased, poking her in the side. "And what if I don't?"
"Then Imma make you!" She squeaked and giggled.
"Oh, dear, then in that case I definitely have to do it, eh?" He chuckled.
"C'mon." Jake said, scooping Victoria up and holding her on his hip. "Let's go give another present to your wonderful mamá."
As they got closer to you, he caught the tail-end of your conversation.
"...yeah. Next Wednesday at 3pm. See you, then, Doctor Wilson. ...Of course! Happy holidays." You say cheerily, ending the call.
When you turned around, you saw Jake holding Victoria against him as he walked closer to you.
The sight really shouldn't have taken your breath away the way that it did...
But if you thought your breath was taken before? It was entirely robbed from you as Jake leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist as he tipped his head down to kiss you, his mustache tickling your nose and upper lip.
You were so taken aback that you didn't hear the whooping and laughing from the workers of the restaurant as the scene unfolded in front of them, congratulating Jake.
Victoria squirmed and squealed and laughed and laughed, rubbing her face on Jake's leather jacket as your lips finally parted and your jaw dropped.
"What's the matter, mamacita? Cat got your tongue?"
🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒
God, dating those men was the best decision you ever made. Even with them being Moon Knight.
They were kind enough to always say goodnight to Victoria before they went about their business, giving you a soft kiss before whichever one was in control of the body departed.
You had only been dating a short while, it was now entering February and you were all spending more and more time together. Marc, Jake, and Steven had all spent the night once or twice in their own time.
Nothing sexual happened, but it was so nice to fall asleep with someone wrapping their arms around you. It was even better to wake up and see Victoria snuggled onto his chest, his arms caged around her protectively, flexing when she made any movements as his unconscious body ensured she wouldn't roll off of him and--god forbid--onto the floor.
It was a few days before Valentine's, and Marc had spent the day with you and Victoria. He had gotten much more comfortable around her, falling into a natural and gentle routine unique to them. Just like she had with Steven, and Jake. And above all, they handled her autism well.
Steven was exceptionally good at helping distract her during her meltdowns, whereas Jake could cradle her, singing little songs in Spanish as he rubbed her back. Marc would start by talking to her in a low, gentle tone, urging her to just breathe, and talk, explaining what was upsetting her and what would work best to help her calm down from it.
But right now, Victoria was in the midst of a battle against sleep.
"Don' wanna sleep." Victoria sniffled into Marc's jumper.
"I know, babydoll, but you'll feel loads better once you do, mkay?" He murmured quietly to her as he padded, barefoot into Victoria's almost obnoxiously canary-yellow bedroom.
"I can make some apple pancakes for you in the morning, hm? How's that sound?"
He dodged the minefield of toys scattered about and chuckled softly at the shelf where her little ancient Egypt memorabilia sat meticulously organized alongside her books and drawings on the subject. A half-finished paper sarcophagus lay on the desk in the corner, a project Steven had started with her two days ago that they intended to finish together.
Marc laid her down and she nodded, rubbing her eye. "Okay..." She mumbled in agreement.
Marc picked up the plushy scarab that Steven bought from the gift shop and handed it to her, tucking her in all nice and warm.
"There you go." He said softly to her, kneeling next to the bed. "Snug as a bug in... well. Blankets, right now, huh?"
He grinned when Victoria giggled groggily at his pun, squeezing the beetle plush she named "Digger" and snuggled under the blankets, her feather lashes brushed her cheeks as she began to drift off.
"See you in the morning, babydoll." Marc said softly, giving her a kiss to her forehead before standing.
His finger had just flipped the switch to turn off the lights in her room, so only the salt lamp dimly illuminated her bedside, when he heard her peep as she rolled over.
"G'night daddy."
He felt like his heart stopped beating as he shakily closed the door, dragging his suddenly very heavy feet through your flat as he made his way to your couch, the weight of that word landing on his shoulders.
He felt like Atlas, carrying the world on his back as he dropped down onto the chocolate brown cushions.
You walk over, having finished dishes from dinner, wiping your hands on a tea towel. Upon seeing his shell-shocked expression, you sit next to him in concern as he covered his face with his hands, his arms shaking and skin pale.
"Marc, sweetie, what's wrong?"
"I..." He said, his voice breaking.
You lean in, reaching out to brush a hand through his mop of curls, letting him take his time. Maybe Steven or Jake was trying to front? You've seen how taxing it could be on them when it happened so suddenly. One time Steven had seized control in the kitchen from Jake and he fell and cracked his head open on the counter! Poor Victoria cried when she saw how much he was bleeding, scared that he was dying.
It took a lot of hugs and kisses to convince her otherwise...
"She... God. Fuck." Marc swore softly, sniffing. "She--she called me daddy."
Your jaw dropped and you gawked at him. Was Victoria already so attached to him? To them? But then again, she's never had a father figure, before, either, and suddenly having not one, but technically three men in her life doing all the things a dad should do? You can understand why she would--hell, why you would...
He dropped his arms and you could see the beginnings of tears clump in his beautiful eyelashes, heavy weights of emotion settling deep in his chest.
He looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink the tears away. God, he didn't deserve all of this. He didn't deserve this... this domesticity. Guys like him just didn't get to have a life like that. Not with everything he's had to do as a soldier, a mercenary... in Khonshu's name.
He didn't deserve such a beautiful woman, or the idolized gaze of her sweet and innocent baby girl.
'You're too hard on yourself, Marc.' Steven said to him in their headspace.
'Yeah, hermano...' Jake murmured.
"Marc, honey..." You say, leaning in and adjusting your position, so your head lay on his chest. You spread your hand over his heart, feeling how it hammered in the muscle of his chest.
"I just... What the hell did I do to get this?" He asked softly, bringing his arms around you to bury his nose in your hair.
"Well, I think it all started the day a certain little girl wiggled free of me and ran into a gift shop..."
Marc chuckled, squeezing you tight.
"Would you want us to?" He whispered. "Would you want us to stay? Would you be okay with that? I know it's soon, and--and I'm not saying we move in or anything like that, but..."
"I think it would crush Victoria if I ever shoo'd you boys away, honey." You assured him, tipping your head up to give him a sweet kiss.
You feel the tension slowly bleed from his body and his expression softens into a heartbreakingly sweet smile, his dark eyes sparkling with a warmth that you haven't seen before as your lips parted.
"Then we'll stay. As long as you both will put up with us." He said to you, his voice so quiet you almost couldn't catch his words.
"How do Steven and Jake feel about her calling you daddy?" You smile slyly.
Marc grins and drops his head back with a laugh, listening to the bickering of his headmates as his anxiety ebbed away.
"Oh... They're arguing over who Vicky is gonna call daddy next."
"We need to think of nicknames for you guys so she doesn't confuse you." You laughed with him.
Your laughter was cut short when you heard Victoria's door click open, and out she waddled, blanket clutched in one arm, Digger firmly squeezed into the crook of her elbow and her thumb was in her mouth. She only sucked her thumb when she was frightened, or severely anxious.
"Baby, what's wrong?" Marc asked, shooting to his feet even before you could, at her side in a split second.
You joined him and put your hands on her shoulders, looking into her drowsy and not-entirely-awake eyes. "Did you have a bad dream?"
She shook her head, mumbling something around her thumb.
"What is it, kiddo?" Marc inquired next.
She pulled her thumb out of her mouth with a pop.
"There's a bird-man in my room."
810 notes · View notes
astonmartinii · 1 year
Note
Hello! Would you be comfortable to write sth about Seb? x reader? :)
racing royalty | sebastian vettel instagram au
pairing: red bull!seb x motogp!reader
[for timeline purposes, seb never leaves red bull, but other than that most of the grid is the same as it is]
anti-social media man seb mysteriously joins social media and all hell breaks lose
yourusername
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liked by redbull, charles_leclerc and 554,019 others
yourusername: vamos argentina 🇦🇷
view all 37,045 comments
user34 let's goooooo y/n
user12 sometimes mother is a woman who drives a motorbike super fast
redbullracing i think the kids say slay
yourusername you're doing great admin
user67 i need her to win another championship NOW
sebastianvettel
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liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 808,045 others
sebastianvettel: the media team said that i should try this whole social media thing out
view all 102,089 comments
user446 HOLY SHIT SEB IS HERE
user76 does this mean i should delete all my thirst edits
yourusername welcome seb 🐝
user23 ^^^ parents interacting WHAT
redbullracing HE'S HERE EVERYONE STAY CALM
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redbullracing
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liked by sebastianvettel, yourusername and 601,784 others
redbullracing: all red bull top step in f1 and motogp this weekend !! congrats sebastian and y/n
view all 13,088 comments
user44 red bull are killing it (unfortunately)
sebastianvettel unbelievable race y/n !!!
yourusername right back at you starboy
user11 are they ... flirting ???
user35 seb did say he only got instagram to comment on his gf's posts ....
maxverstappen1 my goats 🐐
yourusername
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liked by sebastianvettel, marcmarquez93 and 505,467 others
yourusername: snoozing in the barcelona sun
view all 28,056 comments
marcmarquez93 so this is what you did at my house
yourusername yes thanks for letting me stay
marcmarquez93 cheaper than an actual housesitter
sebastianvettel sunkissed
user15 someone teach this old man how instagram comments work
user66 WAIT SEB COMMENTED... THE MATH IS MATHING
user45 seb commenting ... said he got insta to follow + comment on his gf's posts ... next gp is in barcelona ....
sebastianvettel
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liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc and 625,098 others
sebastianvettel: starting from pole tomorrow ready for you barcelona 🇪🇸
view all 71,209 comments
user10 let's go seb
yourusername never in doubt star boy 🌟
user30 hmmmmmmmmm what's going on ^^
user49 do we think y/n is going to come to the race?
user21 omg i hope so
redbullracing quali king
redbullracing
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liked by sebastianvettel, yourusername and 606,334 others
tagged: yourusername
redbullracing: special guest in the garage this weekend, motogp queen y/n y/ln joins us in barcelona 🇪🇸
view all 86,304 comments
user33 god i love her so much
user55 doctor help my parasocial relationship is too much
sebastianvettel good luck charm 🍀
yourusername you don't need my luck star boy 🌟
user8 THEY HAVE TO BE TOGETHER THIS IS SO CUTE I CAN'T
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f1
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liked by charles_leclerc, motogp and 772,077 others
tagged: yourusername, sebastianvettel
f1: when f1 and motogp collide - y/n y/ln was in the red bull garage this weekend cheering on close friends sebastian vettel and max verstappen
view all 110,089 comments
maxverstappen1 finally someone acknowledged that she's my friend too
sebastianvettel sorry buddy probably cause she likes me more
maxverstappen1 @yourusername you gonna let him bully me like this?
yourusername sorry maxy but he's not wrong
user23 okay but that's basically confirmation right, RIGHT ????
charles_leclerc she visited me too :(
yourusername added to their story
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[caption: pretty boys]
sebastianvettel added to their story
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[caption: long awaited catch up]
yourusername
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liked by sebastianvettel, redbullracing and 770,095 others
yourusername: vroom vroom for the last time this season, but to finish this year with my second championship is unreal + always good to share a podium with bestie marc
view all 114,045 comments
marcmarquez93 fave champagne partner, though i'd prefer if i'm the one winning next time
sebastianvettel god i love watching you race, congratulations my love
yourusername i love you too
sebastianvettel i love you more
user38 WHAT WHAT WHAT
user90 no one talk to me my parents have confirmed their relationship
sebastianvettel
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liked by christianhorner, yourusername and 1,223,067
tagged: yourusername
sebastianvettel: looks like we need to upgrade the trophy cabinet at home
view all 220,679 comments
user37 they already live together ???
yourusername i love you (you can do the diy)
sebastianvettel i love you more
user47 so... when will race of champions change their rules so they can compete together ???
maxverstappen1 congrats you two (why did you crop me out of all of the photos)
charles_leclerc
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liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and 1,045,300 others
tagged: yourusername, sebastianvettel
charles_leclerc: happy anniversary to my racing parents, thanks for letting me chill at your farm, making me my birthday party and teaching me how to ride a motorbike ❤️
view all 229,567 comments
yourusername awwww sharl, no worries, you're our favourite disaster child
maxverstappen1 take that back right now
yourusername okay charles is seb's favourite, you're mine maxy
maxverstappen1 thank you
sebastianvettel thank you charles xx
user13 obsessed over y/n and seb having grid children who love them so much they make anniversary posts and argue in the comments
yourusername
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liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 1,567,290 others
tagged: sebastianvettel
yourusername: happy five year anniversary baby - i love you so much i can't even put it into words, here's to many more xx
view all 301,334 comments
user45 FIVE YEARS WHAT
maxverstappen1 can i have a prize for keeping this a secret so long
charles_leclerc me too
sebastianvettel no?
redbullracing best kept secret in motorsport - happy anniversary guys xx
sebastianvettel can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you baby
note: i love seb so much so so happy to write about him! i've nearly finished all my requests so feel free to send some more in xx
2K notes · View notes
foreverinadais · 7 months
Text
bad date: j.l
summary: you find yourself on a bad date. in desperation, you call your ex, jake lockley, hoping he can help you. which he does, in ways you never could've bargained for.
warnings: smut (eek), dry humping, kissing, light choking ig??? jake puts his hand around reader's neck, fluff, teasing, reader's date is a twat like he seriously sucks, angst but not with jake, no use of y/n or pronouns :) ~part of the ex! mk series but can be read standalone!!!~
word count: 3.4k
ex!mk series: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5)
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It felt wrong to be on a date. Extremely wrong. You felt as though you were being disloyal, despite having no commitments, no one to be disloyal too. The events of a couple of weeks ago were still freshly embedded in your brain. It was as though every time you blinked, you remembered a different detail from your conversation with Marc, or a different look from your car ride with Jake, or a different touch from your comforting of Steven.
You had never been quite so confused.
You almost cancelled the date that had been scheduled for quite some time. But doing that would admit you weren’t over your exes. And admitting that would put all the work you had done in getting over them to shame.
So, you got ready, put on your finest outfit with the glamour you desired, and got a taxi to the restaurant you were meeting him at.
He seemed nice enough over text. You had shared stories, even laughed at his pick up lines. He was handsome in a way which felt… unnatural. You struggled to find attraction to other people after so long denouncing everyone. It felt odd to look at a person, that wasn’t your person, in any way other than politeness.
He had embraced you, even kissed your hand, and you worried as you felt nothing. He had opened the door for you, even pulled your chair out, waiting for you to sit and still… nothing. He was perfectly nice.
Until he started talking.
“I just do not understand the people who say looks mean nothing. I mean, obviously, I am attractive, I know that. And you’re decent looking. We’re attracted to each other, nothing wrong with that.” You cocked an eyebrow, taking a long sip of wine as you hummed.
“Right. I mean, I think appearance is surface level. Other things matter more, like how much you laugh together, your morals… good conversation.” He scoffed, waving over the waiter with just his hand. Ew.
“Should’ve known you would think like that. Crickey, wonder what other opinions you have in that brain of yours?”
“Actually, I have a lot.”
“Right, Would love to hear about those, that’s why I came on this date.” The sarcasm dripped off his words and anger bubbled in your stomach. You opened your mouth to talk when the waiter came over, notepad in hand. “I’ll have the steak -rare- with the potatoes and veg. Gotta get the protein in after a work-out.” You cringed and the waiter shot you a sympathetic look.
“And for you?”
“I’ll have the lasagne, please. With garlic bread.” The man in front of you chuckled, but it felt cold.
“Are you sure? Don’t want to have to kiss you with garlic breath.” Your stomach lurched at the thought of kissing him, but it was by no means a positive feeling. You would rather be sick.
“Make that extra garlic.” You said, and the waiter nodded with a smug, ‘certainly.’
Your date talked at you for the next fifteen minutes. He told you his life story, his career, about his friends and their “absolutely wild times, we go kinda crazy, you probably wouldn’t be able to handle it.” You were relieved when the food came out, so you had a moment of silence.
You wanted to leave. To shout at him, get up, and go. But you knew that wasn’t smart. He seemed like the type to follow you out the restaurant and ridicule you for making a scene, before claiming he was a ‘nice guy’.
You stuffed another piece of garlic bread in your mouth as you attempted to plan your next move. “These potatoes are vile. God, you want something done right, I can’t even eat this.” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, instead shrugging.
You had eaten at supersonic speed to rush the date, to get home and snuggle under your covers watching a shitty romcom whilst eating the leftover cake in your fridge. You were relived as he swallowed the last bite of food, putting his cutlery down and sighing deeply. “Well that was a load of shit. The food, I mean, not you, darling.” You almost threw your food back up but managed to keep it down.
“Hmm. Right, should we-”
“Dessert first, right? Not that either of us need it but can’t have a date without something sweet.” The wink he sent you made your whole body curl in disgust. If you had to spend more than thirty seconds more with him, you were sure you’d end up stuffing your ears full of cheese just to never him speak again. This was the worst date you’d ever been on. You weren’t expecting the best date ever, but at least something to distract you from-
The idea hit you all at once.
Pulling out your phone, you pretended to look concerned, opening the one contact you knew would be readily available right now. “Excuse me, I have to take this.” You said as your date just shrugged.
Standing from your chair, you found an empty corner, hitting the call button and desperately holding the phone to your ear. It only took a couple of rings before you heard the familiar, “Yes?”
“Jake, you gotta pick me up. I’ll act like you have an emergency and you need my help or something, and then I’ll hastily leave, and you can get me in your cab and-”
“Woah, woah, slow down. What’s goin’ on? Estas en peligro? Are you in danger?” You shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you.
“Nothing like that. I’m just… this is kinda awkward but I’m on a date.” You could imagine him tensing up as his breathing changed slightly. “But it’s terrible and awful and I just, if I spend one more second with him I’ll end up killing someone.” Jake chuckled, and you scoffed. “It isn’t funny! Look, you owe me. And here’s your chance to pay me back like right now. As fast as you can. I don’t care how many laws you break getting here.”
“Relax, Carino. I got in the car when you started talking.” You smiled, feeling your cheeks heat and your heart skip.
“Thanks, Jake. I’ll send you my location.” He hummed, and you hung up, quickly sending the restaurant name before returning to your date.
“I’m so sorry but my friend’s had an emergency. This has been… lovely… though.”
“You’re leaving?”
“I have too, yeah.”
He scoffed, and you noticed a shift in his persona. “Figures. Everyone leaves me.”
“Nonono, it isn’t anything like that! My friend-”
“Likely story. You know, I’m too good for you anyway. You won’t get a date with someone like me again.”
“Well, thank fuck for that. In fact, I’m deleting every dating app I have just to make sure I never do!” It came out before you could bite your tongue, but fuck, it felt good.
“Whatever. Didn’t want to fuck you anyway.”
“Excuse me? That’s all this was? God, you’re such an arsehole! Fuck you, I’m leaving. I’ll pay my half at the till.” He started ranting about something, about how you ‘probably couldn’t afford it’ and how ‘you’re lucky he’s being nice’ but you were already walking away.
You paid for your meal, apologising to the waiter for the arsehole’s rude behaviour, but she just smiled and handed you a piece of dessert in a takeaway box; “It’s on the house.” You smiled, ignoring the shouts from your date as you left the restaurant.
You were beyond grateful to see him. He was wearing his driving gloves, the rough leather ones that you loved. He had got out the car, waiting anxiously to see you. You saw his sigh of relief when he did. You couldn’t help yourself.
You practically ran toward him, watching his face of shock turn to acceptance as you reached his arms. You wrapped an arm around his waist, careful not to drop your food as he engulfed you in a hug. “Hi.” You whispered into his chest, beyond grateful he was there. You knew you could look after yourself. You didn’t need a man to come to your rescue.
But he wasn’t just a man.
Secretly, you were looking for an excuse, any excuse, to call them again.
“That bad, huh?” He said as you pulled away, scanning your face as if he hadn’t seen you in years.
“Worse.” You wanted to convey a serious composure. It had been terrible. But if you didn’t laugh, you’d definitely cry. Jake rose an eyebrow as you began chuckling, covering your mouth to try to contain it. But eventually, it started pouring out, until you were out of breath laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Jake asked but couldn’t help smiling himself. “Huh?”
“It was the worst date ever.” You managed to get out, and even though Jake couldn’t quite understand, your laughter was so contagious, he couldn’t stop himself from joining in. People passing by shot you a few weird looks, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care as you released your emotions in the healthiest way you had for a while.
Eventually, you calmed down, wiping a tear from under your eye as Jake looked at you in admiration. “Want a ride?” You smiled, glancing back at the restaurant before nodding. Jake opened the door for you as you climbed in the cab.
“We have to stop doing this.” You said as Jake had pulled up to your flat. You had told him every detail about your date from hell, down to what seasoning you had on your food.
Jake had listened neutrally, apart from whenever you mentioned that man. His blood boiled as he thought about you on a date, thought about another man looking at you, making comments about you.
But he ignored the jealously, instead focusing his negative feelings on your date. “He sounds like a fucking asshole. Should’ve gone in there and given him a piece’f my mind.” He had said,gripping the steering wheel, but you brought him down, assuring him you had taken care of it and would be deleting him off every app you had him on.
“Doin’ what?” He asked, and you gestured between the two of you.
“Picking each other up? Calling each other? Seeing each other at all?” Jake nodded, but smirked.
“Almost like we can’t get enough of each other.” He teased and you tried to ignore the effect he had on you.
“Almost like you can’t get enough of me.”
“Ey? How’d ya reach that conclusion? You called us.”
“You called me first! I thought it was just something we did now.”
“Sounds like it’ll become a bad habit.”
“Maybe. But sometimes, I like being bad.”
“I remember.” The air shifted and suddenly, there was too much space between the two of you. You watched as he gulped, watched as the vein in his neck tensed and his lips twisted up in the familiar way they did.
“Thanks for the lift. Again.” You said, chuckling lightly, trying to clear the fog in your mind.
“Right. Anytime.”
“Anytime huh? That’s dangerous.”
“Maybe. But I like danger.”
“I remember.” You teased his words from earlier, and he shot you a small smile. Fuck, you wished he hadn’t looked over; and so did he. You held eye contact a beat longer than you had intended, your heart skipping a beat as his eyes flicked briefly towards your lips. You swallowed harshly, pulling yourself away from the moment, forcing yourself to make a move out of the car. “I should really…” You pointed toward your flat, smiling awkwardly as he nodded.
“Right. You should rest. I’ll see you, well, whenever either of us need a lift.”
You chuckled, nodding, “Well, thanks.”
“Por supuesto, anytime, seriously.” You didn’t want to leave. This felt different from every interaction with them since you had broken up. Something was screaming at you to stay, and you didn’t think it was the remnants of wine left in your system.
No, it was as if an invisible force was willing you to him, to his scent, his warmth, his stupidly attractive smirk. He noticed your hesitation, eyebrow raised in question. “If you’re gonna sit here all night, lemme know so I can turn off the engine.” He teased jokingly, and you forced a laugh.
“ ‘m going now, just… preparing for the cold.” He nodded but didn’t look convinced, amusement lingering in his features. “Okay, ready now!” You felt suddenly embarrassed, deciding to get the inevitability of your leaving over with. “Goodbye, Jake.” You said quietly, sticking your hand out as if to shake his hand.
“You want me too…”
“I don’t know! I thought it was a nice, civil gesture to end this terrible evening with!”
“A handshake…?”
“Fine, it was dumb anyway-” You began, retracting your hand before he grabbed it with his gloved one.
“No, no, c’mon.” He squeezed your palm with his own, and your skin tingled at the contact. The friendly gesture was corrupted in your brain as he shook your joined hands, a smug look on his face at the way your breath hitched. “There, happy now?”
You couldn’t think. Could hardly breath as you shook your head, ‘no’. Because it wasn’t enough. No amount of contact would ever be enough.
You didn’t think about the possible aftermath of your next action. You couldn’t think about anything but him. With zero hesitation, you were shuffling forward in your seat, hands falling on his jacket as you pulled him toward you slightly. Your lips barely grazed his, but it was enough to send your heart soaring.
No sooner than you had done it, you pulled away. It was his move. His cho
Jake looked to your gaze, then down to your lips, repeating the action twice. His eyes were glazed over, and you were sure his mind was reeling, his alters talking over each other, but he couldn’t hear anything apart from your heavy breathing and all he could smell was your perfume-
His hands cupped your cheeks, a small groan leaving his lips before they were on yours. You sighed in content, moving your lips with his as if you had never stopped. Your hands found his hair, tugging on the familiar locks gently as he traced your jaw with his fingers.
You didn’t ever want to stop kissing him. It felt so familiar yet so distant, as if you had only ever dreamt of moments like this. When in reality, you had kissed him thousands of different times. And it all came flooding in to this moment.
Jake pulled back slightly, breathless. You wondered why he had stopped, about to ask when you felt his thumb trace your bottom lip. Your breath hitched as he pulled lightly, your mouth obediently opening for him. He smiled before pulling his own lip between his teeth, eyes dark as he gently pushed his thumb into your mouth.
You made a noise of shock, but quickly pushed it away as you swirled your tongue around the tip of his thumb, inviting him to push further. Jake groaned, almost in disbelief, eyes never leaving yours. “Fuck, baby.” His words were drawn out, like they always were in situations like this. It drove you crazy. “C’mere, need you t’ be closer.” He said, voice husky as he apprehensively removed his thumb from your mouth, quickly silencing your groan of disapproval with his lips.
Jake pulled you over the gearstick, careful you didn’t hurt yourself, not that you cared at all about your safety right now. He sighed in relief as you swung your legs over his lap, straddling him as your arms looped around his shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer. “Relax, Carino, ‘m not goin’ anywhere.” He chuckled against your lips, but you hardly heard as you rolled your hips forward.
His chuckles turned into groans as you found a pace, desperate to feel him against you, everywhere. Jake held onto your waist, helping you move rougher against him, trying to keep kissing you but fuck it felt so good.
You pulled away first, breathing heavy in pleasure as small moans left your lips. Every sound you made only amplified what he was feeling, and he couldn’t help but clash his lips to yours just to swallow them.
“Jake.” You whimpered, and he couldn’t recall a time his name had ever sounded so good. It was euphoric, just hearing you say his name.
“Fuck, baby, you sound ruined, and I’ve barely even touched you.” His words elicited another moan from you as your head fell into his shoulder, hips rolling faster to chase a high you couldn’t reach on your own, or with any other partner you had tried with since them.
Jake squeezed the flesh of your waist, still guiding your movements as his other hand went to the back of your neck. He tugged you up, watching as your bottom lip slipped between your teeth. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Lemme hear what I do to you.” He pulled your lip out from your teeth, and you let out a broken moan, eyes squeezing shut as his teeth bit possessively at your neck.
“Who’s makin’ you feel this good?” His voice had an edge to it, dark and dirty. It made your thighs clench harder around him.
“You.” You whimpered, eyes rolling back as you felt yourself hurdling closer to the edge.
“Not that prick from your date, huh? Ey, look at me. Who makes you feel like this? Need’ta hear you say my name.”
“You, Jake! Always you!” You practically sobbed, overwhelmed and so, so close. All your senses were heightened, and you couldn’t recall the last time you had felt this level of pleasure. And he hadn’t even touched you yet.
Jake chuckled darkly, his hand slipping up to your neck, squeezing only slightly, but it was enough to send your mind reeling. “Thaaat’s it.” His words were drawn out in arousal. You were at the edge, practically falling off, and Jake could tell. Even after all this time, he could read your body perfectly.
“You can let go, Carino. Let go f’me, c’mon, there you go.” He cooed as you clutched onto him, gasping and repeating his name like a mantra as you reached your peak. Jake kissed your shoulder, stroking at your back as your body shook with aftershocks. “Did so good f’me, baby.” He whispered and you practically melted against him.
The windows were covered in perspiration from the events inside the car, and your heavy breathing filled the car. Jake whispered terms of endearment in your ear as you snuggled into his body. It was hot inside his car, yet somehow, you couldn’t get enough of his heat.
Eventually, you felt strong enough to speak, lifting your head up to face him, skin glowing in a thin layer of sweat and euphoria. Jake’s smiled matched your own as he cupped your cheeks, bringing you in for another kiss. “Wow.” You whispered against his lips, and he chuckled, agreeing.
You stroked the side of his face, tracing the details of his skin with soft fingertips. Jake leaned into your touch, savoring the softness of your actions. Neither of you were thinking about the consequences. And if you were, neither of you cared. Not right now. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. He had almost forgotten that happiness existed outside of you.
“It’s late.” He said suddenly, and you sat up straighter. “You need rest, especially now. I don’t wanna disrupt that.”
“Wait, what? I just kinda figured… you don’t want to come up with me?”
“Well… I thought you were finished.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t get to…” You looked down at his lap, at the prominent issue still there, and you smiled teasingly.  
“Trust me, baby, that was all I needed.”
“But I want to make it up to you.” You innocently ran a hand down his chest, stopping just before his belt and he tensed.
“You don’t have to-”
“I want too. If you want too.” You watched as he tutted, before nodding. “Please?” Your voice was soft but seductive as you ran a hand through his hair, placing a gentle kiss to the side of his jaw, then his cheek, then just next to his lips.
You felt drunk on him and you didn't care about what this could mean. How far it could set you back. You were too far gone, too deep already. You needed him. You always needed him.
Jake groaned, squeezing the flesh of your waist. “Joder eres tan bueno -fuck you’re so good-  when you ask so nicely, how could I ever refuse?”
a/n: i have never written smut before so this was a fun venture into it!!! i promise more parts are coming. i was conflicted on how to do this chapter but it kinda found it's own end. the next one will involve our other two boys yayyy :) i am really enjoying writing this series. thank you so much for reading!!!
tags: @rmoonstoner @marinalor @readingfan @neteyamsluvts @howellatme @nana90azevedo @midgardian-witch @daddyjackfrost
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minispidey · 7 months
Text
02: Barbie and the Giftshopist.
Steven Grant x f!bimbo!reader. previous part. series masterlist. next part.
02. He's just Steven (and Marc, and Jake)
a/n: i'm not like fully knowledgeable of DID but i did some research! if u guys can give me some tips/ point out my mistakes, i'd be happy to hear it and edit. i just really do need some help 🙏🏻 i've never written a system before and i'd love to hear some advice
(series tags are open!) tags: @3zae-zae3
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"Morning, Stevie!" you started calling him Stevie not even a week after you moved in. Sure, he hates it when Donna calls him that, but god did it sound so beautiful when you say it.
You two walk out at the same time everyday, bothered by some of the sellers on the street blocking the door "Excuse us." you say as they made way for you and Steven. A vintage pink corvette was your way of transportation while Steven chooses the bus, but you weren't in a rush today "Stevie! I'll give you a ride. Get in."
Steven blushed, shaking his head "No no, it's fine, love." hearing him call you love made you accidentally kick your leg up. You stared confused at your leg before turning your head towards Steven again "Come on." you pouted.
"I'm serious— oh, bollocks." he drops his keys by accident "I'm alright."
You drove by his side slowly "Stevieee get in. I'm not letting you take the bus when I have a car."
"It's just-"
"Is it because it's pink?"
"No! No, not at all. I don't want to be a bother, that's all." he sighed.
"Steven. Get in." you pull down your sunglasses "I'm not taking a no for an answer."
"Yes, ma'am." seeing you so serious had him flustered. Maybe it's a weird kink he developed after knowing you were a lawyer.
He sat in the passenger's seat and buckled his seatbelt. You smiled at him before fixing your sunglasses "Okay! First stop, the museum."
Steven knew everyone's going to stare at your pink car. He just never expected so many people turning their heads towards you too. You were beautiful and radiated beauty and sunshine, you were an attention grabber.
He just imagines you in all pink in your firm, in a room filled with blue and black suits. He thought it was cute.
"Do you have like, a license? You can take my car on my days off."
"You don't have to." Steven shook his head "Really, you're too kind."
"It's alright! Whatever makes your life easier." you flashed him one of your bright smiles "I can drop you off every day if you wanna. I'm not as busy anyways."
"Take the offer, Steven. Beats having to cramp in every day." Marc says from the reflection of the right side mirror. Steven shook his head before turning towards you "It's fine, love."
"Come on. Rent's hell. Let me save you some commute money, okay? I may be fashionable, but I can be such a cheapskate-" the car comes to a sudden halt as you snap your head towards a shop window. Steven was pushed forward but thankfully held by the seatbelt "What's wrong?" he breathed out.
"What time do you have to go to work?"
"Before ten. Why?"
"It's eight. Do you mind making a short stop with me?"
Shop assistants surrounded you as you worked your magic "Ooh, and this one. Do you have it in pink?" you giggled as you slipped on another heel "Okay so like, the trick is to ignore the assistants." you whisper to Steven "They'll sell you anything in full price. Head straight to the expensive ones before slowly going to the ones on sale."
Steven nodded as he listened to the advice you gave. He felt a bit nervous as you spoke to the shop assistants, you seemed so confident as well. In contrast, Steven felt fairly awkward and he was just observing how you interacted with the people around you.
He was very intrigued by the way you were trying on shoes, the way you were talking about it with the shop staff— he couldn't explain what exactly it was that he found attractive about you, and it was slightly annoying him.
"Chica está loca..." Steven looks at the full-length mirror, Jake was staring right back at him. He raises an eyebrow at Jake "She's crazy. I've never met a girl who wears so much... pink."
Steven was about to talk back when you pull him to the counter, swiping your card and taking your shopping bags "Okay, so like, I got fourty percent off. I have a loyalty voucher." you two made your way back to your car, stuffing your bags in the back "Thanks for coming with me, Stevie. Well, you didn't have a choice anyways."
"It's alright, really. It was... fun." he smiled at you, getting inside the car "Never really shopped with anyone before."
"Really? Not even with friends?"
"Don't have any."
"Aw, how come? You're so fun to be with."
Steven's heart skipped a beat. He stared at you with bright eyes as you drove. He felt his face heat up. When he turns his head to face the side mirror, he finds Marc judging him.
"You've just met her, huh?"
"Shut it..." Steven mumbled under his breath, looking away from the mirror. He watched you, still smiling as you drove. It was like you weren't real, like you were too good to be true. If he had known years ago a woman like you existed, he would've searched for you everywhere. But you landed right outside his flat.
"I don't think I can pick you up after your work, training interns and all." you stopped near the steps "I'll see you later, Stevie."
"You don't have to, it's really okay." he blushed "I'll see you around, love." he got out of your car, looking back at you as he walked up the steps. You pushed your sunglasses down and waved back before driving away.
After an exhausting day, you drove back at 1 am. You shoved your files in the back seat with your shopping bags and rested your face, your signature smile falling from fatigue.
The streets of London were quiet, only the crickets' mating call filling the cold air. You rub your eyes, some of your mascara rubbing off "So tired..." you sighed as you turned the car to the right.
Though your sleepiness immediately went away when you spot a ridiculous ugly-patterned shirt. It was Steven walking back.
"This late?" you whispered to yourself. You sped up a bit to catch up with him "Stevie!" your cheery voice halted the quiet night.
His head turned towards you, a scowl displayed on his face. Though his eyebrows softened upon realizing it was you.
"Don't they have buses out late? You poor thing. Get in." you smiled as you unlocked your car, allowing him to enter.
"I should've totally given you my number. If I only knew you'd be out late like me I would've picked you up." you let out a yawn before continuing "I'm not that busy, I swear. Like, I'm a lawyer but I know how to manage my time."
As you went on and on, Steven just sat there and listened to you.
You parked your car and stepped out, trying to get all your shopping bags in one go. But Steven stepped in and helped "Aw, Stevie, thanks so much!" Steven looked exhausted too.
You talked more in the elevator, detailing how frustrating your day was at your firm before walking to your doors.
"-and he was like no and I was like totes! And he was like noooo and I was like, definitely!" you giggled "Whoever said orange is the new pink is totally disturbed."
You unlocked your door and let Steven in to set your bags down. He went to step out afterwards when you pulled on his sleeve "Thanks so much again, Stevie. You are like, too good to me. We should totally shop again some other time! Goodnight!" you placed a kiss on his cheek before closing your door.
He froze in place, staring at your door before unlocking his own door and getting in. He breathed in the cold air before walking to his fish tank, feeding the two fishes before his vision focused, looking at his reflection on the glass.
"Marc! What was that?!"
Marc looked back at Steven "It's nothing."
"Back off. I really like her, okay? There. I said it."
"You kissed my wife and your crush kissed me on the cheek."
"I said I was sorry."
Jake spoke up, appearing from a small mirror "You like her? Dios mío, that woman wears a lot of pink. What is it about her? Is it because of the car? I have a limousine."
"No! She's- she's really nice."
"Be more specific, amigo. Nice isn't how you like someone."
"Enough." Marc shakes his head "Steven, if you like her then go ahead. But just don't get attached."
"What do you mean?"
"I have Layla— we have Layla. I'm married to her. You can have a crush on your little neighbor, sure, but it's not like you can date her."
"Marc... come on, I have my own life... we have our own lives. What if I decide I want to date her? What if I really really like her, you know?"
"I don't know." he sighed, scratching his eyebrow "It's gonna be complicated, you know that."
Steven let out a sigh, looking down "I-I know... but I just... I just really like her."
Jake on the other hand was deep in this own thoughts. Marc heads to bed when Jake fronts, taking over the body. He cracks his neck before walking out and knocking on your door.
You were just about to take off your makeup when you head his knock. Your fluffy pink slippers squeaked as you made your way to the door, opening it "Stevie? Did you miss me already?" you giggled.
"Do you want to go out with me?" Jake put on his best performance, speaking in a kind of shy British accent.
"Out? Like, a date?" you blinked twice.
"Yes."
Jake understood now. He saw the way your eyes sparkled and your blinding smile "Oh my gosh, yes!" you squealed before covering your mouth, looking side to side across the halls, worried you might've woken up your neighbors "Yes. Let's go out. Uh, maybe lunch? I'm free."
"That's alright with me." he nodded.
"Alright." you couldn't help but smile like a fool "Goodnight, Stevie."
"Goodnight..."
After closing your door, you silently screamed, jumping up and down in excitement. Your exhaustion suddenly disappears as you start planning out your outfit for the morning.
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wysteria-clad · 2 years
Text
Cucumber face mask and Fist of Vengeance.
warnings: fluffy Jake ya'll. I died from his cuteness when writing this.
a/n: Jake Lockley is a total simp for you madly in love with you
as always, thanks to my homegirl @imgoingtofreakoutnow for helping me with Spanish parts <3
gif credit @mandobi-wan
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How soft would Jake Lockley's heart go for you?
One would think he was lethal and scary. And he was, but with you, it was the exact opposite. If someone told him he would be madly in love, he would have fixed them a glare or a mocking grin. Boy, was he wrong.
He was absolutely smitten with you. It was the reason he let you sit comfortably on his lap. His left hand was loosely draped around your waist, just in case if you slipped back. Plus, he loved holding you in that position, sitting on his lap, facing him.
You squeezed the sides of his face with your index and thumb fingers, making his lips pucker into a cute pout. "You are so cute", you said, kissing his pouty lips with a loud 'mwah'
"You are staring" he stated, as a matter of fact, with a smug smile on his face.
"What? am I not allowed to look at my baby?"
Jake Lockley was many things, but cute?. Oh well, if you said he is cute, then he is cute. If you called him baby, then damn right he is your baby. No questions or protests by him.
"lo que tú digas, mi amor" he accepted it with a tiny smile on his lips.
He did not live his life through rose tinted glasses. Everywhere he saw, it was all dark corners, dark souls, with promises of threats and evil lurking—until you came into the picture.
You traced his face with your fingers delicately, his eyebrows, temples, cheek bones, the soft skin below his eyes, his nose. You brought your face closer to his, placing a feather light kiss on the little scar on his nose bridge.
His eyes closed for a moment. He was aware of his good looks and how many eyed him with lustful gazes everyday. But love? The magical word with the capital 'L', he never dreamt of such thing, but now? Oh my God, his heart would burst into fluttering butterflies.
You loved him and adored him— each touch so gentle, you could not hurt him even on accident. Your love was like warm sun on chilly days.
Now, you were not completely 'pure like an angel', no one was. But to Jake 'I love and adore my girlfriend with all my heart' Lockley, you were the best thing ever happened to him. All his life, he thought his purpose was to protect Marc and Steven and keep them safe. It changed when he you came into their lives, well it did not change completely, more like he had another person to protect. His sweet princesa.
"You alright there, baby?" you paused, your finger tip resting above a scar on his left eyebrow.
Here you were, making sure he was comfortable and alright, even now.
You loved the parts of him that needed the most love.
Your love was careful. Your love was soft, yet fierce and passionate.
Oh how nice it felt to be adored, to be cared for, spoken to in softer and caressing tones, to be held gently by your hands.
He opened his eyes. His usually sharp eyes was round with softness. If he kept looking into your face full of nothing but love for him, he would cry tears of happiness, he thought.
To answer your question, he brought your finger tips to his mouth, kissing them. Then he kissed your palm and the sensitive spot under your wrist, making you giggle. "I'm alright, princesa". His voice was bit gruff, but his heart wasn't. And you knew that. With a hint of smile, you kissed that above that scar on his eyebrow, ever so lightly.
He could kill someone with a hard look on his face, but the moment his eyes laid on you, his expression would soften.
You caressed the tip of his nose with yours. "You know what we can do now?" you pecked his lips quickly and pulled back, "we can do face masks"
"A what?" his eye brows was furrowed.
You sprung off his lap, making your way to the bathroom cabinet. His eyes followed you, he could hear you rummage through it.
.
He would sit with a cucumber face mask on his face with you on a wednesday night.
That's how soft Jake Lockley's heart would go for you.
Only you.
His love.
His woman.
.
.
"What the odd little mortal have done to you?!" Khonshu's voice boomed in Jake's ears. He was shocked to see Jake sitting camly next to you with a...what is that thing on his face? what have you done to my fist of Vengeance?!
Jake stared into a space behind you, mumbling something and shaking his head.
"What does your bird friend say now?" you asked your man, with a light amusement dancing in your eyes.
"Nothing, mi amor. Don't worry" his hand wrapped around your waist.
"I can put this mask on his face too if he like-"
Before you could even finish the last word, the God of the moon fled in fear. In fear of an odd little mortal; an odd little mortal that had his Fist of Vengeance wrapped around her finger.
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moonshynecybin · 4 months
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if you have the time or inclination, can i ask what the deal with motogp/those boys is about? i don’t mean that in a mean way btw, im just curious and i love drama
i will try to be brief (1/4358)
SO! valentino rossi (born 16 February 1979, aquarius. italian.) is one of the most iconic people in motorsport, CERTAINLY in motogp. he's a 9 time world champion, your favorite driver's favorite driver, and is generally credited with revolutionizing the popularity of the sport by: a. being insanely good at motorcycle racing, and b. in general having a lot of fun about it. lethally charming and charismatic. all time active listening face. just a fun and funny dude that everyone pretty much likes and MANY younger riders idolize. VERY good at handling the media and his legions of cult-like fans. sometimes treated more like a god than a person. i was in the store yesterday and saw one of his themed monster energy drinks despite him retiring two years ago. his fun retirement activity is racing BMWs and running his own motogp team/training facility/cult for young italian racers. (this is where cele and bezz and basically every italian rider not named enea bastianini come from!)
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so in 2011ish valentino had won 9 titles, and he decided to leave his current manufacturer and move to italian manufacturer ducati where he generally had a stone-cold terrible time. EXTENDED flop era for a couple years. any time ive watched content that covers this period everyone is so sad. so sad. anyways he GOES BACK to his old manufacturer in 2013 and is much more competitive. kind of just happy to be winning sometimes and be on the podium. 2013 is also where marc comes in. what could go wrong.
marc marquez! (born 17 february 1993, almost exactly 14 years after vale which i'm sure means nothing. also an aquarius. spanish.) childhood sports idols include: dani pedrosa, VALENTINO ROSSI.
marc carved his way up through the feeder championships until casey stoner unexpectedly retired at the end of the 2012 season leaving a seat empty on a VERY good bike for his rookie season. rocked up and was immediately VERY good at winning and very good at being a crazyinsane person on track that made people mad at him lol. hilarious habit of pissing people off via on-track crimes that i really enjoy. motogp riders are already crazy (they do death sport) but marc is famous for taking risks no one else will. basically if he's not winning, he's crashed out or he's maybe crashed YOU out. he wins the championship as a rookie (insane) and the next year's championship as well. heir apparent to the throne. sweet and goofy but is now known as one of the more reserved riders with the press. probably because of all this drama tbh. undisputed GOAT of acting like a slut on camera
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throughout 2013-2014, marc and valentino had a good relationship! marc very clearly idolizes him and is like. bowled over completely with delight every time valentino looks his way. vale likes him! theyre buds! truly an endless well of pictures of vale explaining something with his hands and marc babygirling at him. highly recommend checking out @pgaslys every rosquez podium tag for contextual brain damage. insane times.
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(IT SHOULD BE NOTED: before the 2015 season marc visits valentino at his practice track in italy, where they compete to break the track record and almost kill each other bc they are so pathologically competitive. APPARENTLY, marc showed up with some official mechanics and valentino was a little pissed off because it was supposed to be a like. fun thing. and to marc winning is the most fun! if you dont come to win why come at all! anyways marc breaks the track record and credits that to cooling their relationship a bit. good post about it here.) here they are that day:
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so what could go wrong, right? WELL. valentino has a chance to win his tenth title in 2015. marc is on a flop bike and crashed a bunch so he's not in the championship conversation but vale is leading the standings from the jump, with his main opponent being jorge lorenzo. i think he really wanted that tenth, and dedicated himself to the season in a way he hadnt really ever before (he was a very effortless competitor when he was young. gym-adverse. king).
marc and him start to get into some scraps along the way, notably in argentina (where they made contact and marc crashed out), assen (where they made contact AGAIN and vale won the race), and phillip island (marc won. GREAT race available here for free). phillip island sees vale finishing P4 and jorge lorenzo finishing ahead of him in P3, reducing his championship lead by quite a bit. no real indication of any tension during these races, and they are asked about it!
this is where valentino's delulu era begins! basically, ahead of the next race (🔥🔥SEPANG 2015🔥🔥) in the pre-race press conference, he goes after marc, saying he was deliberately sabotaging valentino in phillip island because marc wanted jorge to win. in valentino's mind. marc wants jorge to win because a. they are both spanish (??) and b. it would mean marc has to win less titles to equal valentino's total. record scratch. freeze frame.
everyone (including marc!) thinks valentino is joking at first bc that is bananascrazyinsane. he was not joking. (it should be noted valentino STILL thinks this lol.) anyways marc is completely blindsided. he thought they were good! yeah they've been chippy on track but that's racing!! truly like. 22 years old and your friend (AND CHILDHOOD IDOL.) is calling you a snake in front of your face with NO prior warning to the entire motogp establishment writ large including your coworkers and REPORTERS. valentino wont even look at him the entire time. the press conference is available here on vimeo. excruciating gifsets of marc's very stiff bewildered PR smile found here.
anyways so. the race. marc is uh. pissed off. he's stuck to valentino like GLUE the entire time and they trade places a bunch of times. now marc is kind of famous for being a little asshole on track anyways, but its not like he's gonna get out of valentino's way and just let him pass after what he said in that press conference so. hand in unlovable hand <3. truly very fun to watch imo even with the sword of damocles hanging over them. marc is fucking on one the entire race and basically refuses to give valentino an inch until vale gets so fed up with his antics that um. well. it certainly looks like he kicked him. vale says he didnt, and that his leg accidently made contact with marc's bike. marcs says. he fucking kicked me. judge for yourself here!
so valentino gets hauled in front of race direction and penalized for the next race (the deciding race for the championship). he has to start from the back of the grid and it kills his chance at a tenth title stone dead. vale places the blame squarely on marc's shoulders and his legions of fans decide marc is public enemy number 1. him and jorge have to get security at the next race because of death threats, someone tries to break into marc's childhood home back in spain, marc's mom throws away all of marc's valentino merchandise from when he was a kid. vale says nothing.
but the thing about marc. is that he loves very hard and chooses his people pretty carefully. didnt really move out of his tiny hometown until he turned 30 and also made his baby brother move in with him kind of guy. so all this is not really enough for him to let go of vale entirely! 2016 is where the pain lives! bc marc is still reaching out and vale himself stays pretty cold for a couple years. they seem to faintly reconcile for a bit but its not anywhere like it was before sepang.
the real nail in the coffin is argentina 2018. another insane race where marc has to start from the back and goes on a rampage through the field and crashes out like three people. i cant remember. this race is also available on youtube for free its very entertaining. every five minutes marc does something insane. vale is one of the people marc crashes out and afterwardshe goes on a big rant about how marc is destroying the sport and is actively dangerous. marc goes to valentino's garage immediately after the race to apologize and vale doesnt even look at him. he gets turned away at the door after vale's best friend/assistant/henchman yells in his face1!!! and thats kind off all she wrote in terms of reconciliation
anyways that's where we are! they are both very much not over it. vale goes on podcasts and is like. in 30 years i will still be mad, im literally never going to get over it it was such a big and unfair thing and i think about it all the time like it was yesterday. and marc (lying) says as time goes by i dont even think about it :) and i care about valentino less and less :))) but yes he hurt me deeply lol. CANNOT stress enough how much this entire thing is now inextricably liked to both of their legacies. the two arguable GOATs of a sport had an epic fleetwood mac-style beatles breakup divorce and everyone wants to talk about it allllll day long including me :)
additional context! really recommend checking out marc's little docuseries he put out this year about his recent struggles with injury. he is so not right in the head and it goes over the valentino drama in ep3. theres also hitting the apex (2015) which goes over the 2013 season (marc's rookie season) and is a really good introduction to all the major players at the time. its like less than 2 hrs long so its not too much of a commitment
also recommend following scholars @babynflames, @its-always-silly-season, @baking-soda, and @f1vegas as well as many others im forgetting rn bc its 2am!
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juneknight · 7 months
Text
Pleased to Please
The sequel (AKA Jake's Revenge) to Making Trouble.
About this: MK System/fem!reader, use of 'slut' as a term of endearment. An unnecessary amount of gloves. Jake Lockley.
*
You wake up to Marc pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You hum in pleasure, burrowing deeper into the covers, sleepy enough to miss what he says the first time he says it. His voice rumbles over you again, warm with mirth. His hands work the blanket away from your face, and he repeats himself again: 
“I know it’s Sunday, but I have errands to run. Want to come with or stay in?” 
You crack one eye open. 
*
The two of you stand at the bus stop leaning against each other to make room for the others who crowd around for the same purpose. Someone jostles into you, and the look Marc gives them is cold—it makes strange butterflies unfold their wings in your belly. You lean in to press a kiss to his cheek, turning his focus back to you. 
“What errands do you need to run?” you ask in his ear to make sure you are heard over the rumble of traffic. 
“Swapping out supplies,” he says, explaining the duffle bag he has over one shoulder. “Boring stuff, but I’ll buy you coffee after.” 
“Now you’re talking.”
The two of you shuffle your way onto the bus. He crowds you protectively, looping an arm around your waist to keep you close while his hand grips the bar to keep you both steady. You’ve gotten used to taking the bus after meeting Steven. Before him, you had walked or taken the tube, not the biggest fan of London drivers. Occasionally, you and Marc would go in on a cab together; you had never felt safe doing such a thing alone. And with Jake…
Your face flames. Leaning in to whisper in Marc’s ear again, you says: “It’s a shame we don’t have Jake’s car, isn’t it?” 
Marc’s eyes go heavy-lidded, a smirk tugging up the corners of his mouth. He remembers as well as you do your activities in Jake’s car only days before. He glances towards the window of the bus—likely hearing some colorful commentary from the man in question—before turning his eyes back to yours. 
“We’d just end up making more trouble in it, wouldn’t we?” he says back, letting his voice dip low under the guise of privacy, as if he doesn’t know what the timber of it does to you. 
“You’re probably right,” you breathe back. “How much further ‘til our stop?” 
“Not much. You’re already thinking about going back home aren’t you? Crawling back into bed?” 
“As long as you join me.” 
“My god, you two are better than television,” says the woman behind you both who has been clearly standing close enough to hear. You jump, startled by her sudden intrusion into your private conversation, embarrassment making your face burn hot. Thank god she had said something before the two of you really got going—
“Mind your business,” Marc says, uncharacteristically cold as he glares at the woman. 
Middle-aged, clutching a recyclable tote in her arms, the woman looks like her first instinct is to argue back—perhaps something about how the two of you were making your business right there on a public bus—but the look on Marc’s face stops her words in her throat. She shuts her mouth with a click and nods, awkwardly trying to shuffle to a different spot on the bus to stand. 
You frown up at Marc, but he smiles down at you like nothing is wrong. Reaching up, you lay the back of your hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling alright? You’re acting strange.” 
It’s Marc’s turn to frown, his head tilting to one side, warm brown eyes roaming over your face. 
“What do you mean?” he wonders But before you can answer, Marc glances forward and says: “Shit, this is us.” 
He helps you press your way to the front and guides you two back out onto the dreary London street. You glance up at the building, frowning in thought. 
“Storage units? Do you have a unit here?” 
Marc just grins in answer, holding up a  keyfob with the business’s logo on it. 
*
The building is cool and quiet, sounds oddly muffled as you walk through the halls lined on either side with storage units. Occasionally you pass one with the door open, lock hanging loosely on the outside. You shiver. Places like this always make you feel odd, knowing how much history is here, each unit a snapshot of someone’s life. You cheer yourself with the thought that you’re about to see a snapshot of Marc’s. 
When you arrive at unit #43, you bounce a little on your toes as Marc unlocks it and opens the door, a gentleman allowing you entrance first. But whatever you were expecting inside, you cannot help but be disappointed. 
The unit is mostly empty, perhaps ten-by-ten. It is very utilitarian, with walls of alloyed metal shiny enough to see yourself in, even if your figure was a fraction distorted. A lightbulb hangs in the corner casting an unflattering fluorescent glow over the room. There are a series of storage totes, opaque to conceal their contents. A cot is in the corner, with a poor excuse for a pillow and a blanket folded with military precision. 
“Do you sleep here sometimes?” you ask, baffled at the thought. 
“I used to,” says Marc, going to the corner and setting his backpack down. He kneels, the zipper loud in the quiet of the unit. “It was a safe place, a place of my own, before Steven and I—reconciled.” 
That makes you inexplicably sad, imagining Marc spending any length of time here, stretched out on a cot too short for him and listening to the hum of lights all night. 
“That’s terrible,” you murmur.
Marc makes a sound in the back of his throat, derisive, clearly not feeling so maudlin about it. He says something, but you are too entranced by testing the cot, sitting heavily on its coarse fabric. It barely gives under your weight, unyielding and uncomfortable. At last you become aware of his gaze on you. You glance over to see him kneeling at his duffel bag, eyes glittering with some foreign emotion as he watches you. 
“Sorry, what’d you say?” you ask. 
“I said, Take your clothes off.” 
You blink, unsure if you heard him properly. “What?”
“Do it slow,” he adds, his chin tipping down and the look in his eyes simmering into something condensed, something so heated that you can feel it from across the room the way you feel the heat of flames when standing too close to a fire. Shifting, he sits with his back against the wall, one leg outstretched. “I want a show.” 
“I don’t—oh my god,” you whisper. “Jake? Has it been you this whole time?”
He runs a hand through his curls, pressing them back. The grin that settles on his mouth is so unlike Marc. At the beginning of your relationship, you had been so insecure that you would mix the boys up and potentially offend them, but you had quickly learned that such a thing was very unlikely. Each of their personalities was so unique, so distinct from the other: the way they stood (or slouched) the way they walked, the way they smiled and laughed—each of them had a million little tells, characteristics that set them apart. 
“Don’t feel bad,” he says. His voice is a little flatter than Marc’s—less likely to fluctuate with emotion. It is softly accented; you know that he mostly prefers to speak Spanish. “I am very good at what I do.” 
“You even took the bus—oh, Jake you hate the bus—” 
He hums. “We’re walking home.” 
“I just—why? I would have come with you anywhere.” 
“No, you wouldn’t.” 
“How can you say that?”
Jake looks up at you, brow cocked. From within the duffle bag, he removes his leather gloves and begins tugging them on. Those fucking gloves. Something about them makes your heart pound. The buttery softness of them, the scent of well-maintained authentic leather, the methodical,calculated way that he puts them on and takes them off. Or maybe it’s just the connotation that comes with them: that Jake is about to get his hands very, very dirty. 
“Because you’re a good girl,” he croons. “If you had known Marc was taking you to my car, you wouldn’t have gone with him—just the same way you wouldn’t have come with me if you knew I was bringing you here for my revenge.” 
“So this is Marc’s storage unit?” you breathe. 
Jake nods slowly. He says: “You know what else I know?” 
“What?” 
“You’re such a good girl,” he says, voice soft, needing nearly no volume for the sound to carry to you just feet away, “You’re going to take your punishment without complaining. Because you know you deserve it, don’t you?” 
“Jake,” you sigh shakily. 
“Undress,” he says softly. 
You stand up. Your knees are knocking together, you’re so full of adrenalin, hands shaking as you slip clothing item after item off. You fold them the way you know Jake likes you to, sitting them neatly on top of the stack of storage totes. As you turn, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the walls and it makes your face burn. Fuck, you hope that the helpful guy behind the desk out front doesn’t come to see what’s taking you both so long. 
When your eyes find Jake again, you suck in a gasp. All the things you might have suspected he would have—the tripod wasn’t one. Sleek, it is simple but effective. He whistles a little beneath his breath as he fits Marc’s phone into it. When he realizes that you have stopped undressing, his whistling stops, lips puckered softly, dark eyes finding your own. Whatever expression you wear must delight him.
“Problem?”
“Come on, J,” you whisper, shifting on your socked feet. “Marc is going to be pissed enough, isn’t he? What do you plan to make him do, watch it in 3D?” 
Jake points to the tripod, a look of near-comical innocence on his face. Some might not guess that Jake has the silliest humor of the three of them, sometimes bordering on cheesy or even slapstick. Demasiadas telenovelas, as he might say. “What, this? You think—? Oh, darling girl. This isn’t for Marc. 
“The walls? Those are for Marc. Let him see the way I fuck you in every angle, I don’t care. But this? This is for me. I intend to remember this for a very long time,” he says, his words ending distractedly as he plays with Marc’s phone, getting the settings just right. He eyes your socks pointedly.
“It’s cold in here,” you gripe.
Jake snorts softly, but he doesn’t object. He stands and goes to you, gripping your bare shoulder gently and moving you a fraction this way—a hair that way. Into the best view of the camera, you realize. Being treated like some doll, stop-motion, only made to be bent and twisted into whatever shape pleases him has a surprising effect on you. Even as your thighs clench together tightly, you find yourself…bashful. Crossing your arms over your breasts, you shrink in on yourself. 
“Qué es eso?” Jake wonders. He abandons the camera and comes to you. His presence is more comforting than intimidating the way some might imagine it to be. You lean your head against his chest and let his hands encircle your wrists, drawing them away from your chest. “Who is this shy woman? I remember the way you let Marc strip you naked with nothing but my tinted windows to protect your modesty.” 
“You know how he gets,” you whine. “He uses that voice, that tone, and then I’m naked.” 
“This voice?” he asks, mimicking Marc’s Chicagoan accent flawlessly. He slips into it the way you might slip into a comfortable shirt, familiar and well-worn. He leans back away from you a little to grip your chin firmly, to lift it up for his inspection. “This tone?” 
It is. It really is. And as much as it makes your thighs clench, it drives you even wilder how easy it is for him. Jake is so fucking good at it, at pretending, at impersonating—his skill makes you swoon. It makes your heart pound. It makes your pussy wet. 
Jake must sense this. Maybe he senses the ripple that seems to pass through you, or maybe he feels the goosebumps that rise on your arms. Either way, he laughs, soft and teasing, rumbling against where your bury your face in his chest. 
He clicks his tongue at you until you look at him once more. 
“I’ll play Marc for you another day,” he says, eyes growing steelier than the walls. “But right now—it’s me fucking you. I’m going to fuck my cock so deeply inside you that there won’t be any room for him. ¿Me entiendes? 
“Now, lay on the cot. I’m hungry.” 
Jake eats pussy masterfully, but true to character, he is a mess of contradictions. First he spreads your thighs wide, leather-clad thumbs finding your slippery outer folds to part you to his gaze. He lets go and leans in to suck and kiss at every part of you that isn’t your clit: sucking at your folds, tonguing your hole, kissing your thighs. He is clean shaven (like to keep up the charade of Marc), not a hint of painful stubble to chafe your sensitive pussy. 
Jake leads with his tongue and lips, knowing how sensitive you are. For many long moments, he eats you without purpose, like he is giving you head just for the sake of it, no goalpost ahead to punt your orgasm through. 
But then he becomes frantic, pressing his tongue as deeply into you as he can, sucking on your clit, dragging the flat of his teeth against your folds. He is lackadaisical and then frenzied, patient and then desperate.
The whole time, you have both hands over your mouth, nothing but the aborted gasps in your throat, the frantic breaths through your nose, and the wet, lurid sounds of Jake eating your pussy to fill up the quiet room. 
When you get close, your heels dig into his back. He finally either gets bored with you or decides that he’s warmed you up enough. Your loud groan of protest has his eyes sharpening in a warning that makes you flush. He’s right, though. You have to be quiet. 
Jake guides you into the next position he wants, and it’s almost unbearable: on your hands and knees, face towards the camera of Marc’s phone. Jake leaves you like that, on your hands and knees while he undresses slow and methodical, only the slightly warped imagine of him on the metal walls your visual.. 
Sometimes he says something, low and light and Spanish, before chuckling at whatever Marc’s response is.��
“Is he mad?” You wonder, unsure what you want the answer to be. 
“No,” Jake croons, kneeling behind you. He draws you up til you kneel, back pressed flush against his bare chest, cock hard between your thighs. In your ear, he says: “He is livid.”
“Jake,” you whine. 
He clicks his tongue again. He holds up his hand in front of you, leather gloves still in place.
“Open your mouth.” 
You open. Carefully, he has you tug the glove off with your teeth. He holds it while you do the same with the other. Then he makes you open your mouth so he can tuck the palms of his gloves between your teeth for you to hold. 
“Drop those, and you’ll be punished,” Jake says, bare hands smoothing along your back, down your hips, finding your ass. He spanks you, once, hard. A warning that you feel all the way to your toes. “Leave a single mark from your teeth on my leather, and you’ll also be punished.” 
You whine in dismay at this twist, trying to find the perfect balance between keeping the gloves in your mouth but not biting with enough force to leave a mark. Distracted by this, you miss whatever Jake says to his reflection, though his bright laugh at whatever its response is makes you shiver. 
Gently, he urges you back onto your hands and knees. His cock nudges against the wetness between your legs. You make a desperate little sound, shifting, arching your back to offer his cock more contact with your pussy. The fire Jake had lit inside you with his mouth flares to life again, unsatisfied and aching.
“Can you take it?” Jake wonders, slipping and sliding along the seam of you, soaking his cock in your own arousal. “Or do you need my fingers to open you up?”
You try to answer him with the gloves, but the words are nothing but muted sounds. His cockhead, thick enough alone to be a pleasing stretch, presses at your entrance. 
“What was that?” Jake wonders, cupping a hand to his ear. 
No use in trying to tell him twice. Instead you press back, welcoming him into your body. Your eyes shut, and you nearly drop the gloves when your mouth craves to fall open and release a groan. It is by the skin of your teeth (pun intended) that you manage to keep the gloves in your mouth. You seethe with jealousy at the quiet but robust moan that Jake gives out, his fingers dimpling the skin of your hips with force as he grips you and pulls you back further and further on his cock. 
“Impaciente,” he reprimands breathily. “Who is fucking who? Are you fucking me? Go ahead then. Fuck me.” 
Jake lets go of your hips, crossing his arms contemplatively across his chest. You whine, leaning forward and then sinking back onto his cock. The throaty hum that Jake gives makes you shiver, pleased to be pleasing him. You begin an unsure rhythm, rocking on and off his cock.
For a while, it is enough for Jake. But then he takes your hips in his broad hands again. 
“Do you need help? Here.” He gives a series of near-brutal thrusts, the sound of his balls slapping your cunt loud in the enclosed room. You choke on a groan, head falling forward and eyes screwing shut with pleasure—and then a burst of pain across your scalp has your eyes opening as Jake tugs your head up. Back to face the camera. “Head up. I want to see your pretty face. I want to watch you wreck yourself on my cock.” 
He makes you go on like that for an endless amount of time. Eventually you find a rhythm, making sure not to turn your face away from the camera as you rock back against his thighs, taking his cock to the root again and again. 
“Why do you look so sour?” You make a confused sound. Jake’s hand smooths across your flank. His other hand points. “Not you. Him. You’re putting on an amazing show for him, and he isn’t even appreciating it.” 
All of the sudden, there is a distant bang. You freeze, Jake’s cock halfway buried inside you. Distantly–so distantly, you can hear the sound of approaching footsteps. Behind you, Jake’s body begins to shake with quiet laughs even as your own seems to seize with terror at the thought of being caught. The lock for the unit only hangs loosely, offering the two of you no privacy should someone decide to investigate the noise and open the door. 
Jake draws you up, lowering himself onto his haunches as he tugs you back against his chest. In your ear, he murmurs: “Perhaps Marc is the only person we should give a show to. Oh—oh no? You’re shaking your head, but your cunt can’t lie to me. Not when I know her so well. If you don’t want anyone to see what a beautiful little slut you are, then you had best keep quiet.” 
Keep quiet—simple, except that he reaches down between your legs, fingers tracing along your stretched entrance, and then dragging up over your sensitive, otherwise-ignored clit. Your body jerks, desperate to get away from the sudden stimulus and desperate to get closer all at once. You whine, the sound echoing off the walls and back to you. It takes all of your fortitude to press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and try to stifle any further noises. 
Jake takes your clit between his fingers and rubs softly, purring into the nape of your neck at the way your pussy spasms around his cock. In the distance, the footsteps draw closer, the quiet murmur of voices heard. Can they hear you as well as you can hear them? Fuck, you imagine they can. Your orgasm, so far denied of you, swells low and sweet in your belly, and you dread it just as much as you ache for it—
All at once, a warmth fills you, Jake’s cock twitching where it is buried deep inside you. He groans so quietly against your skin, trailing off into a little breathless laugh. The feel of his spend filling you has your cunt clenching, approaching that edge. But before you can let yourself trip over the ledge and down into pleasure’s abyss, Jake’s fingers freeze. 
Did you hear that? a voice asks. Your heart pounds, entire body flashing hot and then cold with panic. Jake’s hand reaches up and wraps around you throat, fingers flexing gently in warning. As if you need one!
Rats, probably. City’s got ones bigger than your cock—not that that’s saying much. 
You make too many jokes about my cock for a bloke who's straight. 
The voices begin to fade away. Jake’s fingers relax, stroking the line of your throat softly. 
“Good girl,” he murmurs in your ear. “Very good girl, keeping quiet, fucking me so good. Did you cum?” 
As if he doesn’t already know. You shake your head, slow and emphatic, gloves flapping softly against your cheeks. 
“Do you want to cum?” 
A nod. 
“Roll over. On your back. Shh, shh—I know it’s cold.” 
You lay there shivering, looking up at him, the taste of leather on your tongue. You’re nearly shaking with need, thighs spread so he can kneel between them. He’s cum, but his cock hardly looks softened, flush and dark between his legs. Jake grips his cock and strokes himself a few times, the muscles in his belly tensing. He is so fucking hot, you feel like if you laid here long enough looking up at him, you would cum. 
With his other hand, Jake reaches for Marc’s phone. He works it softly off of the tripod and turns the screen to face you, lets you look at yourself in the front facing camera. Your hands cover your eyes at the brief glimpse you catch of yourself looking so fucked-out, thighs splattered with pearly seed, cunt swollen, nipples hard, those fucking gloves held between your teeth.
Jake laughs softly as he takes the camera and turns it the proper direction so that he can film you. “Hands down, what did I say? I said I want to see your pretty face.” 
Two of his fingers, thick and strong, slip inside you. Your hands fall away from your eyes, mouth going slack enough that the gloves slip dangerously and you have to tighten your lips to keep from dropping them altogether. Jake’s grin behind the phone is downright sinful as he takes obvious, obscene pleasure in your struggle. His fingers squelch as he begins a moderate pace of fucking you with them. 
“All you have to do is ask me, and I’ll make you cum.” He pauses to slip his fingers from you and drag the mess of yourself up over your sensitive clit, delighting in your whine and writhe. “So go ahead and ask real pretty. I’m all ears.” 
You ask, words severely muffled around the gloves. 
“I can’t understand,” he says, pointing the phone towards your pussy in a move that has tears filling your eyes with how tightly your cunt grips at his fingers. You didn’t know you liked being filmed so much—wouldn’t have imagined such a thing in a thousand years. “Keep asking. I like to hear you struggle. Say, ‘Please make me cum, Jake’.”
You’re desperate enough to keep trying, feeling the muscles in your belly tighten, though you desperately wish he would stroke your clit. You would cum nearly straight away, you are so close to the precipice. You repeat his words. 
“Who? Did you say—Marc?”
Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking furiously. You repeat his name again and again, though he puckers his lips to look doubtful. He slips his fingers out of you again and you nearly wail, desperate for the release you have worked so hard to earn. But instead of taking his hands away, Jake takes your slippery clit between his fingers again, working the little pleasurable knot with dextrous, merciless skill. 
You cum before you know you are cumming, back arching against the chilly floor, barely aware of Jake tugging the gloves from between your teeth to hear the way your voice grits out his name. He rubs and softly pinches your most sensitive flesh until you are whining and shaking and whispering for him to stop, it is too much, you are too sensitive. 
He adjusts the camera to take in your entire expression: dilated, heavy-lidded eyes, mouth swollen and parted, tears clinging to your lashes. 
“Good girl,” he says again, soundly absurdly pleased. He sets the phone down, using the free hand to smooth softly across your trembling belly as you are riddled with spasms and shivers in the aftermath of your release. 
Then, a sound you dread, one you dread more than even footsteps or voices: 
Jake clicks his tongue in displeasure. 
Eyes wet and wide, voice raspy from your whines and cries, you ask, “What is it?” 
His eyes flash up to you, smile spreading slow and dangerous across his face. It makes you shiver, makes your pussy clench. He holds up his glove, pointing. “What is that? Hm? There, denting the leather.” 
A toothmark. 
“Looks like you are due for that punishment after all.”
Gripping both gloves loosely in one hand, Jake brings them down to spank your clit.
*
I'm currently raising money to afford the emergency care provided to my perpetual-pup who passed away on 8/25. Please consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed this; every penny goes to him. Reblogs are invaluable. And come leave a request in my inbox, if you'd like.
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m00nsbaby · 8 months
Text
Sleepwalking. (Already over II)
Steven Grant ( + Marc Spector) x F! Reader.
First part: Already Over.
Next part: Clumsy.
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Tags & warnings. Angst, like, just angst. Steven hurts his hand at the beggining so there's blood involved, Marc is kind of a... jerk.
Word count. 3.8k
Summary.
What a shame, what a shame, what a shame, It's all fun and games 'til you don't wanna play now. Run away, run away, run away, It's easy to say but it's harder to say now. You're onto something else, I'm a picture left on your shelf. The dream's a lie I tell myself Feel like I'm sleepwalking when you're gone. 
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The moment the bomb detonated was more horrible than Marc had imagined. Not only because of Steven, who in his mind was the worst of his problems, but because the moment you closed the door behind you, it felt as if you had taken his heart with you.
Marc collapsed on the floor, unable to cry, even if he wanted to. He wasn't like Steven; he couldn't just let it flow, but at this moment, it seemed more like he was in shock.
He wondered, did that really happen or am I just dreaming?
His body tensed for a few seconds; he closed his eyes tightly, and before he could protest, Steven had taken control of the body. He had struggled so hard to keep him in the shadows that his body felt exhausted, with a horrible burning sensation in his muscles.
"Marc?" he questioned out loud, still on the floor. "Marc? What did you do?"
There was no response, and he could only swallow hard as if it would help wash away the bad taste in his mouth.
"What did you do, Marc?" Sometimes the best part of having Steven was having a way to express his pain. By the third time he asked, his voice was already broken, his vision blurred by the tears that threatened to come out at any moment.
Finally, the other one had the courage to respond.
"L-Layla knows," was the only thing that sounded in the headspace.
"How am I going to fix this, Marc?" Memories of what happened just a few minutes ago came to him in flashes; he didn't have the whole conversation because Marc had forced him to stay in the shadows.
The mere image of your heartbroken gaze was enough to cause nightmares for the rest of his life, whether he managed to fix Marc's mistake or not.
"I don't care; I don't care about her!" He sobbed with anger coursing through him from head to toe. At this point, his pain seemed more physical than emotional. He felt exactly like that time when he was impaled multiple times in Cairo.
But worse. At that time, he had a suit to protect him. How would he deal with this now without anything to shield him?
"You can't go on like this, Steven, we can't…"
As if his body moved automatically, he headed for the nearest mirror, the one where you had sought him out for help. His hands stopped on the edge of the sink, and he stared fixedly at himself in the mirror.
Tears flowed freely, seeking to heal a wound the size of his chest.
"I hate you," he whispered with a voice shattered, Marc looked back at him trying to maintain his composure. The pain of a broken heart combined with his constant battle with pride; he would never admit that he might be wrong. "You ruined it, Marc, you ruined everything."
"I did? I ruined everything?" Marc's ironic laughter made his blood boil. "I told you a damn million times, Steven!" The screams made him startle, but he was determined to hide his weakness. He was finally ready to face him. "I told you to stay away from her; was it fair to snatch away the one thing I have?"
Steven's fist went straight to the mirror. He didn't break it, but he shattered the reflection of Marc into many small pieces, and his knuckles were bleeding in a matter of seconds.
"My life is made to support yours." When Steven's fixed gaze met his, Marc had time to question how they had come to this after supposedly fixing things. Was this also his entire fault? "And I understood it, I swear to God I did." Sometimes he had to pause to sniff through his nose. "All I've done is give everything for you, and you took away everything I had."
There was only silence from the other side of the mirror.
"You took her away from me, Marc." His voice gradually lowered; suddenly, he reverted to the old Steven, with a broken heart and his guard down. The one that made him think so much of his younger brother. "What do I have in life if it's not her?"
More silence. Of course, Steven was in the same predicament as him, clinging to something that brought them happiness.
The difference was that for him, it wasn't exactly Layla.
"We were happy with Layla." His broken voice was barely perceptible.
"You were happy." He looked at his fingers, as the blood continued to run through them. "You were happy with stability, happy hiding from problems with stupid adventures that make you forget how bad your life is outside of there."
The amount of resentment in his voice was terrifying. Painful.
"You were happy pretending to be someone you're not." He closed his eyes, letting the tears flow freely. "You were happy pretending I didn't exist."
"S-Steven, I, I, don't…"
There was no more conversation at that moment. Not for the rest of the day. Or the night. Marc was a silent witness to how Steven cried until his throat was raw, how his entire body trembled, and how an nauseating knot formed in his stomach, paralyzing all his muscles.
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The next day was a nightmare worse than the previous one. For the first time in a long while, Steven was able to sleep the hours that a normal human needed to function, but the problem was that, of course, these hours had been filled with nightmares and dreams where only you were present. Waking up to the reality where everything was worse was an emotional burden that filled his eyes with tears in the first minutes of regaining consciousness.
Well, he had to start trying. He picked up his phone, the one you always teased him about because it was the oldest phone you had ever seen.
First call, first voicemail.
"Love? Could you answer the calls? I really need to talk to you, I'm so sorry for the things Marc said yesterday."
Second call, second voicemail.
"I'm so sorry, really, please, please answer, okay? I need you."
Third call, third voicemail.
"It was never my intention to hurt you," and yes, for a change, Steven was taking responsibility for Marc's mistakes. "And I know it wasn't his either, he's just… damaged and scared. Please, love, please, let's talk."
Fourth call, fourth voicemail.
"We can't throw away all our plans, love." He didn't fear that you could hear his sobs or the way he struggled for breath between sentences. "I want to be with you. I want to be with you until the last day of my life, please, please."
The fifth call didn't go through. It seemed like you had turned off your phone. Fifth voicemail.
"I know you don't want to see me right now." He had to clear his throat before speaking again. "I just want to talk to you. It's all I'm asking for, it doesn't have to be now, just give me a sign that I can come closer, I'm begging you."
He didn't give up. If it were up to his anxiety, his love, or his fear of abandonment, he would have called you a total of 20 times per hour. But he knew you wanted and needed space. All that was left was to pray that you would hear his messages and give him the slightest sign of life.
In the end, he returned to bed, laying face down, and closed his eyes for just a few seconds.
"Steven?"
"What?"
"The body."
"Huh?"
"Give me the body."
"What do you mean…?"
"I need to go talk to Layla."
"You must be kidding." Steven barely lifted his head to see the mirror resting on one of the furniture next to his bed.
The one he never touched because it had a lipstick mark from you in one corner. A perfectly formed kiss. There was Marc.
"Tell me you're joking."
"Give me the body or I will take it from you."
Steven had no strength to fight, he relented and hoped for a little peace in the darkness of his mind.
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That afternoon, Marc apologized tirelessly, and yes, he preferred a million times to falsely accept that he had had an affair than to confess Steven's existence.
"Forgive me, okay? I made a mistake." His hands cradled Layla's face between them. Of course, he had made a mistake, although he didn't specify what kind.
"You're an idiot, Marc." And he couldn't help but think that yes, indeed, he was. There weren't many more words exchanged between them, but unfortunately, this relationship was an imbalanced scale.
It was about two people who simply didn't know how to deal with their emotions, didn't know how to communicate with each other, and undoubtedly had never dealt with their emotional baggage separately to understand that they needed to work to become better.
He couldn't help but notice the parallel. He doesn't remember the romantic part of your relationship with Steven because Steven himself took great care to hide it perfectly, but Marc is aware of every aspect of what your friendship was.
He remembers every argument, if they could even be called that. You two never raised your voices, never.
And you, as the apparent best friend, knew Marc's story inside out, you were never one to raise your voice, but you were always careful not to trigger a bad memory in Steven.
On his part, Steven was incredible at listening. He listened attentively, didn't interrupt, and when you finished talking, he would explain his perspective. You didn't always reach an agreement, that was obvious, but you always knew that you both were much more important to each other than any silly disagreement.
Marc thought about how he would have liked to be as honest as Steven was when Layla's lips were on him. When his way of clarifying things was to have the grossest sex of both their lives.
Usually, the best part of spending these kinds of nights with her was that it meant a mental break with you in exactly two days. Although Steven never understood why you refused to see him the next day, Marc always knew why you felt disgusted. In fact, he understood perfectly, but he never had the courage to tell you that he was sorry.
Thinking that not only were you in love with Steven but that you were also a couple fueled his self-disgust even more.
"I love you, Marc." That was the last thing he heard before leaving his wife's house, which at every moment felt more like a stranger to him.
He didn't respond, and like everyone else around him, she settled for it because everyone always accommodates themselves to Marc Spector's wishes.
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Each passing hour, you were crumbling in a worse way. Probably "dead inside" was one of the best ways to describe your current state.
The stages of grief were starting to attack you, very slowly, but you didn't want to be rational because calling it "grief" would mean that you had lost Steven forever.
And you had, but you didn't want to think about that. After all, you were still in the first stage, denial.
It took you a few hours to decide to listen to his voicemails.
"My baby." You whispered to yourself as your arms clung to one of the many garments you had stolen from him. His navy blue sweater that was too long on the sleeves.
You felt ridiculous.
You sobbed forcefully, your cheek had been tingling for a while from the warmth and moisture of your tears on the pillow. Did the breakup hurt? Of course, it hurt to the core, but after hearing his broken voice on the other end of the line, what was probably hurting you the most was knowing that Steven was suffering.
It felt like they were being forcibly torn apart, although it had felt that way from the moment their relationship began. The rope had been tightening around each of you, pulling you apart at the cost of permanently hurting them.
You were sure you would never love anyone the way you loved and still love Steven. Steven would rather vanish than even imagine a life with someone else.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." You whispered as the fabric of his sweater covered part of your face, with the sole purpose of sniffing and recapturing a bit of his scent. The garment had been in your possession for so long that you could barely perceive Steven in it anymore.
You apologized for not being more discreet, for, in your opinion, ruining your perfect relationship, maybe for not knowing how to keep your distance when there was still time. You apologized for being so deeply in love that you felt like you couldn't live without him, for choosing to look out for yourself instead of running into his arms, and for any inconveniences you might have caused Marc one day.
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Steven and you were on autopilot. Barely eating, barely breathing, barely existing.
You somehow managed to get up and shower after receiving the call from the pet adoption center confirming that the form you and Steven had filled out had been approved, and now you just had to go for 3 days, 2 hours to visit your future pet.
A part of you momentarily thought about ignoring the call, you were so broken that the mere thought of that visit together ended up squeezing your heart painfully, not to mention that the whole plan from the beginning was for the cat to belong to both of you.
Your rational side was always stronger than you, you couldn't leave the little one without a home. Besides, maybe you needed the company.
Perhaps he would do you good, and you would do everything possible to do right by him.
Needless to say, on the first day of bonding, you cried until your lungs hurt, with the little kitten in your arms. He was so affectionate, providing excellent comfort, but you didn't stop crying for a single moment during the 2 hours.
Then you cried more on the way back home because you had to say goodbye to him.
On the second day, you only cried half of the visit because when the cat started playing in front of you, it drew a small laugh from you for the way he twirled around.
On the last day, you found him waiting for you, ready to settle on your lap. It was as if he understood that you were exhausted, and his purring felt like receiving a hug. You were a perfect match.
Meanwhile, Marc was living days that were going from bad to worse. Steven refused to speak to him more than necessary, but everything hurt twice as much when the breakdowns started coming back. As he took another sip of his whiskey, he realized that this time he had nowhere to go, that he would probably never hear you say "I'm here" again to keep him sane, that your arms wouldn't surround him, and you wouldn't leave him a space in your bed that was a million times more comfortable than his. Accepting that he missed you churned his stomach. Because, of course, it wasn't the first time he had thought of you since you left, but it was the first time he lowered his guard enough to digest that all of this was his fault. That he had hurt you in a permanent way while you had only given him peace whenever you could. Steven understood that both of them were fucked up when he finally saw Marc cry. When Marc finally cracked.
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Steven almost had a heart attack when he received a message from you. There was no text, just a photo of the kitten he recognized perfectly.
He wasn't aware of the smile that appeared on his face. One, he could see that the background of the photo was your apartment, which meant the kitten was already with you. Two, perhaps this meant that not everything was lost.
"Can I come see him?" He was biting his nails while waiting for your response. "Sure."
Steven left his apartment so quickly that his curls were still damp from the shower he took in a matter of seconds. He didn't care about being on the most crowded bus if it meant getting to your apartment faster.
Exactly 22 minutes after your message, he was standing at your door.
The smile on his face vanished when you opened the door. Both of you looked like a mess, in pain, and by this point, you had accepted that your eyes would be swollen and irritated for the rest of your days.
You didn't approach him for a hug like he thought would happen. You also took a few seconds to analyze him from head to toe.
He was as beautiful as ever. His messy curls made him look even more adorable. A meow echoed behind you, snapping you back to the present.
"Do you want to come in?"
"Please."
Everything was so… awkward. You stepped aside to let him in and closed the door behind him.
"Sekhmet?"
"Yes."
"I told you that's the name of a goddess, not a god," he said as he crouched down to pet the kitten, who seemed to recognize Steven. The little one rubbed against him, purring loudly, audible to both of you.
"And I told you I didn't care."
A nostalgic laugh escaped both of you. Why was all of this so difficult?
"Hello, Sekhmet." His pronunciation was perfect. You couldn't believe you had the love of your life in front of you after everything that happened.
And worse, you couldn't believe you were about to let him go, for the second time.
"He likes you." You whispered, watching them get to know each other with a lump in your throat. This was nothing like what you had imagined at first; this wasn't how things were supposed to go.
Everything was wrong.
"Steven?"
"Yes, love?" It rolled so casually off his tongue. You didn't remember Steven calling you by your name much, it was always "love" or "lovey" for him, and you were content with that.
This time, you felt a pang in your heart when he used the nickname.
"We have to do this." Your voice broke, and when he noticed your teary eyes, he understood the purpose of the visit. There was no way out of this.
"No, please." He looked up at you from the floor, still on his knees because the kitten refused to leave him. "Please, don't do this."
He broke down quickly too.
"I love you, Steven." Your hand went to his chin, holding him in a way that he couldn't look away from you. "And because I love you, it's only fair that we do this, you and I. Okay?"
He kept denying and denying. Ignoring the insistent meows, he stood up. Now you were the one who had to look up due to the difference in height.
Your heart rate increased with the closeness between you two.
"I don't want to say goodbye." The lump in his throat could be heard in his voice. "I don't want to be alone. I can't do it without you." You couldn't bear to tell him otherwise when you knew you were in the same position.
You stood on tiptoes and, without letting him continue, kissed his lips.
Even his kisses tasted like pain. They were desperate, almost violent in the way he clung to your waist and you to his neck.
You remained like that for a few minutes, tasting each other's tears on your lips until your lungs gave up. It felt like an eternity during which you exchanged kisses and embraced each other between sobs. It genuinely felt like you were tearing a part of yourselves away.
An eternity was not enough for either of you.
"Steven." Your hands on his chest pulled him away just a few centimeters from you to face him. His forehead rested against yours while he hiccuped from crying.
He was your little one. He always had been. Your sweet, sweet Steven. He deserved more than everything life was giving him, and in some way, you and Marc knew it.
"You have to go, okay?" He didn't respond, you just felt his fingers tighten their grip on your waist. "You will be fine, I know you will be." Your fingers roamed through his curls, messing them up even more, and you enjoyed their softness one last time.
"I won't be able to. L-Lovey, I w-won't…"
"Shhh. You will be able to, okay?" The tip of your nose gently brushed against his in an affectionate and intimate gesture. "You will get through this, and you will have the beautiful life that I've always known you deserve."
"I don't want it if it's not with you." His fingers crumpled your clothes from the force of holding onto you.
You lowered your hands to his and slowly made him let go, he shook his head again.
"You have to do this for Marc, okay?" You swallowed hard when his hands finally relented and let go of your waist. "And maybe, if it's meant to be, fate will let us know in the future. Okay?"
Bullshit.
You wanted to be with him now, and he wanted to be with you now, but you were grasping at every possible resource to try to make him understand.
"I need to be alone, okay?" You knew he wouldn't leave unless you hinted that you were uncomfortable with the situation.
Always so respectful, he took a step back and nodded, even though his hands were trembling. He didn't say anything, just looked at you as he stepped back again.
"I love you," you whispered, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.
"I love you." It was the only thing he could say. He was about to leave when his legs gave an awkward twitch.
Marc.
Steven looked down, frowning slightly at the momentary loss of control over his body. If Marc was going to object, now was the perfect time because Steven knew he was the only one who could fix this.
His stubbornness was the only obstacle preventing you from being happy.
And yes, Marc wanted to talk. But when he saw you, he knew he would never find the words to fix what he did.
His fear of change hit him again. Why was he regretting this when apparently this was what he wanted from the beginning?
He parted his lips and tried to say something that never came out of his throat. He gave up in seconds and basically fled your apartment, closing the probably happiest chapter of his life in a long time.
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januaryembrs · 10 months
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LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO MASTERLIST
DESCRIPTION: She’s all Steven can think about in between the missing days and the American man inside his head. When Harrow’s jackals leaves Marc with a difficult choice, his hectic life is spun out of control as Seth, God of Violence and Chaos, comes to reap his reward in the form of a woman from Soho with a dark past and a crush on Steven Grant. (Lightly inspired by Last Night in Soho dir. Edgar Wright)
TRIGGER WARNINGS: (specific warnings at the beginning of each chapter) 18+ DARK PAST. Sex trafficking/prostitution. Grooming. Explicit. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Abuse ex-boyfriend/lover, death, murder, gore, drug use. Any smut written will be consensual sex only, but there will be some implication to dubcon content. PLEASE CHECK WARNINGS BEFORE YOU READ. AGAIN MINORS DNI. * = smut warning
STEVEN GRANT & MARC SPECTOR X (EVENTUAL) AVATAR!READER. Friends to lovers trope (Steven Grant) Sunshine x Grumpy trope (Marc Spector), Light smut, explicit language, no use of Y/N, goes by nickname Dove. I ADORE LAYLA EL-FAOULY so she is still in the narrative but as Dove’s reluctant friend. Female!reader. AFAB!reader. I am English and do not have DID but have tried my best to do all the research I could on the themes I talk about (Ancient Egyptian culture/history/language. Experiencing DID etc) but if I am misinformed and offend anyone, know I am truly sorry and am more than happy to hear anyone’s corrections in my inbox and will do my best to fix it!
main masterlist
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CHAPTER ONE - Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted.
CHAPTER TWO - She wakes up with a killer headache and a million questions when she realises two things: 1. the man in her room is not infact Steven Grant and 2. her body no longer belongs to her but to the God of Death.
CHAPTER THREE - With Marc and Steven captured by Harrow's men, Layla has no choice but to work with her ex-husbands mistress to get them and the scarab to safety. But things take a turn when Seth comes to reap his reward.
CHAPTER FOUR - Dove wakes up in Steven’s apartment for the second time covered in blood with only one thing on her mind. What the hell happened last night?
CHAPTER FIVE - Marc and Dove adjust to their new mission: catch Harrow before he can release Ammit and for the love of gods don’t let Seth have the body again.
CHAPTER SIX - Summoning a council with the gods sound easy enough, right? Except the man on trial knows the dark secret she has yet to tell Marc.
CHAPTER SEVEN - Marc, his ex-wife and his supposed mistress head to Mogart’s to find Senfu’s sarcophagus, whatever could go wrong when the god of Chaos wants to be involved?
CHAPTER EIGHT - Dove, Marc and Layla escape Mogart’s with only more dead ends and questions unanswered. They’re running out of time before Harrow reaches the tomb, but one thing keeps sticking in Layla’s head more than the rest. Why does Dove look so guilty?
CHAPTER NINE * - Layla, Steven and Dove set off towards Ammit’s tomb across the dunes, only Steven and Dove have a heavy confession they’ve each been meaning to make.
CHAPTER TEN - Marc finds out the truth about Dove, and pays the mortal price.
CHAPTER ELEVEN -
CHAPTER TWELVE -
CHAPTER THIRTEEN -
CHAPTER FOURTEEN -
CHAPTER FIFTEEN -
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