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#knight of the kitchen sink

mtg-cards-hourly · 4 months

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Knight of the Kitchen Sink

"Whew. For a minute, I thought I'd forgotten the olive forks."

Artist: Mark A. Nelson TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #$0.31 #mark a. nelson #knight of the kitchen sink #unstable #artifact #creature #cyborg #knight

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firaknight · 1 year

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hi can i request kitchen sink cookie

Mars I’m like 90% sure you sent me this! If not do correct me but here is the cookie

#fira knight screeches #firas box #firas art #kitchen sink cookie #cookie run ovenbreak #I have literally no clue if the anon was you or not but if it wasn’t ya got a free drawing outta me

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jpdrawsalot · 1 year

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Im still mad that mcd never really got any merch outside giant posters. Tempted to make my own standees and charms for my own enjoyment and serotonin. Like yes its a lot of work for a personal thing but the thought of a small Garroth watching over my antidepressants on my desk or protecting my keys is comforting to me

#my ramblings #jesson has nuked my fanart on redbubble in the past despite profiting off of an animation i made via reaction video so im. hm.#but at the same time. ibby bibby little knight guy attached to keys. small priest who you can sentence to crimes via your fridge perhaps.#throw your flirty shadow knight in your kitchen sink. cleanse him of his evil with a bubble bath #mcd #minecraft diaries #idk. thinkingg about things I yearn to own and have the power to make lol

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ryansbedroom · 1 year

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This is the exact type of kitchenette that was used in the Knight Rider ‘FLAG Trailer Set’. Either this came in black with woodgrain on the front panels applied by the factory or the studio did the job. It has gas burners unlike most others with electric elements and the fridge door opens towards the left.

#knight rider #kitchenette #compact kitchen #fridge #freezer #stove #cooktop #cooker #sink #basin #30-inch #gas burners

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ventique18 · 3 months

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A few things we learn about Malleus in Platinum Jacket:

He has had many, many tutors over the years who were brought from all over so he would receive only the finest education. He's a genius however, and whatever they taught him he could do better. He would get angry because he thought they were teaching him basics because they were looking down on him and would throw tantrums so terrible he would accidentally raze his grandma's garden with forest fires. Each and every one of his tutors end up packing their bags and resigning in fear of him. 😭 He'd get severely scolded by Lilia because of this.

Deuce comments that while Hades looks terrifying, his minions look goofy in comparison. Malleus tells him to never judge people based on appearances, as they'd never have been painted if they weren't competent. He also likens these minions to his bodyguards and shares how proud he'd be if they were to be lauded by the world and the succeeding generations in the future. (PROUD BIG BRO MOMENT)

He confirms that Briar Kingdom royalty choose their retainers at a certain age, which we can alreaddy conclude by the way he employed his goofy teenage knights and his mom chose the most radical/problematic generals back then.

He doesn't appreciate the servants in his castle waiting on him hand and foot. It's protocol so he can hardly do anything about it, but he was relieved when he enrolled at Night Raven and had to do everything himself.

Lilia instilled in him from a very young age that a person is nothing if they can't properly take care of themselves. He couldn't do this in the castle though, so he instead reads plenty of books on how to do household chores and whatnot. He's delighted to be able to put this knowledge to practical use at NRC.

He does mundane things like shopping and laundry by himself, until Sebek enrolled and tries to steal all his tasks lol. Although he's visibly disappointed, he lets Sebek do what he wants.

He actually knows how to use the washing machine and dryer but only after so many tries and difficulties.

He once washed his clothes in the kitchen sink and got caught doing it. His dormmates offered to do it instead (because he's their god lmao) but he refused because as he said, he likes to exert his own effort for things.

He is a good art critique and appreciates all kinds of art, though his favorite are sculptures. He likes to see the wears and tears of things over the years. He likes to see proof that things lived their lives (even inanimate things!), and that changes and ageing are beautiful.

He once again repeats that he loves gargoyles.

Though he adores the thought of being happy amongst others, he hates it when people are visibly happy and he isn't.

#twisted wonderland #ventique rambles #malleus draconia #deuce spade #twst platinum jacket spoilers

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churipu · 3 months

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hii hope you’re doing good and taking care of yourself!! Can u do jjk men headcannons when their s/o is finds a bug and is telling them to kill it (can u also add nanami)

JJK MEN KILLING BUGS FOR THEIR PARTNER

featuring. nanami kento, gojo satoru, sukuna ryomen x reader

warnings. cursing, bugs ew.

note. hii anonnn, as a person who despises bugs a lot. yes. this request is just *chefs kiss*, and i'm doing absolutely amazing bby, hbuuu?? i hope you like it and thank you so much for requesting mwah mwah <;33

AND U GUYS WE REACHED 800+ FOLLOWERS??? i really don't know what to say, thank you so much <33 this means a lot to me, and i feel so loved i'm gonna cry. i love u all

NANAMI KENTO. your knight in shining armor. the moment you called out for him in a voice lacing with worry, he just knows what was up — you'd be fifteen minutes in your shower, and nanami is in the living room watching the television until you call out to him. voice loud, mixing in with the vivid sounds of water pouring.

"ken!"

he jolts up in surprise and walked towards the bathroom door, raising his hand to knock on the door a couple times, "are you alright, sweetheart?" he asks.

"come in, please," your voice was meek, and he could hear the shower turn off.

the male slowly opens the door, and he could feel the steam from your shower caressing his face lightly. you were there, still inside the shower with a nervous smile and a towel wrapping around you, "bug. kill. please?" was all you said.

"where is it, baby?"

you pointed at the sink, and there it was — the sacred and vile being, just sitting there beside the sink. though, it was so little nanami almost laugh, but seeing his partner being terrified; he was not going to make fun of them, he finds it adorable actually. and glad that the first thing you decided to do was call him for help.

nanami didn't even use a tissue, no hitting, no slapping, no squishing; he just grabs the bug in his grasp and tells you to have a nice shower and left.

your knight in shining armor.

GOJO SATORU. little bastard would definitely be all bark and no bite, he's all about that "oh, it's just a bug, baby. it's not like it's going to kill you" or "come on, baby, what's a bug going to do?"

until it flies. and he uses you as a shield.

"y/n kill that disgusting thing! holy fuck, i'm going to die." he cowered behind you, pointing at a little bug just resting on top of the kitchen counter — you rolled your eyes at him, not even having the energy to be as scared as him anymore.

"oh, it's just a bug, satoru. it's not like it's going to kill you," you mimicked his words sarcastically, and the male glares at you, wrapping his arms around you.

"it flies," he mumbled lowly, "bugs that can fly are disgusting. and don't quote my words on me, it hurts my pride," he kisses your shoulder, almost pouting.

"rock, paper, scissors? loser kills it," you asked him, raising your balled up fist with a smirk on your face.

he sighs, "bring it on, loser."

gojo lost. it took him half an hour and half a can of bug spray along with a mask to protect his handsome face from a possible bug attack, a pan lid to use as a shield, and a sandal (for protection) to get rid of the said bug.

SUKUNA RYOMEN. ignores you at first because you couldn't actually be serious? a human scared of a bug? just the mere thought of it makes him break out into laughter.

until he actually realizes it was that serious.

"brat, are you really not going to come out because there's a bug on the door?" he asks out in annoyance, standing in front of the door where you were on the other side of the open door, nodding with a lop-sided grin.

"come on, ryo. i hate bugs, 've always told you that," you rolled your eyes, crossing your arms.

"it's a bug. it won't do anything," sukuna mutters out.

"bug bites kill more people than shark attacks every year," you informed him, drumming your foot as your anxious eyes looked over to the bug as it moves slowly all over the surface of the door, "ryo, please. just squish it."

"why don't you squish it?"

"because i'm scared."

"well, ha ha. i'm scared too," he tells you with a proud smirk, crossing his arms. he finds joy in seeing you like this, really — he finds it laugh worthy, sukuna could do this all day.

"huh. the king of curses having a fear of bugs? how cute." you muttered out.

alright, that took him by surprise. the male stomps over to the door and got rid of the said bug almost immediately, "'m not scared, i was just kidding."

"i know, i said that so you could kill the bug for me," you walked out of the door, brushing past him with a big smile.

sukuna 00

y/n 01

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the-travelling-witch · 6 months

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𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐈𝐌

Accidentally matching outfits x Koko

You swear it’s a coincidence when you show up to your date spot matching Koko’s outfit of the day. But then again, your boyfriend has always insisted on gifting you outfits and accessories, so is it really a surprise you mirrored his style without noticing? That still doesn’t stop your cheeks from warming when he takes your hand and leads you inside, a small smile playing around his lips.

Carrying your bags x Inui

Inui is a gentleman all around but one thing he never fails to do is carry your bags for you. Usually, he asks beforehand if he should take them from you -even though he hardly accepts ‘no’ as an answer- but if he can tell you’re struggling with the weight he’s rather adamant about it. His beautiful partner shouldn’t strain themselves and he can easily handle it, so please let him do this. (Inui also rocks carrying your purse, it might as well be his.)

Weird nicknames in each other’s contacts x Ran

It’s almost as if you’re in a secret relationship, that’s how abstruse your names for the other are. If your friend ever looks at your phone when you ask them to read out a message, you can basically hear the confusion in their voice. There’s also a pretty high chance the contact name is accompanied by a picture that’s just as unflattering, probably taken when you were taken off guard. Well, at least both of you know you’re not in it for the other’s looks.

Walking on the side of the road x Draken

Draken is your protector through and through. Not only does your knight in shining armour catch bugs for you without a fuss and order your food as well if you’re too shy to, he also always makes sure to walk on the side of the road where the cars drive. Whenever you change streets or directions, he quickly switches to your other side, not letting your hand go for too long. You’re not sure if it makes a difference at all but the gesture is sweet nonetheless.

Laughing ‘til your cheeks hurt x Chifuyu

Nevermind if you’re grown adults, Chifuyu and you can still be as silly as children. At times, you’re literally the most unserious pair ever, giggling and holding your stomachs because of a stupid pun one of you told. Sitting at home on a night in, wiping the tears from your eyes and holding your hurting cheeks as you gasp for air, just to start laughing again when you remember the situation five minutes later.

Flour fight during a baking session x Mitsuya

Neither of you are about wasting food, just making that clear. But when you’re standing side by side in front of the kitchen counter, the oven preheating in the background and Mitsuya rolling the dough to then press into your cake form, you just can’t help yourself. Some leftover from the filling you prepared sticks to your hand and before you know it, you’re wiping it against your boyfriend’s cheek, giggling as you go. But Mitsuya only looks shocked for a second before he grins and wraps his flour-covered hands around your waist before you can get away.

Waking up tangled together x Rindou

It’s a calm night in, the take-out boxes still sitting on the coffee table in front of you as you snuggle in the corner of the couch, not really paying attention to the film anymore. And neither is Rindou, judging by how he yawns from the other side of the couch, his legs crossing with yours as he sinks deeper into the cushions. By the time both of you wake up again, your respective spaces of the couch have been abandoned in order to tangle yourself together bretzel-style, with your cheek squished against his biceps and his hand somewhere under the back of your shirt.

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

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skzstannie · 3 months

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"I've been wanting to do that for so long"

SKZ -> Minho x fem!reader

genre: best friends to lovers, fluffffffy wc: ~1,200 cw: none :)

summary: You and Minho are finally able to make something of his consistent flirty behavior.

A/N: Hiii! A little shorter than normal, but I wanted to get something out while I work on the requests I have. Hope everyone is doing well! Please feel free to leave feedback in the comments and like/reblog- it's truly appreciated!

Also, I know a lot of you like the angst, but don't worry! The request I'm working on has lots of it 👀👀

Masterlist | Happy Scrolling!

"Please tell me we don't have to watch another one of your chick flicks tonight," Minho groans, walking into the living room from the kitchen, two bowls of popcorn in hand.

"Of course we do, do you even know me?" you tease, sinking back further into the couch. You watch as he crosses in front of you, gently setting the bowls down on the table before throwing himself down onto the couch beside you.

It's your and Minho's weekly movie night, and the two of you decided to do it at your apartment this week. Not that the dorms aren't a fun hangout place, it's just sometimes your sensitive eardrums need a break.

The two of you have been friends for forever; you actually met back in elementary school. Your box of crayons was missing the pink one, and Minho became your knight in shining armor when he valiantly and bravely gave you his. From then on, he's been by your side. Need an errand buddy to run to the store with? Minho will come. Need someone to edit your college essay? Minho will do it. Need someone to cry with you on your couch once a week while you indulge yourself in different romantic fantasies? You know Minho will be there every time.

You try not to subject him to your rom coms every week, but it's so easy and fun to immerse yourself in other people's love lives, even if just for an hour and a half.

Your love life is close to non-existent. Minho, and occasionally his band members, are the only male interactions you ever get. You're not necessarily the most outgoing person, so it's hard for you to meet new people.

Not that you're necessarily complaining, I mean, you're so grateful for the friendship you have with Minho, but sometimes you wish it was more than that. His consistent teasing doesn't help your constant delusions. He's always flirting with you, calling you pet names and telling you how beautiful you are. You know it's nothing more than teasing, so you try not to let it affect you.

"How about this one?" you ask him, hovering over The Kissing Booth. You've seen it a million times, but it's one of your favorites; you'll never pass up an opportunity to watch it.

"I couldn't be more indifferent," he comments dryly. You roll your eyes at him and press play, playfully tossing the remote at his side.

"Do that again and I'm snatching it up and changing it," he glances at you, his face blank of emotion. You keep your eyes on the screen, holding back a smirk.

As emotionless as your best friend could come off sometimes, you know he always means well. You are more similar than you'd like to admit, and you know just as well how hard showing other's your emotions can be.

~ ~ ~

"Haven't we watched this one before?" Minho interrupts, his finger pointing accusingly at the screen.

"Maybe..."

"You've got to be kidding me. Where's that damn remote?" his hands sweep over the couch cushions in the dark room, and he looks to you when he comes up with nothing. His narrow eyes meet your innocent ones. "Give me it. I am not watching this one again; it was terrible."

"You didn't think it was terrible 10 minutes ago when your eyes were practically glued to the screen," you counter, holding the remote tightly in your clasped hands.

He scoffs, reaching out towards you. His fingers grasp around your arm and give you a rough pull, making you topple over into him. You let out an embarrassing squawk when you both slip to the floor in your impromptu wrestling match.

You find yourself underneath him, his hands still pulling roughly at the remote.

"Give it to me!"

"No! I want to watch this!"

The struggle continues for a few moments, you desperately trying to protect the remote while Minho sits above you, practically manhandling you.

In a quick lapse of judgement, you let up a little, allowing Minho to pin your hands to the ground above your head. Both of you are breathless as you lay beneath him, a playful smirk gracing the beautiful face in front of you.

Your eyes are wide as you lay there. You expect him to get off you, but he doesn't. He unwaveringly holds his position above you.

You catch his big brown eyes switch between your eyes and your lips, and you feel your breath hitch in your throat when he leans down slightly.

It's silent between the two of you as he slowly comes closer, his gaze remaining on your lips.

Your heart drops when he brings his lips to your ear instead. "I win," he whispers, before casually plucking the remote from your previously pinned hands. He gets off you, adjusting his clothes before he plops back on the couch, immediately exiting out of the movie.

You lay there another moment, thinking about what the heck just happened and whether you're going to let him get away with it.

You sit up abruptly, staring at him with disbelief. "What the hell was that?"

"What?" his gaze remains on the T.V. screen, and you find his nonchalance irritating.

"What do you mean, 'What'?"

"We wrestle all the time, what are you on about?"

Your jaw drops at his statement. "Yes, we do, but not- not like that," you let out a flustered chuckle, shaking your head at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about." When he speaks this time, you're able to catch the slightest upturn of his lips.

"You're messing with me," you tell him, not believing his actions could've been all innocent.

He finally breaks his gaze away from the T.V., setting the remote down beside him. "Now why would I do that?"

"Because- because that's what you do! You're sarcastic, and you're sly, and- and..." your frustration gets the best of you, and you bring your hands up to cover your face. You feel your cheeks burn red with embarrassment.

"What did you think was going to happen? Did you want me to kiss you like Noah did to Elle?"

You rip your hands away from your face at that, your jaw dropping at his suggestion. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," his voice is steady, his eye contact strong as he stands his ground. "We've been doing this long enough. I just want to know if this is reciprocated."

"If what's reciprocated?"

"You know, this- this thing between us. Is it reciprocated? Like, do you like like me like I like like you?" He raises an eyebrow at you, waiting for an answer you're hesitant to give.

"You're not messing with me?" you're cautious as the question leaves your lips.

"No, I'm not. How can I spell it out for you," he pauses, bringing a hand up to his chin in an exaggerated manner. "I like you. I have a crush on you. I want to be your boyfriend. I-"

"Ok, ok!" you cut him off with a laugh, "I do."

"You like me back?"

"Yea, yea I do."

His actions are quick as he drops to his knees on the floor in front of you. He rushes you, his body moving over yours. His hands grasp your wrists, pushing them above your head.

His legs rest on either side of your hips, pinning you down.

"Ok, let's try this again then."

You let yourself get lost in his eyes as he leans down towards you again.

When his face is close enough for his nose to rest against yours, he brings his lips to yours.

He pulls away when your both breathless, a look of mirth on his face.

"I've been wanting do that for so long."

#stray kids #skz #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #lee know #lee minho #skz minho #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #best friends to lovers #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #lee know fluff #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios

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sanctus-ingenium · 1 year

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Another one of these since i haven't done it in a while! Sketch -> finished illustration

Thoughts & process below the cut :>

Out of Bounds: i deleted the sketch of this off my ipad because i didn't like it, and for months it only existed as a screenshot on discord. finally in january of this year i was like Wait Actually and decided to keep working on it. I didn't achieve the look I was going for (kind of foggy and vague. It came out too sharp and high contrast) but it was fun to throw the kitchen sink at it for an afternoon and then call it done finally. I don't remember which horse this was originally supposed to be, I think Macha?

I reused the pose, you'll find the same one in my Pascal sketchbook from the section on gait studies. That's the cool thing about doing 30 sketches at once, you can finish them up any time you like for a different drawing

The Fool ft Islin: the original concept for this is from [takes a moment to decipher the american date system on discord] January 2022

It wasn't dynamic enough, but I've had this on the backburner for sooo long. I think I completed like 4 cards in between this sketch and the final version lol. But, for a bit of background, this is from my series of major arcana based in Inver, and in particular the events of the 1860s-era book series, Moth Viper Foal (a demo of the first book, Said The Black Horse, is available for free/pwyw in my shop). This scene is a companion to Said The Black Horse, depicting the aftermath of the traumatic fight that caused Islin to storm off. He had been working at the mill as a semiprofessional back alley surgeon when he received an offer to join the church and work as a trained surgeon in their hospital. But when he brought the good news back to his friends it was met with utter rejection, driving him to basically run away to join the church. while gay and trans. thus the card.

he didn't actually bring a bag with him when he ran out but for the sake of the card i drew him with one

Gryfon and Pantera: This is how 99% of holy beast drawings start out, even the super stylised ones. I struggle a lot to draw them in procreate so they start in sai and then i transfer them over. The story of this is already explained in the caption of the original post so I'll just talk about the process which was... honestly torturous. I actually don't like too much textures and effects on things (wild, I know) and this one and Out of Bounds are ones where I kind of preferred it pre-texturising.

The text on the side is the official in-universe report of the event, detailing the casualties, the valiant actions of Gryfon's knight before he died and so on. There's also spoilers in there :>

My main struggle with this art style is how it always ends up slightly TOO sharp and crisp in a way the just a blur filter never can correct. There's not a lot of immersion to break, to be fair, but I think this still does it a little. I need to get more comfortable doing the lines with larger and softer brushes, and allowing imperfections.

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ordon-shield · 1 year

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Link’s Houses Graded By How Liveable They Are

The Legend of Zelda/The Adventure of Link: 0/10, he doesn’t have one. Probably sleeps in caves.

A Link to the Past/Oracle games/Link’s Awakening: 6/10, surprisingly good! He’s got a bed, a place to cook food, tables and chairs, and even a set of shelves! He looses points because there’s no space for his uncle to live and it’s only one room.

Ocarina of Time/Majora’s Mask: 5/10, similar to the previous Link. He has a bed, a table with stools. While lacking any method of cooking, that’s probably for the best seeing as everything is made of wood. He also has a sink with a mirror. He looses a point due to the random hay and pitchforks though.

Four Swords: 0/10, he has no house.

The Wind Waker/Phantom Hourglass: 4/10, while you might expect it to be higher, there are a number of flaws with his house. First is the fact that he must share it with his grandmother and little sister, and second is the lack of mattresses on their two beds. They also use their space poorly, as out of three areas in the house only one is being actively used — Grandma should have let Link use that loft as his bedroom. It’s not all bad though— they have a cooking fire and kitchen area.

Four Swords Adventures: 0/10, also has no house.

The Minish Cap: 7/10, the only truly multi-room house on this list! The bedroom has a bed for both Link and his grandfather, along with a table and stools. The main room downstairs is the kitchen, with a place to cook and shelves for plates and bowls. There’s also an entire forge connected to the building.

Twilight Princess: 10/10, the best house on this list in my opinion. Like in Ocarina of Time, there is a pitchfork inside, but this time it makes sense with Link’s background, and comes with some horse riding equipment for Epona. His cooking area is also set up to avoid any fires. He even has a sink for his dirty dishes, along with a table and chairs, and a few bookshelves. He also has a basement that he uses to store a bit of cash and some old furniture. The one flaw of this house is the lack of a bed, but this can be excused as Ordon is based in part on traditional Japanese culture, so he may just use a futon.

Spirit Tracks: 7/10, like an improved version of the ALttP house, with a bed for both Link and Niko, along with a cooking area, and plenty of room.

Skyward Sword: 8/10, rather than living in a house, this Link lives in the Knight’s Academy. He shares a divided room with another student. The only Link to have easy access to a bathroom, which counts for a lot.

A Link Between Worlds/Triforce Heroes: 5/10, very similar to his house in ALttP, containing a bed, table with stools, shelves, and a cooking area. While the lack of an uncle with no bed might have brought this house up to a higher standard, there’s one thing preventing that — the presence of a certain merchant who pushes all the furniture aside to set up his own shop.

Breath of the Wild: 7/10, a decent house brought down by the lack of a kitchen and the fact you have to buy it and the furniture inside at exorbitant prices from an annoying builder who sits around in your front garden once he’s done.

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mtg-cards-hourly · 3 months

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Knight of the Kitchen Sink

"Whew. For a minute, I thought I'd forgotten the tea cozy."

Artist: Mark A. Nelson TCG Player Link Scryfall Link EDHREC Link

#mtg #magic the gathering #tcg #$0.27 #mark a. nelson #knight of the kitchen sink #unstable #artifact #creature #cyborg #knight

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bastardmandennis · 9 months

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even if it’s a false god (marc spector x fem!reader)

Summary: Your neighbor, Steven, asks you to feed his fish for him while he's away. Instead, you meet who you think is his brother, Marc.

Word Count: 6.9k (nice)

Warnings: oh boy. SMUT! (literally get out of here if you're not 18+ pls), afab reader, no y/n, brief mentions of a wound/blood, mentions of Steven/reader friendship, no layla (devastating tbh), men begging (woo), PIV sex, creampie, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it). riding, mentions of masturbation, oral (f receiving). one (1) singular slap. vague allusions to the moon knight system/konshu but not really important tbh, drinking of alcohol, i think that's it but pls let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: good lord. this has been drumming around in my head for TOO LONG. i just wanted an excuse to use ^this gif (only slightly joking). title comes from the song false god by tswift (even tho im mad at her rn) bc i am just a simple uncreative girl, okay? pls enjoy and let me know what you think!! xoxo

There in the low light, sitting at your kitchen table, is–fuck, it’s Steven. He doesn’t look good, sweaty and dirty and tired. He doesn’t notice you at first, too busy trying to reach over his shoulder for something. His shirt is on the floor, shredded, along with the bottle of vodka you keep for “emergencies.” What the fuck? “What the fuck?” you echo and he finally looks up at you. You drop the shoe and kick it to the side. “Steven, are you–what happened?” “Not Steven,” he grunts, and oh the sound of his gruff voice should not be turning you on right now. “Marc,” you breathe. His dark eyes snap to yours, hand paused awkwardly over his shoulder. You can’t even be too mad at him for breaking in here in the middle of the night, not when he’s looking at you like that, all broody eyes and pouty lips. Fuck, he’s pretty.

All day, there’s been a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that there was something important you forgot to do. At work, you go through your emails, your calendar–nothing there. On the bus ride home, you stare out at the passing scenery, wracking your brain trying to figure out what the hell you’re forgetting. It’s driving you crazy.

It’s not until you reach your apartment door, digging through your bag for your keys, that you realize what it is. You pull out a second set of keys, this one with a small teddy bear charm dangling, and it hits you like a ton of bricks. Fuck. You were supposed to feed your neighbor’s fish for him while he was away.

You drop your work bag and sprint up the stairs to Steven’s apartment. Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead. You don’t think you’d be able to handle the disappointed puppy dog look he’d give you when he comes back and you have to tell him you killed his beloved fish. The way his arms would wrap around himself in comfort, sleeves covering his hands, the way he always did when he was upset. Upset because of you this time.

Your heart sinks when you make it to his door, panting. Oh this is not good. You can’t remember when exactly he’d said he’d be back–in your defense, he did call you at 2am on a Monday, his voice uncharacteristically gruff as he’d asked you to take care of Stev-my fish for me, apparently taking your mumbled mhm as a concrete sign of agreement. When you’d woken up for real later that day, his keys were sitting on your kitchen table, a note reading Thanks. scrawled out in unfamiliar handwriting. Weird, but Steven was a bit of an odd duck, popping in and out to say hey at all hours, whenever he was awake (which seemed like all the time). The man either slept like the dead or not at all, no inbetween.

You quickly go through his keys, unlocking the top two deadbolts before reaching the main door lock. This one sticks–you shove your shoulder against the door and it bursts open. You tumble into the apartment.

And right into Steven. He’s bare chested, a pair of pajama pants slung low on his hips. Holy shit, since when was Steven ripped? He’s got a few days’ worth of stubble covering his clenched jaw and dark circles under his eyes. His hair is gelled down carefully instead of in its usual wild fluffy curls.

“Steven,” you whisper. He’s still gripping your elbow and you quickly straighten up. “What are you do–”

“Should be asking you that,” he says. His voice is flat, no trace of his usual cheery accent to be seen.

You blink. Study his face, the scowl etched there, the pull of his brows. This isn’t the Steven you know–the one who always greets you with a smile and a quiet heya when you pass each other in the hallway. The one who knocks on your door in the middle of the night with some ancient translation he’s finally figured out, waving his notes excitedly at you. The one who brings you a doughnut on his way home from work sometimes. It’s Steven’s face, for sure, but you’ve never seen this angry expression twisting his features. It feels wrong, it feels…dangerous.

You nod toward the fish tank, where Gus is still swimming happily. Thank god. “Steven didn’t tell me his…brother…was coming to feed Gus,” you say. “I’ve been, um, watching him?”

He takes a step back, not meeting your eyes. “Right, he–he told me you’d be here.” A beat, and then, “Did you need something else?”

You can’t stop staring at him, how familiar yet alien the man standing in front of you is. You see glimpses of Steven, when he crosses his arms across his chest, but then he speaks, his voice gruff, flat, American, and the illusion is broken. He raises an eyebrow and you shake your head.

“Sorry, it’s just…Steven didn’t tell me he had a brother,” you say. “Not that–I mean, not that we’re super close, you know. I just moved in like, three–no, four months ago now, so we see each other around. Sometimes.”

You want to slap yourself for babbling–something about his intense stare, the way his dark eyes roam your face, makes you want to run and never come back. You feel rooted in place, waiting for him to pounce, and you don’t fully hate it.

His lips twitch. You want to see him smile, see if it’s the same crooked grin Steven usually sports. “Ok-ay, well, I’ll just go now,” you finally say when he doesn’t answer.

You spin around, eager to get as far away as possible when you hear him call out to you.

“Marc,” he says. “I’ll see you around.” The smile he gives you is small, more tightly controlled than Steven’s, but it still makes your heart race. Get it together.

You wave and practically sprint back to your apartment, slamming the door and leaning back against it. That could not have gone any worse. Your heart won’t stop pounding and you try to convince yourself it’s just from all the running, not the way you felt Marc’s eyes follow you out the door.

—-

You don’t see Marc–or Steven–for the next few days. You set alarms now, one before work and one at night, as a reminder to feed Gus. And if you make sure you look extra presentable when you get to Steven’s apartment, an extra coat of gloss and mascara thrown on, it’s definitely not because of Marc.

Right.

But each time you’re let down, the apartment as empty as you left it the time before, no sign of either Marc or Steven. You find yourself taking a few minutes every visit to straighten up some of the many books scattered around, pointedly avoiding the half-made bed in the middle of the room.

One time you’d dropped the can of fish food and it had rolled over to the bed, getting caught in the pile of–what is that, sand?–scattered around the edges. You’d huffed, crouching down to get it, only to come face to face with a long ankle restraint tied to one leg of the bed. Your face heated, even though no one was there to see you.

You tried not to think of Steven using it on someone—poor, sweet Steven, who you’ve known for three months now and will barely make eye contact with you. No, this seemed like something more up Marc’s alley, and you can’t help imagine his rough hands tightening the restraints across your ankles, holding your legs spread open for him as he kissed and bit his way up to your–

No. This is so wrong.

But it wasn’t wrong enough to stop the heat pooling in your stomach, the damp spot on your panties you tried to ignore. And if you touched yourself later that night, made yourself come imagining big hands and a harsh voice in your ear, well. That’s no one’s business.

Another three days pass, and you’re starting to get worried. There’s still no sign of Steven, and you don’t think he’s ever been gone this long–what is he even doing? It’s not like this is a work trip, right? Do museum gift shop workers even get leave from work? There’s mail beginning to pile up outside his door, and when you deposit the stack on the kitchen counter during your next visit a small envelope catches your attention.

Marc Spector is written on the front. There’s no return address. Weird–you’d just assumed he and Steven would have the same last name. You quickly place the envelope back with the rest of the mail. It’s not your business, you scold yourself. But that doesn’t stop you from googling Marc Spector when you get home and–nothing. Not even the usual abandoned Facebook page, the years-old photo tag from some distant relatives. A search of Steven Grant brings you to the wiki page for some Indiana Jones-style 80s movie. Another dead end, of course.

You consider calling the police, reporting Steven (and Marc) missing, but what could you even say? Hey, my neighbor and his mysterious secret twin brother are missing, no I don’t know where they could be, I’m just here to feed his fish, I don’t even have either of their phone numbers. It sounds crazy just thinking about it. Jesus. You toss and turn that night, finally telling yourself that if you don’t hear from Steven by the morning, you’ll go back to his apartment and look for a number for someone to call for help. You slip into a restless sleep soon after, images of Steven’s big puppy eyes and Marc’s scowling face flashing through your mind.

Bang.

Something scrapes across the floor and then you hear a muffled curse. Your eyes spring open, heart practically beating its way out of your chest as you try to orient yourself in the dark room. You fumble for your phone on the nightstand–dead, because of course you forgot to plug it in last night. A loud crash from the kitchen has you shooting up out of bed, grabbing for the only weapon-like thing available. You grip a high heel in your hand, ready to stab whoever decided to make the mistake of breaking into your apartment and interrupting your sleep.

“What the fuck?” you echo and he finally looks up at you. You drop the shoe and kick it to the side. “Steven, are you–what happened?”

“Not Steven,” he grunts, and oh the sound of his gruff voice should not be turning you on right now.

“Marc,” you breathe. His dark eyes snap to yours, hand paused awkwardly over his shoulder. You can’t even be too mad at him for breaking in here in the middle of the night, not when he’s looking at you like that, all broody eyes and pouty lips. Fuck, he’s pretty.

“Can you–” he gestures impatiently to his shoulder. You walk over in a trance, trying not to feel self-conscious in your sleep shorts and tank top, coming to a hesitant stop behind him. There’s a gash running across his shoulder blade and you gasp. A trickle of blood rolls down his back.

You flutter your hand around the makeshift rag he has pressed there. You can’t stop staring at his back, the shift of muscles as he tries to hold his other hand in place to stop the bleeding. He’s so broad and warm, heat radiating off of him into the chilly air around you. You make a noise in your throat and he huffs.

“Oh fuck, what–what is this?” you ask. Stupid question. You press down on the rag–is that one of your shirts? that fucker–and he groans, shifting in the chair.

“Just–can you just help,” Marc rasps. He twists around to meet your eyes, careful not to jostle your hand on his shoulder. “Please.”

Yeah, you’re fucked. It shouldn’t be this attractive, listening to him beg for your help, twisting in your kitchen chair in the middle of the night. You can’t help but think of other places you want to hear him beg and a flush creeps up your face.

“Okay, yeah,” you finally say. Clear your throat and think of the bare bones first aid kit underneath your bathroom sink. “But maybe you should just go to the hospital–”

“No!” His voice booms through the room and you freeze. “No, it’s–it’s not that bad, please.” His voice is soft, pleading. “Just a scratch, promise.”

A scratch? But he looks so confident–“okay,” you whisper against your better judgment. “Stay here, let me get my, uh, kit.”

His shoulders slump in relief. “Didn’t have anywhere else to go or I would’ve. I didn’t want to bother you but, Steven–” He pauses. “Steven clearly trusts you, so I figured…you’re my best option here.”

His words send butterflies through your stomach. You tear your eyes away from his clenched jaw, mumble something again about getting the kit. You’re relieved to find everything you need tucked away, praying it’s not as bad as it looks. You couldn’t sew to save your life, but for Marc you’d try. And if it’s really bad, well tough shit—you’d find some way to drag him to the hospital.

He’s drinking from the bottle of vodka when you come back, head tilted back as he swallows deeply. A drop escapes from the corner of his mouth and you track it down his neck until it disappears beneath his tank top. You clear your throat and he turns to look at you, hissing when the movement pulls his wound open.

“Stop moving,” you scold, ripping the bottle from his hand and placing it on the table next to you.

You’ve seen enough survival movies to know that disinfecting the wound is the basic first step, but really, what the hell can you do after that? You don’t have any medical experience, can barely handle your own papercuts–let alone a huge open wound on someone else. You take a shaky breath, feeling slightly hysterical; here’s this man you barely know practically bleeding out in your kitchen in the middle of the night, waiting for your help, instead of going to the hospital like a normal person. Plenty of time to freak out later, once Marc is gone, you remind yourself.

He’s silent in the chair, shoulders tense. His tank top flaps open where his skin is split–oh Marc, what have you gotten yourself into?

“I’m gonna,” you clear your throat. “Can you, um, take your shirt off? I can’t see.”

“Sure, doc,” he grumbles. You roll your eyes at the jab–you are technically a doctor, of philosophy though, not medicine, but you’re not sure if he knows that. You help him lift the shirt from his back, making sure it doesn’t catch on the edges of the cut. Thankfully he’s right, it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s shallow enough that you’re pretty sure you can get away with just cleaning it up and covering it with gauze, no sewing necessary.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn. He grits his teeth and nods, turning his head away to stare out into the living room.

You grab a clean piece of gauze, douse it in vodka–no rubbing alcohol in the first aid kit, but this’ll be better than nothing. Your other hand runs down the non-injured side of his back, hoping to soothe him a little. Instead he tenses up even more, spits out get on with it. So you do, pressing the vodka-soaked gauze right onto the cut, ignoring his groan of pain. Wipe away the smears of blood left behind–thank god it wasn’t still actively bleeding, just needed to be cleaned and wrapped up.

He hisses when you dab the edges of the cut, reaching his hand out behind him. You pass him the bottle silently, trying to ignore the pull of his throat, the way his thick fingers grip the bottle. Steven would never drink with you, no matter how many times you’d offered. Marc doesn’t even flinch at the sting of vodka, and you wonder idly if this was some parent trap twin situation–they really couldn’t be more different.

You pull the bottle out of his hands, placing your lips where his just were, ignoring the bite of the still-cold vodka. The alcohol rushes through you, warming your veins and settling low in your stomach.

“Should you be drinking on the job?” He sounds amused. You scoff.

“Not even my job,” you mumble. Press a little too hard on the edge of his cut with the gauze accidentally-on-purpose, just to hear him bite back a whimper and pull away from you. You grab his shoulders and manhandle him back into the seat. “Hold still, ’m almost done.”

It’s silent besides the sound of you cutting the medical tape and Marc’s labored breathing. There’s so many questions brewing in your mind, but you bite your tongue and keep working, not wanting to upset him again. You press one last piece of tape to his back, hoping your patch job will last until–if–he finally decides to go to the doctor.

“All done,” you finally say, tapping his non-injured shoulder. Marc grunts and twists around to try to see what you’ve done.

You shove him back into the chair. “Don’t, you’ll undo all my hard work.”

“Thanks, doc,” he mumbles. Then he sits up straight like he’s going to get up and leave, without any sort of explanation for what the hell is going on. A flash of anger rises in you and you try to bite it back.

“Why?” you ask. He stops lacing his boots and stares at you. His eyes are just a little darker than Steven’s, you notice, a little sharper–more wolf than puppy. You shake the thought away.

“You gonna tell me what happened? Where Steven is?” You throw your hands up in frustration, letting them land on your bare thighs with a smack. His eyes drop to your legs and back to your face so quickly you almost miss it.

Marc runs a hand through his hair, disrupting his neatly gelled curls even more. “Steven is…away.”

“Away,” you repeat. He nods quickly, inching towards the door like he wants to make a run for it.

“But you know when he’ll be back.” It’s not a question.

He pauses, brows scrunched. A scowl pulls at his lips. “Yeah, I do.”

He makes another move to the door and your anger rises again–how dare he come into your house, uninvited, in the middle of the night, to demand your help, and give you vague non-answers to what you think should be pretty simple questions. You move quickly to stand in front of the door, stopping him with a hand to his chest. His heart beats quickly beneath your palm.

“I don’t get to know that? I’ve been here, waiting, taking care of poor Gus for what, almost two weeks now? I should’ve never said yes, should’ve never got–”

His lips, warm and firm against yours, stop your train of thought. Your eyes fly open in shock, mouth frozen, before he runs his tongue over the seam of your lips and you melt into his embrace. Stupid traitor body.

You twirl your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and yank and he groans, pulling you even closer as his chapped lips meet yours again. You can feel him harden against your thigh and that snaps you out of it. You pull back, ignoring the question on his face, and slap him. Hard.

The only sound in the room is both of your heavy breathing, and then:

“What the fuck?” He looks confused, bringing a hand up to touch his cheek. “What–”

“Doesn’t feel good, does it,” you say bitterly. “Being lied to. Not getting a straight answer.” You can’t look at his stupid, kissable face right now. You don’t even know him really, this stranger with your cute neighbor’s face. How stupid of you to even get involved.

“Oh honey, I–you don’t,” he takes a deep breath and grabs your limp hand. “Look at me, please? I’d tell you if I could, promise, I don’t–don’t want you to get hurt, understand?”

Your mind whirls, trying to process the kiss and his words and the kiss. He smells so good somehow, despite everything, a little sweaty and a little smoky. You exhale shakily and he steps closer, nudging your chin up to look at him. His brow furrows as he searches your face. When he swipes his thumb across your cheekbone your pulse leaps.

“Are you…in danger? Did you bring who-whoever did that to you back here?” You should be angry at him but you’re just bone-tired, now that the adrenaline is fading.

“No, no, of course not,” he says. He notices your hesitation and adds, “But I could…stay with you tonight, if you want? Just to, you know, make sure. Least I can do.”

His eyes are huge, pleading–even if you wanted to say no, you know you couldn’t.

“Fine,” you say, like you’re doing him a favor. You point to the mess of bloody gauze and assorted clothing strewn across the kitchen. “But you’re cleaning this up tomorrow.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t worry about it.” His face is soft in the early morning lighting, a little sleepy. A little more like Steven. You want to run your hands through his hair again, mess it up even more.

Marc is a silent shadow as you lead him to your bedroom, kicking a random shirt under the bed as you go. You sink down to the mattress with a groan and he watches with sharp eyes from the doorway.

You want to be mean, tell him since this is his mess he’s gotten you into, he can stand there all night for all you care. But then you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are, the way he sways in place, leaning heavily on the door frame–when’s the last time he had a good night’s sleep? you wonder–and a pang of guilt hits you.

Heart pounding, you pull the blanket up beside you, scooting to one side to make room for him behind you. When he doesn’t move you pat the empty space, gesturing for him to get over here.

He hesitates, until you snap get in already, before i change my mind, and he finally lowers himself down next to you with a grunt, careful to avoid pulling his bad shoulder. It’s quiet, the occasional sounds of the city outside filtering through the open window. You close your eyes and try to relax, try to ignore the fact that Marc is here in your bed. With you. He fidgets, fingers brushing the side of your bare thigh and you freeze.

Just when you think he’s finally asleep, his voice breaks the silence with a low whisper. “Thanks, doc. Really.”

“Of course.” Your voice is just as hushed as his. You reach out in the dark for his hand, brushing his pinky with yours. He links his finger with yours and that’s how you finally fall asleep, Marc’s warm body next to yours and a small smile on your face.

—-

He’s gone the next morning of course–it’s almost noon when you finally drag yourself out of bed, the spot next to you cold and vacant. The kitchen is spotless, no sign of any of last night’s struggle, and a box of donuts from your favorite cafe sits on the table. A note is shoved under the box in what you recognize as Marc’s messy scrawl: Steven told me these are your favorite. Thank you.

It shouldn’t make your stomach swoop, this little act of kindness, but it does. You think about Marc while you get ready to go out, staring at your messy sheets where you can imagine the imprint of his body lingers. You think about him during dinner with your friends, when you see a man with dark curly hair at the table behind you kissing his date. You think of the long line of Marc’s throat when you take shot after shot at the bar, pretending the heat in your stomach is just from the alcohol. You think of him when you crawl into bed afterwards, a little tipsy, and imagine you can still smell him on your pillow. You fall asleep too quickly, with your hand down your pants and his name on your lips.

You wake up the next morning to a (thankfully) manageable hangover and a text from an unknown local number:

Be back soon! Thank you again for watching Gus! xx

The reminder of Gus makes you groan; if it was anyone else, you would’ve given up by now, pawned the fish off to someone else to worry about, but then you think of Steven’s happy little smile for you (if he ever comes back) and later that night you trudge your way up to his apartment.

The bottom lock sticks, again, but this time there’s no shirtless Marc there to catch you on the other side–you stumble in and kick the door shut angrily behind you. And then you notice someone in Steven’s bed.

He’s kicked the covers off, a thin sheet crumpled around his bare waist and a hand resting just above the waistband of his briefs. The ankle strap is tied tightly around his leg and you feel your cheeks heat up. Stop being a perv and just leave, jesus–you’re just turning to quietly slink back to your apartment when you hear it: he murmurs your name, brow furrowed even in sleep.

You stop, thinking you’ve been caught creeping. “Steven?” you whisper. “Marc?”

He turns, thrashing around with a low whimper. The sheet drags even lower and you avert your eyes. You should leave for real, he’s definitely not awake, and you don’t even want to think about trying to explain yourself when he wakes up and sees you just standing there looking at him.

And then you step on a creaky spot on the floor and he bolts upright. He’s sweating, bare chest glinting in the low light as he looks around, wild eyes finally landing on you hovering in the doorway.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” you joke. A scowl pulls his features–okay, definitely Marc.

“How–but you…” he trails off. He looks around, disoriented, and then he drags his gaze back to you sharply. “Did you see Steven at all?”

“N-no,” you stammer. “He’s okay though, right?”

“He’s fine,” Marc promises. “Should be back, uh, soon?”

“Yeah, that’s what he said last week,” you mutter. He just looks at you helplessly, and you take that as your cue to leave.

“As fun as this has been,” you say, “I’m gonna…go. I’ll leave the keys, since you’re here. Tell Steven I said hey, whenever you see him.” You run your fingers along the fluffy bear on Steven’s keychain one last time before turning towards the door.

Then, in a voice so low you almost miss it, Marc says, “Wait, please. You can–you can stay, if you want.”

“Stay and…?” you trail off. “What, to watch you sleep?” He looks at you again, eyes so wide and pleading and so much like Steven it makes your heart break. “You’re serious.”

“I, um.” he rubs a hand across his jaw, scratching the thick stubble. “Had a nightmare. It’s usually better when there’s someone here, with me.”

You feel a spark of jealousy at his words, imagining the revolving door of different girls he’s probably gotten into his bed with that cheesy line, how many he’d sweet-talked into giving it up for him. Girls like the brooding angsty thing, right? But then you look at him a little longer, see the sheen of sweat sticking his curls to the side of his head. The perpetual dark shadows under his eyes. The way he’d called your name in his sleep. So you agree.

It’s dark, the light of the moon outside guiding you towards the bed. He’s laying on his back watching you with an arm behind his head, the picture of relaxation, and you can’t help the pulse of desire you feel. Stop it, stop it, stop it. You stand awkwardly at the edge of the bed, unsure how much or how little you should keep on. What’s the protocol for sleeping in bed with a guy you barely know for the second time?

Marc solves the dilemma for you–he reaches for a shirt on the side of the bed, passes it to you without a word. You recognize it as one of Steven’s museum shirts, the Really Makes You Sphinx one with the faded cartoon sphinx in the middle. Your fingers brush his as you reach for it and you shudder, quickly pulling the t-shirt over your head, shucking your pants and socks off as you do, and climb in next to him.

His fingers brush your bare thigh as he turns to look at you. You shift and he just looks at you, dark eyes watching your every move like a hawk. That feeling of danger is back, every instinct telling you to get out of there, now, but this time instead of running away from it, you want to run to him. You want to let him ruin you.

“Alright?” he murmurs softly and you nod.

“How’s your shoulder?” you finally ask. He turns to let you see it, the barely-healed scar that he’d sloppily taped over. You run your fingers around the edges of the tape, then down his spine, notch by notch, and he shivers.

“All good thanks to you, doc,” he says. You hum and he turns to look at you, tracing the knuckles of your hand mindlessly.

“Do you want to talk about it? The nightmare?” you blurt out.

His face hardens and he pulls his hand back to pick at a loose thread in the sheets. You miss the warmth immediately. “Not particularly,” he says after a moment, and you don’t push it.

“Yeah, okay,” you whisper. “Let’s just–here, lay down.”

You stretch your arms above your head, listening to the crack of your joints–you really hadn’t slept well last night, between the drinking and thinking about Marc…you’d been sloppy, too uncoordinated to get the angle of your fingers right and you’d fallen asleep even more frustrated. It all comes rushing back now, seeing him in person, rumpled and sleepy and dangerous but–vulnerable. It’s intoxicating and you shift to rub your thighs together, hoping for even a little bit of friction.

If Marc notices, he doesn’t say anything. Maybe you’re only imagining his heated gaze on your bare skin, the way your shirt–Steven’s shirt–lifts as you stretch. And maybe you can blame the sudden perking of your nipples on the chilly room, definitely nothing to do with Marc. Nope.

He leans back with a grunt, waving off your concern when you look at his injured shoulder. You hesitate, just for a second, but then your desire to sleep–just sleep–with him wins out. He watches you crawl over with half-lidded eyes, dragging a hand around your waist to pull you in even closer. He settles over you with a sigh, one arm right under your breasts, so close you can feel the steady thumping of his heart against your back. His breath is warm against the back of your neck, and when he whispers you okay? in your ear you nod and hope he can’t see the goosebumps there.

At first you’re stiff, not used to being this close to someone, and then his breathing evens out and he–he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, barely a brush of lips but it sets you on fire. You feel his lips pull into a smile against your neck as you fidget in his grasp.

“Go to sleep,” he groans. “’M tired, know you are too.”

You whine, pushing yourself back into him, hoping to change his mind, to get him to do something, but he just kisses your neck again, says nope, goodnight, and that’s that. You try to ignore the throbbing of your clit, the way your panties are sticking uncomfortably to your body and focus on the deep pulls of his breath behind you. Eventually you settle, lulled to sleep by Marc’s warm body behind you, holding on to you so tightly like he’s scared that’ll you’ll disappear when he wakes up.

—-

You were cold when you left your apartment, but you’re suddenly warm, almost uncomfortably so. Light streams through the curtains and you crack an eye open. There’s not much noise outside yet–it must still be early. You just settle back down into the bed, and then you hear a light snore behind you and remember where you are.

Your eyes fly open. Steven’s apartment. With Marc.

He’s even a cute sleeper, mouth open slightly as he snores. His brow is still slightly furrowed, even in his sleep–jesus, does he ever relax? His usual slicked-back curls are all over the place, fluffy and mussed from moving around. If you squint, he looks just like Steven. You resist the urge to smooth a piece of hair back from his face, laying back down and staring at a small crack in the ceiling.

Marc makes a noise and you think you’ve woken him up but he’s still sleeping, arms reaching out for you. You scoot closer and he yanks you back against him, throws a leg over yours to hold you there (as if you’d even want to leave) and that’s how you fall back asleep, cuddled up to Marc as the early morning sunlight streaks in through the window.

The next time you wake up, it’s to Marc’s hard cock pressing against your back.

It takes you a moment to process what’s happening. Steven’s apartment. Steven’s bed. Marc. Nightmare. Cuddling. And–

The desire from last night comes flooding back in a rush–you wiggle back just a little, just to see what’ll happen. You can feel the wet spot on the front of his boxers as it drags along your exposed skin. You’re so warm, bursting into flames just at this simple contact.

Marc grunts, shifts again so his arm is around your chest, fingers grazing your nipple. You whimper at the light contact and roll your hips back again, intentionally. He’s so hard and firm and you try to shift to get the angle just right when you feel his breathing change. He’s awake now.

“Marc,” you whimper, and he noses along the back of your neck, tweaking your nipple.

“G’morning to you, too,” he says, voice rough with sleep. He grips your hips tightly and rolls his hips, letting you feel how hard he is. Even through your layers of clothes, he feels big.

“Please, Marc,” you whine, reaching back to grab at his hair, and he groans, flipping you over so he can settle on top of you. His hips are perfectly aligned for you to grind up into him, the friction so good but still not enough.

“Driving me fuckin’ crazy, the way you keep saying my name,” he huffs. “First time I saw you, had to stop what I was doing and just fuck my own hand–feel what you do to me, huh baby?”

You’re burning up, at his words, at how close he is, trying to get your shirt off without moving him out of place. He grins, wolfish, and swats your hands away, rolling it up and off your body. His eyes are everywhere on your newly exposed skin, leaning down to mouth at the side of your breast, pressing light kisses as he goes. He bites down lightly and you moan.

His eyes are molten, so dark as he watches your reactions. The way you arch up into his mouth when he sucks a nipple. How your fingers twist in his hair and yank him up to your mouth. He kisses you like he’s on a mission, like he knows exactly what he wants from you. It’s hot, the way he takes control.

“Can I put my mouth on you, please, can I? Been dreaming about getting my mouth on you, on this sweet little pussy. Tell me what you want, baby, please.”

“Yeah, okay,” you croak. As if you’d say no to him. Marc grins, a huge smile that you can feel as he presses one last kiss to your neck before settling down at the foot of the bed. His broad shoulders push your legs open even more and for a moment he just runs his hand up your inner thigh, letting his warm breath fan over you until you’re squirming in his grip.

You reach down and tug his hair when he tries to muffle his whimper in your leg. “Stop teasing.”

And he listens, finally, pausing only to roll your soaked panties down and throw them into the corner of the room. You have a brief moment of panic when you think about Steven finding them later, and then every thought flies out of your head when he leans down and licks a wide stripe from your dripping hole up to your clit. A low moan tears from your throat.

He hums against you when you rake your hands through his hair and pull a little harder this time. He groans, sucking your clit lightly between his lips and you practically leap off the bed. One of his hands comes to hold you down, spreading across your hip and pressing you further into the bed. You can’t escape it, can’t escape him–the rough scrape of his stubble, the steady pressure around your clit, the way he gently presses a finger into you at the same time and rubs at the spongy spot there.

The hand not holding you down is under him, working his boxers off and fisting his cock–he’s flushed, practically dripping and he pulls back to swipe two fingers through your slick and use it to lube himself up. It’s so dirty and hot that you can’t help but grab him, pulling him up to kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips.

“See,” Marc says, smug. “Knew you would taste good. Even better’n I dreamed about.”

You blush and grab at his arms, trying to get him to move, to let you get on top. It’s like trying to move a solid wall, he’s so broad, and he laughs as you struggle. He tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth as he flops back. Marc reaches up to pull you closer and you don’t miss the wince he tries to hide when his shoulder lifts.

You stop moving immediately and he whines. Loudly.

“Thought you said your shoulder was better,” you say faux-seriously. Roll your hips on him slowly, letting his cock settle in between your bare lips. He grips your hips in his sweaty hands.

“It’s fine, you can fix it again after–please, I need you,” he groans. His eyes never leave your cunt, watching as you drag your slick over him again and again. You lift your hips, hovering over him, and he grits his teeth at the loss of contact.

His grip on your hips tightens, trying to pull you back down, but you sit up out of his reach. He thrusts up into you, leaving a smear of precum on the inside of your thigh that glistens in the morning light.

He looks wrecked, flush running down his cheeks to his chest. He can’t sit still, running his hands over your bare skin, pleading with you to do something, please, c’mon. Finally you take mercy on him, gripping the base of his dick and lining it up to where you’re practically dripping. You sink down slowly, feeling the stretch, the way his thighs tense with the effort of holding back.

He bites back a groan and you can’t help but let out a small whimper. He’s so warm and solid and thick inside you–you clench down, just to feel his cock pulse inside you, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass.

“Oh god, please,” he begs. “This’ll be over–fuck–over too quick if you keep doing that.”

“Shit, Marc,” you groan when he shifts his hips, angling the wide head of his cock to catch perfectly on that spongy spot inside you. You roll your hips over him again and again, leaning forward to kiss him. The angle catches your clit just right and you cry out.

“Gonna come on my cock, baby? Go ahead, please, ruin me for anyone else. Never even wanna look at anyone else, yeah, just you. Fuck, you’re–you’re so good to me, feels so good,” he babbles.

Marc shoves his hips up once, twice, reaching down to roll your swollen clit between his fingers. The pressure is so good, exactly what you need and you come with a cry of his name, suddenly.

When you open your eyes again he’s already watching you, a tiny smile on his face that quickly shifts into a look of need when you clench down on him again. You can feel him twitch inside you when you cup your breast in your hand, swirling a finger around your nipple. He groans.

“Please, baby, where do you want it? I can’t–please don’t stop.” He’s staring at the slick leaking out of you onto his dick, the squelch when you lift yourself up and down so loud in the room, a harsh fuck tumbling out of his lips.

“Come in me,” you say, and that’s all it takes for him to throw his head back with a groan, muscles locking as he holds you down on his pulsing cock, letting you feel the surge of warm come deep inside you. You can feel it leak out when you lift yourself with a groan and flop back on the bed.

It’s quiet for a moment as you both catch your breath. He rolls over to face you, cupping your jaw in his hand, kissing you slowly. You melt into his arms, letting his steady breathing lull you back to sleep, and then your eyes fly open and you pull back.

“Maybe don’t, um, tell Steven I was here?”

He gives you a crooked grin, eyes crinkling. “Don’t worry, honey–’m good at keeping secrets.”

masterlist here

#marc spector fic #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector #moon knight #moon knight fic #marvel fic #steven grant #marc spector smut #this was literally 20 pages in google docs im screaming #literally the longest thing ive ever written lowkey proud of it #listen i just KNOW mr people pleaser marc would beg during sex. idc argue with the wall #lexi writes things

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scara-writes · 7 months

Text

regress

Knight! Reader x Y! Prince

(gender neutral for readers)

No proofreads. Forgive me for not answering y'all ask/request! I will do them once I'm done publishing the other ocs! (Y'all wilding for yandere gold digger and omega! Lol) this one is short tbh and has another part but I'm unsure about posting it because it was too long. Let me know if you wanna see it.

Warning: hints of death, yandere, psycopath

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

You woke up groaning. Your throat hurts, confused at yourself. You never had a problems with your throat. Always hydrated before going to sleep, So why the hell that it feels like its dry at the same time it's not?

It's kind of like itchy.

You went down the staircase, hearing the bustling sound of your subordinate roommates.

"Captain! You look pretty tired today. Did you perha—woah! What happened to your neck?" One of your members looked shocked, their eyes looking at the said neck. The other members in the room looks at you in confusion before their face was the same as the person who asked you.

You raised your eyebrow at him. "What about it?"

You let your calloused hands caress your neck, feeling if there was out of ordinary. "Can some of you hand me a mirror? I am confused as to why everyone looked shocked right now."

One of your subordinates quickly ran around to find you a mirror. When they found it, they immediately handed it to you.

You look yourself in the mirror. Just like their reaction, you were shock to witness it.

"What... How...?"

"...It looks like a deep wound from one of our melee weapon, specifically a knife. Captain. No wounds can someone survive that!" The person sitting at the dining table said as he observe it."How did you got that?"

You shook your head,"I don't know.... I only woke up feeling my throat feels dry and fine at the same time. Itchy I would say, it doesn't hurt. It feels irritating."

"I think you should consult a physician or a doctor for that."

You trace the scar on your neck. Thoughtful, of where had you gotten this. "... I might."

You strolled up to the palace, not getting any breakfast—even dinner last night—and skipping your schedule to train as forgetting the fact that you are late to see your master, so you immediately went to the palace of your prince. The one you serve in your whole life.

Maids greeting you a good morning, and you greet them back. One of them offered you a sandwich, it looks pretty neat and delicious to eat. Drooling at the thought chewing on it. You tried to refuse but they insisted on giving it to you, seeing you didn't get a breakfast and dinner, you looked a little dizzy for someone who trained to endure without food for months. You accepted it along with a water, thanking them, feeling a little hungry and quickly gobble up the food making your way from hallway to the kitchen with them before anyone can scold you for eating around the halls. Parch from the food, you drank the water from the glass and put them on the sink before going back to your task to check up on your prince. You bid the maids a good bye.

Once you reach the room of your master. You saw there was no lady in waiting nor a butler on his doorway. So you knock on the wood, announcing yourself, waiting for your master's response to let you in.

"(Y-y/n)?" You heard a whimpering voice behind the room. It sounded like he was crying. You asked him if he was alright, but before you could get any answer from him, you saw the door being pulled opened and then finding yourself engulf by an arm around your shoulders.

"Mmm sorry—shouldn't doubt you!—my own fault!... Was supposed to trust you—love you so mmmh–much!I-I— don't l-leave m-me—hicc!" The prince cried on your shoulder, babbling incoherent words that you didn't understand. You look bewildered at his sudden burst, not expecting for someone who always smiles and befriend anyone regardless of their status. You slowly went to embrace him, comforting him, feeling him wrapping his legs around your hips and you let him, crying on your now wet uniform full of tears and snots continuing to blabber incoherent words.

You tried to let him lay down to his king sized bed but his grip on you wouldn't let you. So here you are awkwardly patting him on the back as you sat yourself on the edge of his bed instead. You were hesitant to touch his hair, it is against the rules that a lowly life like you has the audacity to touch them especially in their hair, it's a sign disrespect and could lead to a treason. But you decided to do it anyway, he needs your comfort right now and that rule doesn't apply to you if the prince needed it anyway—plus you already broke the rules when you hugged him back.

He freezes up when he felt your hands on his head before slowly taking a deep breath, sniffling, calming down from your touch. He buried his nose onto your neck, shuddering before planting a small kisses from you, whimpering.

"sssorry—hic-!ssorryyso-sorry... louvv you too..m..much.. shouldnn't...leea-hic-!leave me..."

You cannot comprehend what he was trying to say but his action made you surprised, but you let him be for now, continuing patting his back awkwardly because this isn't what you expect first thing of the day when you work.

Prince Rylle must have a nightmare for him to act like this.

"... Your highness?"

You heard him whimpered before leaning himself away from your neck, slowly looking at you. His eyes were puffy, some tears were spilling. Prince Rylle was sniffing and hiccuping from his tears.

You looked away from his eyes, indirectly obeying his older brother's words to not look straight at him. You carefully wipe away the water droplets coming out from his orbs, waiting for his nerves to calm down.

He stayed there at your lap for a few minutes, until he recollect himself.

After wiping his tears, one of your hand went to grab a handkerchief from your pocket trying to rid of the snot that was clogging his nose.

But before you can do that, the tanned male squeaks and tried to push himself off on you, falling down from your lap. Head first colliding on the floor. Thankfully, he didn't bleed.

"Your highness! Are you alright?" worriedly you went to assess his head from the impact.

"I-I'm fine!" He quickly got up, wincing from the slight concussion from his head.

"I apologize, it was my mistake for startling you. I shall be careful next time."You got up from the edge of his bed before stroking his head gently.

He looks at you, the way he gaze up to you seems like he had seen a ghost.

"... Are you really..here?" He whispered. You were puzzled by his question. "... I'm here your highness." Quickly bowing down to his level.

He walk up again to you, requesting if he could hug you again. You stood up and saw in your peripheral vision his eyes were starting to become teary again. His snot were starting to clog his nose, but you let him hold you.

You felt his arms around your waist. Hands firmly grip on your sides.

"... God, I t-thought I lost you." He whispered. Whatever nightmare that was. It must have traumatised him. You felt his tears running down again to your clothes.

"... I'm here your highness.."

"... You're really.. h-here." He whispered.

You patted his back. "... I am here."

"Today is 7th of May, Year..890." You uttered before jotting down the notes for your report. The prince was beside you, silent at his own office. He too is jotting down his report or at least he is, but you felt his gaze on you. You weren't used to the prince Infront of you being silent. He would always filled this room with his chattering, sharing his knowledge to you on what he learned from his teachers—since a commoner like you doesn't deserve education—and sometimes he would always complain about the other nobles being rude to their servants and how obnoxious they were.

So you broke the silence filling in the room. It is unusual for your master to be this silent.... And staring at you for quite some time."Is everything alright your highness?"

He didn't answer. He was still gazing at you.

"Your highness?" You repeat.

The prince snapped back to reality.

"O-oh! Yes! Yes I am! I'm-I'm still recollecting m-my thoughts about my nightmares haha!" His fake laughter died down when his gaze stayed to your neck. He frowned. He was contemplating whether or not he should ask. But he did.

"... Where did you get that? The... Scar on your neck."

You cleared your throat before feeling the scars again. Just like earlier, you didn't felt any phantom pain from it.

"... I would have tell you the reason behind it but I have no idea, your highness. I must have slip a knife drag it on my nec—" You wanted to jest about it but you got a sullen look. His face was frowning even more.

"Please, do not do it again."

"...I... Yeah. I am jesting your highness... I had woken up with a scar already imprinted on my neck." You didn't get a response after that, he avoided his look from it.

You look back at your finished report. Organizing them, putting them aside the table, before standing up. "Umm.. As much as I would like to accompany you all day, your highness. I have business to attend to with the crown prince." You didn't particularly give him the detail why you need to leave, you walked away. His brother technically assigned you on something dangerou—

"... Were you going to assassinate the southern duke who was accused of embezzlement of the empire's treasury?"

Your boots stop clacking on the tiled floor of the room, quickly turning your head back to your master. Whose eyes were blank as if he just absentmindedly told you what he said.

"... How... Where did his highness learn this... Information."

You were supposed to make him believe that everything around him is perfect. Is what your master's psychopath family told you to do. He doesn't need to know everything.

He was supposed to be completely utterly away from it and only focusing on the bright side of the kingdom.

The tanned male before you gave you a nervous smile. You realized that today he is acting weird."No! Nothing I-I was just speaking something ill! It was a mere jest, my sweet!" His hands were wavering as a sweat formed down to his cheeks, when he talks.

He was lying.

"Where did you get that information, your highness?" You looked at him, your body turning to him. Repeating your words.

He gulped, one of his hand pulled his collar a little as if he was sweating from his clothes. You noticed how his eyes were looking everywhere except your figure. He mumbled something before turning back to you, stammering."... Forgive me... I ... I overheard your meetings with my older brother that n-night."

You thought about the meeting he was talking about. It was Prince Rylle's birthday that time and he was at the very center of the attention so none of the nobles or slaves have witness you left to the garden when the his older brother, the crown prince commanded you to follow him there. You made sure before you left, the last time you saw him before you had gone to follow his highness, Prince Rylle was dancing with one of the noble ladies.

So it is not possible that he might overhear your conversation when he had to take turns on the ladies that lining up to have a dance with him.

"But you were in the middle of dancing with the lady Rub—"

"N-no! I wanted to-to find you to accompany me by the garden when you were not in your post! I found myself walking alone in the garden and then I saw with my brother! I promise I did not mean to eavesdrop on your conversation with my brother!"

That wasn't the only thing that his brother ordered you to kill someone. You would have refused if it weren't for the fact that your mother's expenses for her health wasn't increasing. But the crown prince promised salvation to your mother as long as you do what he told you. It was tempting deal but you did it, feeling pressured as if refusing that bastard's command would give you penalty of death. Was that even a deal? Plus shedding someone's blood by your own hands wasn't your forte. You are a knight that was supposed to protect Prince Rylle. You can only immobalize your enemy but you cannot bring yourself to kill.

The duke was not the only one who you need to assassinate tonight and you weren't even sure if he really did try to embezzled the treasury. You witness that old man to be strict, intimidating but he took a great care the people who serves under him and the villagers who were residing in his property. All you heard from his rumors was that he was a good leader and a good provider.

"Was that all you heard, your highness?" You were internally panicking. Not wishing to meet your punishment if one of his family heard about this. Prince Rylle needs to be pure from this world is what his family told you. He needs to be away from these secrets.

"Y-yes!"

"... Can I ask you a favor?"

His soft gaze wanders around your lips before slowly nodding. So you asked him a favor to never let his family knows about him finding out about this.

He frowned as if he realized something. The white haired male stood up from his seat and walk towards you, as he softly grabbed your hands to his. Clasping it.

"Now that Gods favored me, this time I will protect you."

" Of course, darling... I will not let them." He unclasps his hand from yours before giving you a hug. You can't quite hear the last sentence he said.

#yandere lover #yandere #soft yandere #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #clingy yandere #yandere boyfriend #pretty yandere #yandere prince #yandere x gn reader #yandere x reader #yandere boy x reader #yandere boy #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x you #delusional yandere

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hellsburners · 9 months

Text

maybe the night

summary: you miss jake lockley. pairing: jake lockley x male reader word count: 1.5k warnings: 18+ warning, unrpotected s3x, shower s3x, top!jake, l-bombs a/n: sorry for being ia i was very sick (still a bit sick) wanted to post something but i dont have anything finished so i made this to update u guys [still working on your requests i promise!!]

masterlist | more moon knight

Jake comes home after a normal night. Taking in cab passengers gaining new information from the streets of London that Marc can use. He arrives in your shared flat finding you snuggled up in your bed, the blue sheets covering your toes up to your nose.

He sat next to you, removing his leather gloves so he can run his fingers through your hair and touch your warm cheeks. You slept so peacefully, Jake wanted to wrap his arms around you as you two shared the bed but he knew how much you hated it when he slept in with his outside clothes.

Out of the three of them, Jake was the most romantic when it comes to gifts but the least you spent time with. He’s usually out at night, barely saying goodbye, and on the off chance you see each other it’s when you were already preparing for bed, but the moment you wake up there would always be flowers on the kitchen counter.

“–Jake?” you turned, eyes fluttering.

“Shit, sorry for waking you sweets,” he whispered. “Was gonna get ready for bed.”

“Want me to draw you a bath?” you asked.

“No it’s alright, you should go back to sleep,” he said, drawing the sheets back to your shoulders, but you insisted. Jake rolled his eyes but you pouted, come on I can’t go back to sleep easily anyway, you pleaded. After the back and forth he finally gave in.

You made sure the water was a bit hot, his preference, and used a clean-smelling bath bomb. You helped unbutton his white shirt and his tie, his eyes glued to you as you finished the task. Your fingers were cold when they touched his almost feverish skin, Jake shuddered from the contact.

Jake hopped onto the tub sinking into the soapy water. Sat behind the tub as you put shampoo on his hair. You massaged your fingers through his scalp over and over as suds foamed around your fingers. Jake’s eyes rolled back from the calming sensation of your fingers.

“How’s your night?” you asked.

“Tiring,” he said. “Barely any news regarding those disappearances.”

“I heard that the cops don’t have intel on it too,” you said as you scooped water to his hair. “Marc speculates it's those vampire gangs.”

Whenever the two of you talked it was always Steven who said this, Marc said that, never really just about the two of you. Jake knew it was about time he sparked a conversation that didn’t involve the other two—no offense.

“I love it when you use this shampoo on me,” he smiled.

“Why?” you furrowed your brows, he always asked you to use it on him but you had never asked why.

“Cause it smells like you.”

You chuckled under your breath. Jake, always flirting. You felt sad that you haven’t spent that much time lately, but maybe tonight you could have something for yourselves. You rinse his hair free of the suds, his curls clinging onto his forehead. He just lets you wash his hair, Jake took the moment of solemnity and closed his eyes to relax. He was surprised when you left a kiss on his cheek, your warm lips on his face.

You stand to grab a towel before he takes your wrist. He gestured for you to join him, fine, you said. Gently undressing, his eyes gazed all over your nakedness, taking in the sight. He guides you to the tub and the two of you lay down in the water, your back to his chest. His arms wrap around your torso, securing him to you. He places kisses all over your shoulders while his hand traces circles all over your belly.

“Thanks for the bath, sweets,” he whispered in between kisses.

“I figured we don’t usually spend much time with each other,” you said. “I wanted to spend some time with just us.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said.

You turned around to straddle his thighs. His hands guide your hips under the water. You bent down to kiss him on the lips, his wet curls sticking to your forehead, his mustache tickling your face. Your hands trace his smooth chest, down to his soft belly.

He sits up so your ass is on his sex, slowly hardening underneath your touch. Your hands wrap around his neck to gather some stability, your fingers peering through the hair on his nape. He leaves kisses all over your neck, sucking on the skin lightly. You feel yourself harden under his touch as well, his fingers forming a ring around your sex.

His cock hits the crease in between your ass, achingly hard. You shift your body so that your cocks are parallel to each other. You wrap both your hands around the hardness to form a tightness. You stroke your cocks, water splashing on your torsos.

Your cocks start to leak pre cum from the stroking, your lips glued to each other getting more languid by the second, the room filling with the sounds of moaning and water splashing. Jake’s back started to sore from the porcelain tub.

“I don’t think this tub is built for fucking,” he said. You chuckled in agreement. You two stand when he pulls you toward the shower. He pins you to the tiled wall, turning on the shower in the process. Hot water trickles down his back as he spits on his cock, lubing it in preparation. You turn around to present your hole to him, your hands pressed on the wall with your back arched for him.

He kneels to spit on your ass, tracing his wet fingers on the rim of your hole before he presses the digit inside you. He inserts another to stretch you, his cock was quite girthy so the preparations would help greatly. He stands up and lines his sex to your hole, slowly entering the member into you.

You feel the tightness envelop his girth as his hands clench on your waist, hot water sprinkling on your back before he thrusts forward. You cry from the pressure before he pulls back out and enters you again. His hips moved slowly at first, taking in the feeling of your warm walls on his aching cock.

“You’re so tight, sweets,” he groaned, pushing and pulling on your waist. He lets out curses and sounds of pleasure. He takes his hand to your cock, stroking it in the same rhythm as his hips. You cry out when he hits your sensitive spot, your knees weakening.

“Fuck you’re so good, Jake,” you moan, this arouses him more, quickening his pace. You let out moans from the sudden shift in pace, tears of pleasure forming in your eyes.

“You can take it, sweets, I know you can,” he coos.

He suddenly pulls out, and you gasp from the sudden emptiness. He turns you around to face him, he looks at you, cheeks flushed, and kisses your swollen lips. He takes your thighs and lords you up to the wall, your legs wrapped around him. He continues to thrust into you again, your back rising and falling against the tiled wall.

“Jake—fuck,” you moaned. You take his face so he’s looking up at you, your thumb caressing his cheeks. You kiss him with saliva dripping down the side of your lip. You gasped from his fast pace, his head going to your neck placing hickeys.

“You’re so pretty, sweets,” he moans. His hips slap onto your skin. “So beautiful.”

His hips thrust faster even more, your eyes watering as you cry out. Your nails dig into the skin on his back as he fucks his fill into you. You’d think with the water you’d start to slip, but Jake’s hands on your thighs were gripping tight, steadily holding you as his cock drills into your hole.

“I’m—close,” you gasp.

Jake thrusts a few more, his hips hard-hitting your skin before his cum empties into your hole, his grunts filling the small space. You let out a cry before you cum too, shooting in between your bellies.

He puts you down gently, your legs like jelly. You two kiss as you begin to shower. You helped him lather the soap all over your bodies, he took extra care in cleaning up your behind. After you shower, you get ready for bed. Always taking time for your skincare routine in front of the vanity. Jake was doing his routine thanks to Steven, who made it a rule that skincare is a must no matter who is in control.

“I love you, sweets,” he said, smiling through the mirror. “Like a lot actually, I hope you don’t forget that whenever I’m busy.”

You stood up to hug his back, arms wrapped around his torso. “Of course, I love you too Jake,” you kiss his cheek. “A lot."

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight x male reader #steven grant x male reader #marc spector x male reader #jake lockley x male reader #moon knight smut #steven grant smut #marc spector smut #jake lockley smut

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360iris · 1 year

Text

For me, the vibe drastically shifts when I think of the moon knight system individually—

Like there’s Steven, who’s very sweet and accommodating. He’s easy going but just the right amount of snarky that never fails to make you snort with laughter.

He’s the kind of person I’d want to go to Starbucks with and order a large refresher only to walk around Target for a good two hours like it’s the mall or a farmer’s market.

Steven is Tuesday nights spent sprawled out on a modest sized couch, the two of you wrapped under a large blanket and trying to be respectful of each other’s space as you’re both self conscious of how much space you’re taking up.

But eventually, your calves are touching and ankles are interlocked as you’re leaning over him to get something off the end table.

It’s him standing at the bathroom sink, brushing his teeth and intently listening as you rambunctiously complain about obnoxious coworkers and customers over the noise of the shower running, shampoo being massaged into your scalp and rinsed from your hair.

He’s the partner you spent your adolescence daydreaming about.

And then there’s reserved, calculated and partially measured Marc. He’s quiet in an attentive sort of way, the type of big, semi-permanently grumpy guy who’ll take mental notes of literally everything that has to concern with you.

For example, he’ll pinpoint the exact pieces in your wardrobe you’re more inclined to pull out and wear before anything else in your closet— and he’ll always be sure to have washed, folded and returned them to their drawers so that they’re ready for you to pull on again at the end of the day.

It’s the kind of act of service that’s so subtle, you don’t realize he’s been doing it for months.

This man will fully memorize your go-to restaurant orders and act like it’s simply a coincidence when the waiter arrives and he’s just finished flawlessly reciting what you want, for you.

He knows what things you tend to somehow always forget to pack in your purse for work and will neatly line them up on the kitchen bar so that you couldn’t possibly miss them (you still forget to take them though… and after a while, he just starts packing your work bag for you. It doesn’t take long and he finds it’s nice that it gives him something to do.)

Marc is Sunday mornings spent baking cupcakes, lining the counters with different flavored box mixes, eggs and large ceramic bowls. Splashes of vanilla extract, tins smeared with butter and coated in flour for easy removal. The smell of sweet chocolate icing filling the air.

The two of you taking turns alternating from dish duty to prep. Pressing indulgent kisses in between his shoulder blades as he whisks eggs into oil and water like the yellowy yolks owe him money.

The way you serenely clean up behind him— a little spilt cake mix here, or broken eggshells there— doesn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated. The small gestures really go miles for him.

Marc wordlessly gives out tender pecks, against your temple or at the nape of your neck just because. He’s comfortable silences and fingers warmly intertwined.

He’s the man you find yourself stealing glances at when you think he’s not looking, wondering how you got so lucky.

And last, but never least, there’s Jake who’s hardy, spartan and disciplined. A true product of his environment and circumstances. Someone who learned from their oppressors and surpassed them in their capacity for brutality. The thing about Jake however, is that he has a great proclivity for gentleness as well.

Jake is Wednesday nights, the two of you undressing layer by layer, garments piling into a neat stack to later be placed into the laundry hamper. Jake resting his chin over your right shoulder, his arms wrapped around your middle as you fold your pants and his shirt.

He’s knelt alongside the white garden tub, his hand under the running water from the facet, adjusting the temperature as needed. Eucalyptus scented suds and bubbles fill the space around you as your back rests against his chest.

With his hands brought around your front, he peels one of the set of three clementines you’d brought from the kitchen. Hand feeding you segmented pieces to be lazily gnawed at, soft sloshes and splashes sounding at your feet as you wiggle your toes in the comfortable silence. The two of you exchanging hushed mumbles.

He’s cold nights with chill air slashing your cheeks, a steady chocolate stare he fixes you with as you shuffle in place in front of him. His neck craning as he leans forward, a gloved hand encasing your hands clasped at your mouth and moving them aside— his lips pressing against yours wordlessly.

He’s the protector you only ever heard about in passing stories.

#moon knight #moon knight blurb #moon knight headcanon #moon knight system #moon knight system x reader #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #oscar issac

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cinnamon-girl-writes · 3 days

Text

sweet nothing . . . eren yeager x reader

y/n gets food poisoning, but luckily her knight in shining armor (sweatpants) is there to save the day

sickfic, modern au, emetophobia, hurt/comfort

by @cinnamon-girl-writes!

You flushed the toilet and watched the former contents of your stomach disappear.

Pushing your h/c hair out of your eyes, you sighed heavily. You had had a miserable past two hours, being able to keep nothing down, not even soup.

It had all started that afternoon when you and some of your friends (not including your boyfriend, Eren) had eaten at a taco truck on the beach that Armin had sworn would be delicious. You mentally cursed the blonde man as you rinsed your mouth out in the sink.

“How’re you doing?” you hear from behind you. You turn to see Eren leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom.

“Terrible,” you respond gloomily. As you try to pass him to go lay back down, he pulls you into a bear hug.

“I’m sorry, mama. Do you want something to eat?” Eren said apologetically. You shook your head, burying your face in his muscled chest. You absolutely hated being sick.

“All I really wanna do is sleep,” you said plainly. Eren could see the exhaustion behind your eyes, so he helped you to the couch so you could lie down for a while. You turned on your favorite movie, Howl’s Moving Castle, and promptly fell asleep twenty minutes in.

Eren was by your side the whole time, giving you enough space to breathe but also being there to comfort you. He sat beside you on the couch (you decided that sitting up was the best approach due to your queasy stomach) with his arm slung across the back of the couch behind you to support your head. Once he noticed you were asleep, he pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, whispering sweet nothings even though he knew you couldn’t hear them. Maybe they would help you have peaceful dreams, he thought.

After a few hours you started stirring. You woke up drowsily, asking what time it was and how much you had slept. Eren informed you that it was five thirty and you had been out for three hours.

You grumbled, laying your head against your boyfriend’s chest.

“You need something to eat, mama. It’s almost time for dinner and you haven’t eaten since you’ve been sick.”

After a drawn-out sigh, you agree. Eren tucks you in and gives you the remotes as he goes to the kitchen to prepare you some food.

He’s decided to make you miso soup since it’s one of your favorite foods and it’ll be easy to keep down, hopefully. He carefully prepares the dish, adding in just the right amounts of each ingredient how he knows you like it.

Meanwhile, you sat on the couch idly watching the evening news, your movie having ended long ago while you were asleep. Not much has happened lately in your city; a new restaurant opened, another class of seniors graduated from the local highschool, there was a parade downtown this weekend.

Finding yourself bored, you turned around to see what your boyfriend was up to in the kitchen. You found him shirtless, wearing only a pair of gray sweatpants with his long dark hair pulled into a bun behind his head. You smiled to yourself, hiding your face behind the couch cushions. Silently, you admired Eren from afar: his chiseled abs, defined arms, and-

“Enjoying the view, babe?” Eren teased as he turned off the stove, pouring hot golden broth into a bowl.

You blushed, turning back around. He came around the couch and set the steaming bowl in front of you on the table.

“Y’know, I’m beginning to think that you don’t hate being sick after all . . . “ your boyfriend joked, pulling you in for a hug. He pinched your sides playfully, pressing sweet kisses to the side of your head.

“I hope you feel better soon, baby,” he said solemnly.

“Yeah, me too,” you dejectedly responded.

You ate your soup, opting to lay in bed after you were done. Eren stayed by your side, as always, pulling you close and smoothing your hair as you fell asleep.

“Sweet dreams, baby.”

#eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #eren x reader #aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #aot eren

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