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#moonknight fic
heartthrobin · 9 months
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press your tulips to mine
steven grant x female!reader
wc: 4.6k
warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n
an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers
summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.
Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.
Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.
Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.
He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?
In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.
Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.
Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.
Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.
Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.
He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.
Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.
Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.
The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"
Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.
By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.
There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.
Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.
Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.
It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.
"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"
Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.
The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.
Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.
"That was mortifying." He muttered back.
The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.
"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.
He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."
"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.
"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."
Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."
Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.
He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.
It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--
"Steven don't even think about it--"
Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.
"Oh my god, are you alright?"
The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.
As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."
Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."
Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"
Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."
"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.
"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.
"Jesus, Steven."
Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.
"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"
An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.
"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."
"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.
"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.
"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.
"Who's birthday is it?"
Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"
"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"
"My girlfriend's."
"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"
"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.
"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."
"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.
Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"
Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"
You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"
Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.
You blushed a velvety red.
"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"
"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."
Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."
He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.
"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."
Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?
"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.
"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.
"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."
Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.
"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"
"Let her respond, Steven."
But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.
"So, uh, yeah."
"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"
Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."
You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"
"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."
You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."
"Thanks."
"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.
"Uh-- and you are?"
"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.
Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.
"It's ... it's a beautiful name."
You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."
His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."
Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.
"Good job, Stevie."
-
Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.
Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”
His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”
-
In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.
Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.
Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”
But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.
Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.
He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.
Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.
“What’s up, Stevie?”
The nickname made him shiver every time.
“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.
When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.
“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.
You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”
It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.
Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.
“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”
Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.
He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.
“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.
Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.
Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”
It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.
He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.
The day passed like most of them do.
The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.
Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.
Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.
He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.
A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--
"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."
The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.
Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."
Your eyes found him, waving a hand.
Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.
"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"
"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."
He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”
Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.
“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”
Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.
“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”
“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.
The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.
“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”
With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."
"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"
"Of course."
Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.
When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.
"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.
The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.
Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.
With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.
"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"
The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.
Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.
Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.
“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”
He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.
The silence was beginning to turn stale.
“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.
“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”
Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”
“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”
“And you’re very beautiful.”
The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.
Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”
Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”
An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.
“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”
“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“
A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.
The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.
Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.
He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.
“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.
He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.
In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.
Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.
“Steven?”
The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.
He didn’t.
Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.
Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”
If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.
“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“
He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.
“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“
“Will you go on a date with me?”
You blinked up at him. Once, twice.
The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.
“When?”
Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?
“Now. Right now, tonight.”
The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.
“Don’t you have work?”
“You haven’t answered my question yet.”
“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”
Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“
He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.
“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.
He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.
They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.
With his experience being limited to the pool of:
A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.
B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,
C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,
It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.
“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.
You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.
“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”
-
taglist:
@pcrushinnerd @since-im-already-here @am-3-thyst @aug-ust69 @hangmanslover @suddenlysteven @nxonlights @lwjmoonchild7 @o-zenith-o @amasdaydream @may-tulip @skarrkiie @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @lxne20 @sangwoahsbat @orihimi-19 @purple-amaranthe @autismsupermusicalassassin @mt2sssss @angie2274 @dancing-pinky-flower @y2kbratzqouturr @brekkers-desigirl @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @softdvng0dness87 @venomous-ko @grilled-steak @emily-roberts @airzonaaa @yomoms-stuff @mess-of-fandom @winter-soul @insomniacrobyn
i couldn't tag some of you, just check that your settings allow for mentions :))
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soonknight · 3 months
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"BEG." + JAKE LOCKLEY
afab/fem!reader x jake lockley (fills a @moonknight-events bingo square!)
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content: light d/s dynamics, sub!jake, femdom reader, dry humping, begging (duh), maybe a little bratting from jake
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"Amor..."
The plea comes breathlessly. The man who has you on your knees at least twice a week is nearly whining beneath you.
It feels amazing.
"Jake..." You drag out his name as you roll your hips over his bulge once again- slowly. Deliberately. As you start to roll your hips again, Jake grinds up into you. You stop abruptly.
He lets out a frustrated groan and you swallow the urge to giggle at his desperation. "What, baby?"
"Te nescesito," Jake says through gritted teeth. You know he means it; his cock is leaking from where it's pinned between your thighs, creating a wet patch that's smeared over his boxers. Or maybe that's you. Your panties are soaked through at this point.
He clears his throat, and his hands come up to lightly grab your hips. "Come on, mama, give it to me..."
This time, you do laugh. You gently take his hands and pin them on either side of his head as you lean forward to whisper in his ear. Jake huffs to cover another desperate moan.
"And what makes you think you get to tell me what to do now, hm?" you say, your breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. He shivers, thighs trembling as he tries to keep his twitching hands still. You feel him press his arms into the mattress to stop himself from squirming. Power surges through you. You've got him. "That's right, good boy..."
Jake whimpers. He actually fucking whimpers. "Please."
Oh. That's good. You lean back up to see Jake's brows knitted together with his bottom lip pinned under the other.
"Please, what?"
Jake swallows. "I want you to ride me..."
You hum, like you're considering giving him what he wants. Then, you click your tongue and shake your head. "Where are your manners, sweet boy?"
Jake breathes deeply- exasperated- as he shuts his eyes and throws his head back. A heavy exhale comes through his nose and you hum again, disapprovingly this time.
"C'mon, Jake. Beg. I won't ask again," you say with a firm tone. You feel his cock twitch and fight back a smile. You know he wants it. You know he needs it. But you let him figure it out for himself.
Jake's eye squeeze shut even tighter. "Please fuck me..." There's still a bite to his tone, but it dissipates when he opens his eyes to see you staring down at him, eager for more.
"I need you. Fuck, I need your pussy," he rambles, weak to your stern gaze. "Ride me- use me- I don't care."
His hips twitch again. "I just... I just need you so bad, mi sol. Please." You think he's done, but he says one more thing as your lips part.
"You make me feel... so, so good."
You soften at that, smiling and leaning down to kiss him, letting your fingers lightly tease over the skin of his wrists before grabbing them and pressing down again.
"I know, my love..." You kiss his cheek. "Just lay back and let me use you, okay?"
<3
I'm chewing on the bars of my enclosure I need to top him so fucking bad
thanks for your patience on new fics everyone- I've just been relaxing this holiday season and spending time with my family and partner and doing some crafts and traveling... new semester starts up soon but it's gonna be a good one! best of luck to my fellow students out there!
also, I'm almost at 2,000! I'd appreciate a reblog to help get me over the hill. it'd be nice to have some new friends around here!
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spacecowboyhotch · 10 months
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In the Eyes
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summary: marc is dating the most competitive mario-kart player he’s ever met. and he loves them.
prompt: reader and marc are playing mario kart and getting very competitive (but still fun, no actual fighting). they both end up ordering pizza and snuggling up on the couch watching ancient aliens cause why not. idk
pairing: marc spector x gn!reader, implied reader x steven grant/jake lockley
contents: fluff, internal angst, cheating during mario-kart (a cardinal sin), food mention, cheesy love confessions
gif credit: @nowritingonthewall
word count: 2.5k
an: this is a little late but, happy year anniversary to moonknight! thank you to @juneknight for putting together this moonknight anniversary fic exchange. all the smooshes and all my love bb. and to my lovely friends in Marc’s girls i love uuuuu 🥰 (p.s. internal angst is a must with marc spector so sorry in advance)
moonknight masterlist | requests are open
Nights like tonight are the sort you look forward to all week. And they’ve started to become a staple in your relationship with Marc. It’s partially because you like to have specific things that you do with each of them— the other half is that Steven and Jake suck at MarioKart. Marc is the only one who’s any real competition and with your competitive nature, it’s a requirement for game nights such as these.
Marc shows up to your apartment on time, as always, and just the sight of you has all of the tension that habitually sits in his shoulders dissipating. You look mischievous, mouth turned up in a smirk that he can’t help but want to kiss. Although your eyes say it all– bright and sparkling– it's abundantly clear that you’re ecstatic about him being here. It's something he still adapting to but would it be so terrible for him to believe that you genuinely do enjoy his presence? Horrible no, but terrifying. Nevertheless, he’s trying and will continue to show up if only to see that twinkle in your eye, no matter how hard it is to believe that he is the reason.
His self-deprecating train of thought is interrupted when you reach for him, pulling him in for a kiss by the collar of his shirt. Marc melts against your mouth, a hand raising to cup your cheek. There’s nothing that clears his mind like the feel of your lips against his– he would happily give up oxygen to kiss you for the rest of his days. But eventually, you pull away, grinning at him.
“Ready to get your ass kicked, Spector?” You huff breathlessly into his mouth.
He takes your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down on it teasingly before saying, “Ready to do the ass-kicking, actually.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that.”
Marc is all about routine, it's just who he is. It's the only thing he’s taken from his time serving that he is grateful for as it helps balance his mind– all of their minds. So when the two of you get the game loaded and make it to the characters screen he chooses Donkey Kong as he always does. Sometimes to mess with and throw him off a bit you’ll choose Donkey Kong. He has his list of backups– Link, Mario, and begrudgingly, Toad– but those never feel exactly right. Tonight you decide to give him a break, you’ll prove to him that you can beat him in his element or not.
The two of you are neck and neck on the last race, with Marc starting to lurch forward ahead of you. There’s a healthy distance between you, ample room for dramatic turns and frustrated bouncing without either of you accidentally elbowing the other. But, when he starts to leave you in the dust on the last lap around you know exactly how to distract him. Without taking your eyes off of the screen, you scoot an inch closer to him. He’s well aware of your movement, heightened observation comes with Khonshu but he makes nothing of it, focusing on making it to the finish line. The sly grin on your lips spreads and you shift even closer, this time your shoulder rubs against his. Marc stiffens, his grip on the controller fumbling a bit. It's the perfect opportunity for you to make your move, and you brush up against him again to ensure that he’ll glance over at you.
“What’re you doin’?” He asks suspiciously, and out of the corner of your eye, you see that for just a moment his eyes flicker over to you.
You grin, eyes firmly glued to the screen as you watch his character slow down. You pass him easily, your voice innocent as you say, “Nothing.”
When his eyes return to the screen they widen in disbelief as you cross the finish line a few seconds before him. “You cheated!” He accuses, looking over at you with narrowed eyes.
Your mouth drops open in feigned offense, “Did not!”
“Bullshit, baby, I know what you’re doing when you move closer to me.”
“You’re warm, I was cold.”
“Liar.”
“Alright, since you’re so sure, let’s go again. Best 2 out of 3. I’ll even sit on the ground this time, can’t cheat that way,” You insist, before shifting off the couch to sit crossed-legged between his knees.
As nonchalant as ever, Marc bends to wrap his arm around your waist and lifts you with no effort to place a pillow underneath your butt. The simple act of care contrasts with the competitive look on his face as he hands you your controller once more, “No funny business this time baby.”
He lets you get comfortable, waiting to strike. He’s trailing a few places behind you up until the last lap. You’re sure that you’ll win and halfway around the last pass you relax back against the couch. Unseen to you, Marc grins just before he starts to shift his knees back and forth.
“Hey now,” You quip, but you don’t look away from the screen or make any movement, assuming that he needs to readjust in his seat. But it continues and you glance up at him with a knowing look.
“Oh now, who’s cheating?” You ask, trying to lean away from his knees that he’s bumping into your shoulders.
“What was that? I can’t hear you over my impending victory,” He teases, nodding his head toward the screen.
When your eyes follow his over to the tv, you watch as he shoots you with a red shell before zooming away over the finish line. The shell disrupts you completely, and you’re passed by half of the computers. You end up in 7th place and huff in frustration, “Marc!
“Hmm?” He hums through a laugh, bending to press a kiss to your cheek.
You try your best to glare at him, but with his smile this wide and genuine, you can’t even hold the expression for more than a few seconds. “You only beat me because you cheated and I’m hungry.”
Marc frowns at you, setting his controller down on the coffee table before fishing his phone out of his pocket, “What? Why didn’t you say that before? What do you want— pizza?”
“Pizza’s good. I want—“
“I know, baby.”
You narrow your eyes at him, “What if I was gonna say something different?”
He looks up at you with an expression that says ‘really?’. If you didn’t know him, you’d think he was upset, genuinely feeling impatient with you. But, in the time that you’ve gotten to know him— all three of them— it’s become much easier to read them. It’s always in the eyes. And when it all boils down, no matter what he’s feeling or saying, all you ever see in Marc’s eyes is understanding and adoration for you.
“Ok, fair, I wasn’t but if I wanted to?”
He shrugs, a knowing smile on his face, “Then I would know.”
Your cheeks warm and you rest your head on his knee, looking up at him with this soft look on your face that makes him feel melted. To know and be known. It’s all either of you have ever wanted.
Marc clears his throat to distract from the flush in his cheeks he knows is there, “While we wait…y’know, Steven told me about this show— we don’t have to watch it if it doesn’t sound interesting to you.”
“I’m listening.”
Marc goes into an entire spiel, using his hand as he and Steven always do, though Marc’s movements are sharper and smaller. You’ve known that Marc is nerdy by how easy he navigates technology, casually throwing out terms here and there that you never understand. But to see him like this, with bright eyes as he explains the contents of the show, it displays you that similarity between him and Steven that’s always buzzing beneath the surface.
“Are you talking about Ancient Aliens?”
He snaps, eyes going wide, “Yes! You know it?”
You resist the urge to cup his face and dust his cheeks with a flurry of kisses, a difficult feat when he’s looking so adorably excited, “Hell yeah I know it, I watch it with my dad sometimes. I didn’t know you were into stuff like that.”
“Who doesn’t wanna know about aliens? Atlantis?”
“You always poke fun at Steven for stuff like this,” You say matter of factly.
“That was before I gave it a chance.”
While you get the controllers put up and decide on an episode, Marc heads into your kitchen to get drinks, the tube of parmesan out of your fridge and the red pepper out your fridge knowing that these are all necessary for pizza night. When he returns, you’re curled into a blanket and he sets everything down on the coffee table before pressing in beside you, his arms caging you into his chest.
Both of you are distracted. Not by the usual attraction— that’s manageable. Snuggled together on the couch like this, you both feel it. There’s this pool of some overwhelmingly delightful feeling neither of you has felt before. You can identify it immediately as love. Pure and gooey, like the warm insides of a chocolate chip cookie. Marc on the other hand refuses to look it in the eye, pushing it deeper and deeper until it’s light and fuzzy, ignorable. The last thing he will do is love someone who won’t love him. It isn’t the same— this time he is simply unworthy, not easy prey to a wounded predator— but he’s been there and done that. That wound sits on his chest, refusing to heal no matter what he does.
You lean back, lifting your head out of the crook of his neck to look at him, “Marc?”
He paused the show and met your gaze before you finished saying his name, “Yeah, honey?”
The remote almost slips out of his hand at the look in your eyes. Could it be more? Marc’s only ever seen that look in the eyes of one other— luckily after everything he and Layla are on amicable terms. But could he really have something like that again? Is that twinkle in your eye what he craves so much that his bones ache?
Under his intense gaze your resolve flatters, your heart, feeling as if it will beat right out of your chest.
“I—,” You breath catches in your throat that’s suddenly gone dry. What if he doesn’t love you back? Losing him means losing Steven and Jake. It means losing the only love you’ve ever known. You swallow those words and opt for others, “Tonight has been one of my favorite nights yet. Thank you.”
He can hear it in your tone. He knows that isn’t what you were going to say and by the look in his eyes, you know that he knows. He stares at you for several moments longer, giving you a chance, hoping that you’ll take the plunge because he can’t. Not yet.
Eventually, the pizza arrives and that cuts some of the tension that’s in the room. Something is clearly off but neither of you can find the courage to say anything as you finish eating and the credits roll on the episode you’d put on.
You let him leave. You kiss him goodbye and watch as he crosses the hall to the stairwell, only closing the door once he’s down the first flight. You feel like an idiot— why couldn’t you have just said it? He was waiting, eyes practically pleading, and yet the words wouldn’t form.
It only takes two minutes for you to decide that this isn’t how the night should end. Fears be damned, he deserves to know— they all do eventually. So you grab your keys, knowing that if you’d left your door unlocked for even the short time it would take to get him back, Jake would scold you about it.
Despite the quickness of your decision to chase after him, Marc is well down the street once you make it out the front door of your complex.
“Marc, wait!”
He stops immediately, recognizing your voice even from so far away. His eyes scan the street when he turns around and as soon as they find you, he’s walking towards you, brows furrowed in concern.
“What’s wrong? Did I forget something?” He pats his pockets, noting that his wallet and keys are there.
Maybe you’d decided to tell him what you were planning to say earlier and his heart begins to hammer again. His mind goes to the worst-case scenario, that maybe you weren’t going to confess deeper feelings for him. That you’re ready to be done with him, that he’s not worth it. That every disparaging thing his mother had ever said about him is true and you’ve just come to realize it.
“No, it’s just that I—“
“Yeah?” He prompts when you go quiet for a minute. His voice is fused with preemptive disappointment and he begins to prepare to leave the headspace, to retreat so far within that not even his alters can find him— Steven or Jake can deal with the aftermath of you. He’ll sulk and disappear like he had promised Steven a couple of years ago.
“I love you. I don’t know what I didn’t just say that before, I’d planned to but then you looked at me and it’s like I was scared all over again,” You whisper, eyes slipping down to look at the ground.
He tilts his head at you, his hand rising to cup your cheek. His voice is tender, and confused as he asks, “What do you have to be afraid of?”
“You know what,” You mumble, refusing to look up at him.
“That I wouldn’t want you? That I’d be stupid enough not to love you too?” He says the words as if they’re blasphemy like they’re the most ridiculous thing imaginable and you can’t help but look up at him.
“Why are you saying it like that?”
His other hand raises so he has both your cheeks in his hands, “Because it's complete bullshit, of course, I love you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes, now come here,” He pulls you closer by his hand on your cheek, leaning in to press his mouth to yours. He kisses you fiercely, licking into your mouth with a fervor like never before. You match him, just as hungry and needy to show him how deeply you feel for him not just with words, but with actions.
He pulls away, breathless, “Steven’s saying we shouldn’t make out on the street.”
“Yeah, and what’s Jake saying?” You ask, though you can imagine his opinions on public indecency.
“You don’t wanna know.”
You giggle, before saying once more— firmly this time, unafraid to take the plunge because you know he’ll catch you, “I love you.”
“I love you,” He repeats, his mouth brushing yours as he says it.
You arch a brow at him, smiling against his lips. “Enough to settle who’s won and stay the night?”
“Oh, you’re gonna get it,” He murmurs cheekily through a grin, pulling you back towards your apartment.
It’s safe to say that you both got it.
moonknight taglist: @angelfxllcm, @in-between-the-cafes, @honeybrowne, @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb, @julydaydream, @welcometostayingawake, @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @minigirl87, @campingwiththecharmings
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pimosworld · 10 months
Text
Like nobody’s watching
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Marc Spector x f!reader x Jake Lockley x Steven Grant
Summary- Marc comes home to your private dance and decides to join your intimate moment.
CW-NSFW,18+ MDNI, explicit, strip tease,lap dance,cursing,fluff,smut, dry humping,unprotected piv,fingering,piv cream pie, soft dom Marc
WC-2.3k
A/N- I know the pic isn’t Marc but we needed a chair for inspo. I will link a playlist below as a suggestion for the strip tease/lap dance. But you can certainly use your imagination.
Not beta read
Like nobody’s watching playlist
You used to dance alone when you were stressed. The way the music made you feel just made all the worries in the world float away. It’s so freeing, letting your body do what it wants, you don’t have to think about what you look like or where your feet go or if you look ridiculous. Alone in your own home when the stress of life got too heavy,you would dance. 
  Now you find yourself dancing for a very different reason. Alone in your boyfriend's flat, you’ve never been happier in your life. They were supposed to be gone on a mission for khonshu for another day or two, something that used to worry you but over time you got used to it. They would always come home, usually in one piece. Before they left on this latest mission they asked you to move in. Marc and Jake wanted to wait until they got back to ask but poor Steven couldn’t contain himself the night before they left and blurted it out after you’d spent hours making love.
  Move in with me…?
  Your hazy state and look of utter confusion had him worried. 
  Umm…move in with us? That's if you want to,of course you don’t have to. 
  Jesus hermaño give her a minute she doesn’t know which way is up. 
  Of course you said yes once you regained your bearings. The four of you agreed to let you stay while they were gone and then would move your stuff when they got back. 
  That’s how you find yourself in Marc’s shirt dancing in front of the couch without a care in the world. The orange hue casting the last of daylight among the flat is so calming and romantic. The scent of him overwhelms you as you’re lost in the music swaying your hips to the beat. 
  Marc is running on autopilot, the missions weren’t always this hard but sometimes khonshu had more than normal demands being that he was a god. He took over the body hours ago knowing Jake bore the brunt of the dirty work and Steven was still getting used to all this and he didn’t want to overwhelm him. He could hear the faint sound of music coming from his flat as he searched for his keys. An unfamiliar warmth pooled in his belly, he’s never come home from a mission with you here. They finished a few days early and he didn’t think to let you know first. He hasn’t had to communicate like this since Layla. He made a mental note to work on that. 
  He’s grateful you don’t hear the rustling of the keys or the door open albeit unsafe as he enters the flat he sees you. Bathing in the sunset light cast across the flat, wearing just his shirt and Stevens ridiculous socks, you’re floating around and he swears he could die happy at this very moment. To see you so comfortable and carefree in their your home. He feels something else building as you raise your hands above your head and sway your hips revealing the curve of your ass and those pink booty shorts he loved so much. You still don’t notice him leaning against the door as he palms his jeans to adjust the growing bulge in his pants. 
  You don’t know what’s got you feeling so bold, maybe the half a bottle of wine you had to yourself. You start to wonder what they would do if they were here. Would you dance for them? Would they think it’s silly? You start to slide your fingers up the side of Marc's shirt pretending you’re doing a strip tease, you can feel the heat pooling between your legs at your sudden surge of confidence. Just as you begin to lift your shirt over your head you hear the screech of the wooden dining chair. 
  You’re frozen to the spot, the only sound you can hear over the music is your heart beating wildly in your chest. You don’t dare turn around for fear of what might be behind you. You’re not sure at this moment why people always say fight or flight when there’s always the third option of freeze. As the song fades out you turn slowly in your spot, you’re met with the piercing gaze of your boyfriend sitting in the chair with a smug grin on his face. His dark eyes bore into you and the obvious erection in his pants tells you he’s been watching for awhile. 
  A million emotions flood you at once in what feels like minutes but is only a matter of seconds. Relief that you’re not about to die, embarrassed at your current state, upset that they didn’t tell you they would be home early. None of that really matters in this moment as he states you down like a lion stalking his prey. Is it Marc or Jake? You don’t dare ask, you’ll just wait for an obvious tell. As the next song cues up he reaches for the half-drunk bottle of wine and downs it in three gulps wiping the excess off his chin with the back of his hand. That didn’t help at all. 
  “I didn’t tell you to stop sweetheart.”
  “Hi Marc.” Your voice comes out half cracked and you clear your throat awkwardly. You haven’t spoken in hours, seeing as though you were alone.
  He chuckles dark and low, sending a shiver down your spine and a tingling in your core. “You know Jake wouldn’t have stood in that doorway for as long as I did, and he definitely wouldn’t be sitting in this chair.” Those things are all true but you couldn’t think straight after being caught so vulnerable.
  “Continue.” You know it’s not a question, you were already imagining doing this when you were alone. He obviously doesn’t think you look silly and the thought of him watching you gives you the push you needed. You turn around to face away from him as you begin to sway your hips again to the music. 
  Marc was feeling bold when he saw you dancing, as you started to undress he felt like he was intruding on a private moment. Yes this was his home but he was just standing there like a creep and had yet to make his presence known. He didn’t want you to feel embarrassed or startle you, I’ll just have a seat.
  The sound of the chair causes you to freeze as you slowly turn around; he can tell you’re studying his movements. He certainly had his differences from Jake but physically they were the most alike. At this moment you’re not thinking straight, it’s so obviously not Jake but he scared you so he can’t fault you. He sees the half empty bottle of wine on the table and decides to level the playing field.
  You’re still staring like a deer in headlights and he wants to make you squirm but he was the one that came home unannounced after all. The less time he takes to reveal himself the more time he will have with you. He’s hoping you’re feeling relaxed enough to not turn down his proposition. As you turn around he thinks he may have gone too far but you start to whine your hips again as if you’re the only one in the room. 
  You slowly start to lift the shirt above your head but decide to stop again. You want to draw this out and make it memorable. You turn to face him again and drop to your knees as you start to crawl towards him. You would feel ridiculous in this moment if not for the way his chest was rising and falling. You settle in front of him and place a hand on each knee, you run your fingers along his muscular thighs as you feel him tense beneath your grip. As you drag your body up his legs the friction of his rough jeans through the shirt makes your nipples hard.
  The music and the wine coursing through your veins is giving you a confidence you never knew you had. You straddle his hips as you tilt his head back, dancing just above where he wants you. You sink your hips down onto his cock strained through his jeans and give an experimental roll eliciting a moan from deep within him. The eye contact is sensual and intimidating all at once. You’re leaking through your panties for sure leaving a wet spot on his jeans. You give another roll of your hips as he bucks up to meet yours and his jeans catch your clit, the wanted friction causing a whimper to leave your mouth. 
  He smirks knowing you’ve lost some of the control you had over him and grips your waist tight with his hands as he brings you down again rocking you back and forth. He can tell you’re chasing the high as you bury your head in the crook of his neck, soft whimpers of his name leaving your mouth.
  “Come on baby I know you can come like this.” He says breathlessly in your ear.
  No this is not how this was supposed to go. 
  You smack his hands and will yourself to stop as you catch your breath.“If you can’t keep your hands to yourself I’ll have to stop. You wouldn’t want that now would you?” 
  He looks up at you wide eyed as he shakes his head. He’s never been so upset and turned on at the same time. He’s aching for release but you’ve never looked so beautiful and confident as you are right now. You both know he’s stronger than you but this need to submit has him reeling. This must be why Steven loves when you take control. You’re looking at him inquisitively and he’s wondering if you asked him something. 
  “Words.” He suddenly remembers and it's  not a question. 
  “No…please don’t stop, I can keep my hands to myself.”
  You take off your shirt and throw it to the side, you watch his pupils blow wide at your lack of bra and see him fighting to keep his hands at his side. You clasp your hands behind his head and play with the curls at the base of his neck. You raise your body from his lap and draw your breast up his face, dragging your pert nipple along his bottom lip. He opens his mouth slightly and lets out a ragged breath. The hot air in contrast to the cool flat causes goosebumps to raise on your skin.
  You slide off his lap and drag your teeth along his clothed erection on the way down, you watch as his mouth drops open and his hands white knuckle the chair beneath him. You take off his shoes and begin to work on his belt, he hastily helps you discard his jeans and boxers in one fail swoop and all but rips his shirt taking it off. His thick cock is leaking and angry and his resolve is quickly fading as he takes deep steady breaths. 
  You sit in his lap again facing away from him. Your thighs straddle his and you can feel the weight of him on your back. 
  “You can touch me now.” You’re breathless and you can’t hold out any longer. A gasp escapes your lips as he rips your panties as if they were made of paper. 
  “You better let them have a turn when I’m done, they’ve been very impatient.” He growls into your ear.
  “Wha-.” He doesn’t give you a moment to finish as he lifts you and guides you down on his thick cock setting a brutal pace. The pain gives way to pleasure and all you can do is hold on for dear life as he bounces you on his lap over and over. 
  “Is this what you thought about when I was gone?” 
  You can’t think let alone answer as the sounds of your pussy slamming down on his length fill the flat. He pulls your hair causing you to arch your back, his pace doesn’t falter as his hips thrust up to meet yours. You’re whining and moaning incoherent chants of his name.
  “Answer me.”
  “Oh fuck…yes.” You clench down on him as your orgasm steadily approaches, his cock throbs and you can feel his thrusts growing erratic. 
  “You're gonna come with me baby.” He’s panting in your ear as he reaches around to rub slow circles on your clit.
  “Marc…please.” 
  “Shhh, you’ve been such a good girl taking my cock so well. I’ll tell Jake to take it easy on you.” He chuckles in your ear knowing Jake would never do that. 
  His thumb quickly circles your bundle of nerves and you can feel yourself coming undone as he drags you back and forth on his thick length. You reach forward and gently stroke his balls,pressing your thumb to the base of his cock. He comes with a shout as he shoots hot ropes of cum into your walls, he’s relentless on your clit as your vision goes white and you’re screaming his name.
  His arms are wrapped tight around you as you collapse into his chest, both of you trying to catch your breath. His soft kisses to your neck help you steadily come back to your body. He’s still hard inside you as your cunt flutters, dripping his spend onto the chair beneath you. 
  “You’re perfect,you know that right?” As if this man isn’t aware of how perfect he is, you give his arm a reassuring squeeze and drop your head back to place a kiss on his cheek. 
  Aren’t you glad I asked her to move in early?
  Sí hermano 
  He’s somehow still hard but the mess between your legs is evident. You start to lift off him when a strong hand lightly wraps around your throat. His cock throbs and soft whimper leaves your lips. 
  “Princessa…es hora de mi baile.”
Comments and reblogs are much appreciated.
@bobfloydluvsblackwomen
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lostalioth · 8 months
Note
❛ don’t worry, i’m staying right here. ❜
Marc spector x female reader💛
Marc feeling that the reader has left his bed so he leaves his room to find her on the sofa having an anxiety atack.
A bit angsty but mostly fluffy💗💗
now this is my first writing for marc but i loved this so much and I accidentally made it more fluffy than angsty
𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 – 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘤 𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘰𝘳
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→ warnings: nicknames [babe, baby, sweet girl], description of shooting and dead body, panic/anxiety attack, angst, mostly fluff.
Before you can think of a plan to get away or even register the sound and what has happened Harrow pulls the trigger and shoots Marc right in the heart. You feel your world and your heart shatter into a million pieces all at the same time as you watch his body hit the water. blood gushes through his shirt around the wound and you need to cover your mouth fast to stop yourself from screaming. Tears quick to brim your eyes threatening to fall as you watch in horror as Harrow's men pull your boyfriend's body from the water, you wanted to scream, run at them, even if it meant simply dying alongside your boy.
Once his body was on flat ground his men stepped back letting Arthur set something small and shiny on his chest. He’s quick to leave Ammits tomb with the goddess in hand who was encased in a tiny stone statue, you turn the corner from your hiding spot the minute they leave and run right to Marc.
“Marc! Steven! Please my love, either of you please..” your voice gets caught in your throat and you choke on it. Tears began to softly stream down your face as you kissed his forehead and placed your hand over the scarab on his chest. Your heart feels like it’s been ripped from your chest, fighting to hold back the gut reaching scream that’s bubbling in your throat.
You’re jolted awake in a sweating, out of breath haze. Your heart feels like it's gonna jump out of your chest with how fast and hard it's beating. Your chest heaving hard, you felt like you couldn’t breathe properly no matter how hard you tried. head spinning, your eyes filling with hot tears, clouding your vision. It felt so real, you couldn’t even tell if you were still dreaming or not. You didn't know what was real, you couldn’t stop relaying the moment the shot rang through your ears and you watched the love of your life’s body hit the water. That sight is burned into your memory, every single detail of it.
Being so wrapped up in your spiraling thoughts you are startled at Marc placing a hand on your shoulder. He had been woken up by the jarring shift of your body besides him. His hair was all disheveled and fluffed up, his eyes half lidded, you’d make a comment of how cute he looked if only you could speak and weren’t in the middle of a panic attack.
“Babe…what’s wrong?” Once he woke up a bit more he took in your appearance, you were hunched over the edge of your shared bed, a hand on your chest, eyes brimming with even more tears and labored and inconsistent breathing. He pushes his way up out of bed to come sit beside you on the edge of the bed, it sinks down as he slowly sits down, he’s never seen you this way, it's slightly scaring him as well as steven.
“Hey..hey baby what happened..?” He is slow and careful as he reaches his hand to place on your knee in an attempt to calm you. The last he wanted was to startle you again. “Night-nightmare…of that night in the-the tomb…” your voice was so hushed and shaky Marc almost couldn’t understand you but the moment your wobbly words sank in, his heart sank to his stomach with them. More tears stream down your cheeks as you watch fear flash on his face, as if his sequence of events of that night just replayed in his own head.
“Thought i lost you all over again…” your words came out a little less shaky this time and yet your words break Marc’s heart all the same. “Oh..sweet girl…” he sighs and he softly wipes away your tears as they fall. You lean into his touch, your heart aching like you haven’t seen him in years, you needed to touch him, needed to know he was real. As he’s wiping your tears away you rush forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and smash your lips against his. “Need to know you're really there….” You mumbled into the kiss and through your tears, your eyes squeezed so tightly shut like you wanna never open them up again as if he’d simply disappear the moment you do.
He grunts and shuts his eyes, kissing you back deeply and softly. A kiss so full of love, devotion and tenderness, a kiss that restores the breath in your lungs. Marc softly pulls you in close by the waist and lays the both of you down, the both of you holding onto one another for dear life.
You both pull away slowly, limbs intertwined and panic subsided. “Dont worry im staying right here baby…” he whispers softly as he presses a small reassuring kiss to your forehead before resting his against yours, looking deep in your eyes. “I’m right here my sweet girl, nobody’s taking me away from you, not even over my dead body” he smiled sweetly and rubs his thumb over your stomach and hip.
You hit him lightly for his poorly timed joke and rub circles on the back of his neck. You’ll always forever be thankful for whatever in the hell happened that allowed marc to come back to you, and steven. You needed them both more than they knew.
“I love you” you whisper softly as you and marc drift off to sleep, body’s wrapped around one another, like your souls, forever intertwined.
→ a/n: so i fully intended on posting this a while ago but never did anyway, i kinda forgot a bit of the request like she was supposed to leave the bed but im still a bit rusty after a long ass hiatus again and i barely proof read this cause i wanted to post today!! I love Layla but for this to work reader pretty much sorta is Layla/replaces her but you and marc aren’t married lol
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whatthefishh · 11 months
Note
Midnight thot for Mona 🌙:
Marc cocked his head, watching you lounge in a patch of sunlight on Steven's ever creased mattress on the floor that he called a bed.
You raised an eyebrow when you noticed him zoned out in your direction, but continued to snack on the box of stuffed chocolate coated dates Jake had gifted you the day before for Eid. He was up to something. You could see it.
"What?" You eventually asked.
"You're not fasting." He said simply.
"What gave it away?" You popped another one in your mouth.
"You're not fasting," he repeated, crouching down onto all fours. "And you're not on your period."
Your face froze halfway into a nervous smile. You shoved the box away, rapidly chewing what you already had. You swallowed.
"And what about it, Sherlock?"
Marc pulled you by the ankles, the flat becoming a blur before the view of the ceiling was replaced by his mischievous grin. "If you're free to eat..." he leaned in closer to whisper in your ear as his hands snaked to your hips, "so am I."
MY GIIIRRRLLLLLL, the way I was blushing and giggling and kicking my feet when I read this I kid you not @melodygatesauthor witnessed it on ft lmfao jfc
okokokokokok 1.5k, NSFW warning: pussydrunk Marc under the cut
He began by kissing the sensitive skin under your ear, lips dragging down your neck as his hands trailed across your hips, teasing the edge of your bottoms. You were embarrassingly wet rather quick, your thighs rubbing together desperate for friction. It had been a long month, and Marc tried his best to keep his paws hands off you as much as he could, but now that he was free to touch, he couldn't hold himself back anymore.
A high pitched keen left your mouth and he froze, mouth hovering right above the collar of your shirt. You froze, eyes wide and trained on the ceiling. You were so needy.
Marc just laughed, he fucking laughed at you, and continued to nuzzle your neck.
"Missed me?"
"You could say that," you replied a little too breathlessly for your liking.
Marc mouthed at your breasts through your top, kissing and leaving wet marks in the thin fabric of Steven's t-shirt.
"Me, too, baby, missed how wet you always are for me."
At that, his hand broke the barrier and reached into your panties, groaning at the mess he found between your legs. You whined at the feeling of his fingers just playing with your folds, not fully giving you what you needed from him.
He pressed his forehead into your sternum and your hands instinctively reached for his hair, threading your fingers through the soft curls and tugging slightly; desperate, so so desperate.
You were fine until he had given you that look, the look that left you almost scared to be at his mercy, not knowing how far he was going to push you, how much he'd make you beg for it, how much he'd want from you. Because he did, he wanted so much, and you couldn't help but want to give everything you had, til your last breath.
"Can't believe I had to wait a whole month just to feel you again," his voice came out muffled against the stupid t-shirt you were still wearing. You wanted to cry when he ripped his hand free from your sleeping bottoms, but before you could beg him for something, anything, he was already up on his knees, pulling them off of you.
"A whole fuckin' month without tasting you," he scoffed. You just stared at him, mouth open as you tried not to let your eyes water from how badly you wanted him.
He wrenched your knees apart on Steven's bed, his t-shirt bunched up right under your breasts, ironically the only thing you had on at this point. You wondered if he was watching, if he could see you dripping.
Marc certainly could. He just stared at your core for too long before saying anything and you'd be lying if you said you could breathe normally.
"Missed the way you smelled, too," he groaned as he swiped his fingers through your slick folds, holding them up in the light and splitting them to see your honey before suckling them.
He bent his head before you could reply, lowering himself to kneel on the floor before you, dragging your hips to the edge of the bed. You tilted your hips up slightly, rendered speechless at the rough edge to his voice but widening your legs like an offering.
The moments between him watching you twitch and pant above him and him actually leaning forward to have the first taste felt like eternity but you didn't break the eye contact, in fear of him making you wait longer.
You let out the breath you had been holding the second his tongue touched your soaked folds, one long, slow lick, the tip of his tongue flicking your clit on the upstroke.
"Ohhhh!"
You didn't realize your hips lifted off the bed until Marc's arm slid around your thigh to hold you down, his other hand pressing divots into the softness of your thigh. His mouth worked over your mound, opening wide and devouring you whole, eyes closing in bliss as your taste hit his senses and moaning into you.
Somehow, his thumb was rubbing soft circles into your hip from where it was slug across your middle while his lips wrapped around your clit, suckling noisily; the juxtaposition of his actions coaxing a pathetic sound from you.
"Almost forgot what you tasted like," his voice rumbled into your waiting core, the vibrations making you drip onto the bedding. Your hands flex in their hold in his hair.
Marc presses his tongue back on you, in you, he's everywhere and it's too much and not enough all at once. He must have unlocked his jaw to be mouthing at you the way he is, and when you chance a look down you see that you were right in your assumption. His eyes snap open when he senses you shifting, meeting your eyes with a dark hunger that makes you quiver and clench.
Lifting his mouth off you after some time, you can see your slick all over his lips, down his chin and a bit of it on his nose from where it was buried in you. The sight alone pulls a sound between a whine and a moan from you, loud in the apartment, causing him to close his eyes on an exhale, almost like he's trying to control himself.
"Gonna stay still for me? Can you do that?"
He says this as he traces your entrance with the two fingers from earlier, the ones he so rudely ripped away from you.
"I asked you a question, need your words, baby."
How the fuck were you expected to answer him with your juices all over his chin?
"Ahh, y-yeah, yes, mhmmm," your voice trailed off as he slowly pressed his fingers inside, the intrusion most welcome after the time apart.
He curled his fingers after sliding in up to his knuckle, raising his eyebrows at your pinched expression. You were so keenly aware of his hands on you, immediately reaching out to grab his free hand when it started to shift against your hips. Marc intertwined your fingers as he began the slow thrust of his fingers, watching his hand moving between your legs, in your soft and wet walls.
Your moans start to fill the room, your hips starting to move of their own accord as his fingers filled you up so perfectly, in time with his thrusts and Marc just watched the whole time, his eyes fixed on you soaking his hand.
"I-I wanna come," you pleaded.
"I know, baby, I know, just-"
He didn't get to finish, his mouth lowering to you again, gathering your slick with his tongue before slurping at your clit. You feel yourself reaching your end, your pussy fluttering over his thick fingers, signalling that you were close, that you were about to gush all over him.
He moaned into you again, squeezing your hand where you were still connected to let you know to come, letting you know he was waiting, his fingers pressing so deep, curling just right-
The pleasure clouded your mind, drowned you underwater, your ears ringing and your vision whiting out. You only knew Marc, and the relief you felt in your core, cascading out of you and right into Marc's waiting lips. He lapped up everything you were giving him, eagerly, hungrily, eyes closed in bliss with you.
You don't know how long you were there for, suspended in that moment of euphoria as he drank all that you offered him, but when you came to he was licking you clean, kissing your pubic bone affectionately afterwards.
You swallowed before attempting to speak, noticing how dry your throat had gotten which got you thinking- oh god, how loud you must've been in your high.
He squeezed your hand again, testing to see if you were okay in classic Marc fashion - imperceptibly.
Your breathing was uneven and heavy, but you were smiling and squeezed his hand back in response. You pulled him toward you by his hand, and he sweetly obliged you, gathering you in his arms on the bed. You nuzzled your face into his chest shyly as he pulled your half-naked body snug against his still dressed one, the hard lines of him grounding you back to yourself.
"'M here, baby, did so good for me," he was speaking low, the vibrations through his chest blanketing your mind, curling around it like an embrace.
Marc adjusted Steven's shirt that you were still wearing, and pulled the comforter around the both of you in case you dozed off. He was so wrapped up in you, both literally and figuratively, that he didn't notice Steven hovering near the forefront of the head-space, eagerly awaiting his turn once you were well rested enough.
The body was itching for a release of its own, and Steven would be damned before he let Marc have all the fun.
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fandxmslxt69 · 10 months
Text
Cute Library Boys
Steven Grant x f!Reader
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Warnings: Steven being too goddamn cute and fluff!! Some swearing, absolutely tooth rotting dorky-ness.
A/N: Oh my god this has been sitting in drafts for so long but I finally finished editing ahahah. Idk how I feel about it ngl, its cute and has me giggling but !!!! idk. Anyway this IS inspired by a prompt: "Going for the same book at the library" taken from @creativepromptsforwriting (Mona sent me a prompt list literally like 2 months ago thank you @whatthefishh you are too cute for this world.) ANYWAY I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY this is a peace offering before I pour my heart out into the most gut wrenching angst and coochie killing smut <3
-Clem
Synopsis: All you wanted was to have a quiet day browsing books in the library. Who knew you'd manage to find the cutest man to spend your day with right there in the history aisle?
Word count: 3541 (omg.)
Walking through the library, you gently ran your finger over the spines of the book, feeling worn out paper and leather on your fingertips. It was always relaxing, being surrounded by so many stories, real or not, lives and adventures. You skimmed through a history section, looking for a book that might be of interest, and your eyes landed on one just up ahead, with a pretty spine and a title written in gold. Your fingers jumped to it, but bumped with another hand outstretched to grab it.  “Oh sorry, love! Didn’t see you there,”  “Oh no it’s alright!” You grinned up to the cute man with the cute British accent. “You can have the book, I don’t mind,” “Oh no,” He shook his head.  “Really, you can take it,”  “No it’s fine, really, I can just order another from the system,” He grabbed the book off the shelf, handing it to you. “Love, please. I’ve already read it anyway. It’s all yours,” He smiled, a bright breathtaking smile that lit up his whole face.  You hesitated but took the book from his hand, adding it to the (very heavy) bag you carried. “Memorised and all?” He chuckled. “I wish,”  You grinned at him, and an awkward silence fell as you scanned the rest of the shelf. “Uh,” You cleared your throat. “Anyway. Thank you, a lot, for-” “The book,” He finished. “Yes! The book. Thank you,”  He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing.  “Alright well uh…I’ll, go, thank you, again,” You rushed to say before quickly dashing off, trying not to think about how pretty he was, or how soft his eyes looked, or his beautiful curls, his soft yet clear features…
No. 
You weren’t sure what the hell urged you to turn right back around and down the aisle again, but your feet carried you there anyway, and you found yourself standing right in front of the gorgeous stranger again. “Um. Hi.” You mumbled. Maybe he didn’t hear, maybe you could run be- “Hi! You’re back,” He grinned and you could feel the sunshine radiating off of him.  “Yeah. Um..I don’t know I just…yknow…You seem to know your books,” You gestured to the growing pile by his feet. “So I was just..wondering if you had any recommendations? I’m in a bit of a slump, so I wanted to try something new. I mean only if you’re cool with it, if I’m bothering you I’ll just go-”  He laughed, a quiet small chuckle that put a huge ass sappy smile on your face. It was contagious, his bubbly energy and cute laughs and smiles. “No it’s alright love, I’d be more than happy to give you a few suggestions, though it might just turn out to be a big ramble,” You shrugged. “Nothing beats a good book ramble,” “Wholeheartedly agree. Now,” He turned to the shelves, his soft eyes scanning the spines of the dozens of books, and he just started rambling- exactly like he said he would. On and on and on, grabbing a few books at a time and talking about them all at once, he looked over the moon to share all this knowledge with someone, you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you could barely keep up with him. You just stood there watching him, probably grinning like an idiot, adding every book he put down to the growing pile in your bag. Whether the book was actually interesting or not, you didn’t care. When a cute man excitedly tells you about his favourite books in an aisle in the library, you grab every damn one of those books and you take them home. 
By the time he finished going through at least a dozen books, he paused, biting his lower lip to hide a shy smile. “Sorry. Got carried away there,” 
Ah shit.
“No no! It’s okay, no apology needed at all. You- it’s cute. You’re cute. When…you do the ramble thing. Cute. Yeah.” You cleared your throat, feeling your cheeks heat up.  There was a beat of silence, before he blurted out, “Steven.” “Sorry?”  “Steven…my name. Is Steven. Grant. Steven Grant. It kind of just hit me that I didn’t introduce myself,”  “Oh. Oh! Oh right. Oh my god.” You fumbled with your bag, trying to get yourself back in control. “This is embarrassing. I’m so sorry. I’m Y/N. It’s very nice to meet you Steven,” He laughed again. “It’s very nice to meet you too,”  You nodded. How many times are you going to nod. Quit it.  “So…um,” you cleared your throat, wondering if it was too late to ask for a hole to open up and swallow you whole. “Yknow..there’s um…this cafe, right down the street, and it’s really nice and they’ve got pretty decent coffee and food. I was wondering if…you know, if you’re free anyway, and not too busy or if you have something better to do I totally get it-” “I’d very much like to go to the cafe down the street with you,” Steven interrupted, and you stared at him, jaw hanging open slightly as you took in his shy smile and the light rose of his cheeks.  “I mean, if that’s what you’re asking-” He rambled quickly to add. “Yes! Ah, uh, yes, that is what I’m asking,” You grinned widely, cheeks starting to hurt from how damn much you were smiling at this cute stranger in the history aisle of your local library.  “Great! Wonderful, amazing. I- uh…I’ll…go check out my books? Get settled while you do yours and…” “...we can meet by the front doors?” You finished for him. He nodded quickly, his hair bouncing with each bob of his head. You nodded too, fiddling with the strap of your bag. “Okay. Okay cool. I’ll…go do my thing. And I’ll see you soon?” “Yes, absolutely, 100% yeah,”  You chuckled, a few butterflies taking flight through your stomach with all his nervous blabbering.
He’s cute. Real cute, with the nicest warm eyes and a precious crooked smile, and the cutest mop of curls on his head that you desperately wanted to play with. Not to mention his adorable outfit..the cute earth brown pants and the soft sweater that definitely hugged his body in a comfy yet pleasing way. 
Screwed. Absolutely, royally screwed. 
After awkwardly staring (analysing) him for a solid minute as he grabbed the rest of his books, you turned and dashed to the check out desks, fumbling and mumbling about stupid cute library boys the entire way through the checkout process. 
*                                           *                                          *
As you both left the library, a light silence falling between you, he couldn’t help but take a few glances at you, his heart picking up pace, a giddy laugh building up in his throat- this was new. All of it was so new yet welcomed. He’d be damned if he let it go to waste, whether it be a chance to make a friend, or maybe a little more. 
By the time you had reached the shop, his shoulder ached from carrying his bag of books, and you looked ready to drop dead on your feet. 
“I can carry your bag if it’s getting you tired,” Steven suggested softly as you entered the cafe. You frowned, hugging your bag tightly to you. “What, no. It’s okay, I like carrying my bag. Makes me feel close to my books,” You pointed to a table by the window. “Here?” He laughed, then nodded. “Yeah this works,” He took a seat, lifting his bag off of him and placing down beside him. “What do you like to read anyway?” “Oooh,” You slid into the seat, you could feel the ache in your lower back start to build. Who even had back problems at this age. “I like a good fantasy novel, and I am guilty of reading way too much romance. I also like poetry. Not a very big person in non fiction though.” “Romance huh?” He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile on his lips. “Scandalous romance?” You laughed, shrugging. “What, a woman has her needs, and those needs happen to be pretty men with cute accents,”  “Ah right,” He nodded again, then paused. “Wait. I have an accent,” You chuckled, smiling widely. “Yes you do. A cute one too. And you’re cute. Pretty, dare I say,” His eyes widened, a blush creeping up his neck and his ears started turning red too as he looked away, averting his eyes and biting at his lower lip. Your heart did a little flip at how cute he looked when he was flustered.  “What kinda books do you like, Mr. Grant?”  “Hmm,” He flipped aimlessly through the menu, his eyes scanning the millions of different ways they make frappuccinos and espressos. He didn’t even drink coffee that much, he was more of a tea guy. “I like history, big fan of mythologies and stuff,”  You sat up, grinning widely. “I love mythology. I was a huge sucker for them in middle school. Still kinda am, honestly,” His heart did a little thing. “Really? What kind of mythology?” You shrugged. “I was really into the Greeks, they were pretty fun and it was a good time. I like the Romans a bit too, but they’re a little boring, yknow? The Norse are wack too, which makes it funny,” You grinned. “I was just a bit obsessed. I had an Egypt phase too for quite a bit,”  You could see the way his face lit up, how his eyes widened and a big smile started spreading across his face. “Egypt huh? That’s cool.” He nodded, deciding not to make a further comment lest it come off as too strong. You raised an eyebrow. “Cool? Oh come on, you totally had an Egypt phase,” “Did not!” “You so did. C’mon, tell me. I promise I won’t judge! I never could, I had attachments to those guys. You definitely know a thing or two,” He waved you off. “No..I mean, a little maybe. I’ve studied their mythologies and tales, aspects of culture and society, that’s sorta stuff, it’s not interesting really,” “Not interesting?” You scoffed. “Well I find them interesting. C’monnnn,” You nudged his leg under the table. “Who’s your favourite god?” He shook his head, a playful smile on his face. “I’m fond of Taweret. Hippo goddess, resides in the underworld and stuff. She’s nice,”  “Yeah? Know her personally?” “Oh yeah, obviously. We have chat over tea all the time,”  No way he was this funny. “Really? Wait, hang on,” You leaned in, “if she resides in the underworld, does that mean you’ve died before, Steven Grant?”
He liked it, he decided. The way you said his name, how it rolled off your tongue and out of your mouth so easily, and not the sarcastic way everyone else said it. Heaven, at least you remembered his name, not when half the staff at the old museum couldn’t even get Steven right.  He scrunched up his face, thinking deeply. “Hmm. Let’s see. I think I might have, yeah. A few times now actually,” There it was again, the laugh that filled the entire cafe, as your shoulders shook and you threw your head back in joy. “No way, you did not,” You finally said.  “I absolutely did! It’s not a good experience obviously, but yknow, an adventure,”  “So you’ve like- met Osiris and stuff?” He shrugged. “Maybe,” “Oh come on. Tell me! I’ve always liked him. Given, I always like every death god, so it’s no different,” “He’s alright. Very stiff though, no personality at all, he’s all business serious,” “Well duh, he’s a king,” Steven rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t mean he’s got to be so boring,”  You chuckled again, shaking your head in disbelief as you went back to the menu. “Any other gods you’ve met?” “Hmm.” He tapped his chin a few times, and brushed a curl of hair out of his eye. “I’ve met some night gods. They look like big ugly birds, with a big temper and zero compassion or kindness. Dress in old rags and stuff,”  “You’re lying, I swear you’re lying,” “I am not! It’s true. I see one quite often actually, he’s a pain in the ass, right psycho.”  “Yeah? He your best friend?” He snorted. “Absolutely not.”  You tsked. “Aw, that’s so sad,” “No it’s not. I told you, he’s not right in his mind,”  “Yeah but isn’t that all gods?” Steven sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Okay, you make an excellent point, but I’m telling you, this one is bloody psycho. Murderous and whatnot.” He smiled, a big goofy smile that showed his cute dimples.  You shook your head again, trying to fight back a stupid sappy grin. “You’re too funny,” “Too funny? Is that bad?” He frowned. “No! No, absolutely not. It’s nice, your jokes are actual..well, yknow, jokes. And it’s kind of nerdy.” “Oi!” He leaned in, pointing a finger at you with an air of amusement. “You just said nerdy was cute,” “It is!! It’s very cute!”  “Bloody right. ‘Cause if you came for sports jokes, I’m not your guy,” You laughed. “Nope, no sports jokes for me. I just like an extra side of nerdiness,”  He narrowed his eyes, fighting back a smile. “You are horrible,”  “Horribly cute, yeah, definitely,” He exploded with laughter, his face all happy smile lines and precious dimples. You smiled widely, your heart doing a little skip with how gorgeous he looks, so full of laughter. 
Thankfully though, before he caught you grinning like an idiot at him and trying to memorise his face, a waiter came to your table, and you managed to order your drinks without acting crazy or too dorky. 
*                                                         *                                                                *
“What about Bastet? You know her?” 
Okay so maybe you were still a little dorky. 
“The cat lady? I mean you see her everywhere don’t you? In all the nice cat ladies by your flat or in the market!” “Okay fine Mr. Poetic, I’m asking about the goddess,” 
He grinned, fiddling with the strap of his bag as you both made your way to a bus stop. “I haven’t met her, no. But I know of her,” 
“Right, of course,” You weren’t sure why you humoured this idea; the possibility of divinity walking amongst man. But the ease of pretending, of imagining with him, with Steven, was something you came to realise you enjoyed too much to give up.  “What about Zeus?” He frowned. “Wrong civilization,”  “Oh come on, so you’re telling me you can believe the idea of gods with bird heads from the times of pyramids, but you can’t humour me with the idea of wackoo’s living on top of a mountain?”  “I just don’t like them. Too chaotic,”  “That’s exactly why everyone likes them,”  “Okay fine, I just stay in my territory,” You shook your head, shrugging your bag back into place on your shoulder. “Okay, that’s fair, they probably don’t like each other anyway,”  “Nope, definitely don’t,” 
You both fell into a silence after, continuing your walk to the bus stop. “You don’t have to go all the way with me to the bus stop yknow-” You started but he just shook his head.  “I don’t mind, love. Really, it’s a nice day out for a walk,”  You nodded. “Okay.”
Silence fell again, and you couldn’t help but look up a little to look at him. Him with his pretty eyes and flushed cheeks. Him with his easy going smile on those nice lips. Him with the nice jawline and cheekbones that are just the right amount of sharp you just want to run your finger over it. 
By the time the both of you had made it to the bus station, you had made up your mind; You were going to ask him for his number. 
Only problem is…how do you ask a cute guy for his number?
You could feel the nerves start to set in as the minutes tick by, and more people pile around the bus stop. It was going to be here soon, and you’ll hop on, and probably never get his number and-
Okay calm down. You fiddled with your bag as the minutes passed, occasional small glances and nervous chuckles with Steven as he waited too, and it felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders just to ask for a series of stupid numerals.  When you glanced back up at Steven for what had to be the millionth time so far, you noticed in the far distance that the bus was heading this way. Steven turns the other way then too, noticing you staring and he sighed softly. “Ah, there’s your bus,”  “Yup,” He looked back at you, a soft smile on his lips. He picked at his nails, a feeling of anxiety bubbling inside of him. “So…” “So…” You continued for him, and you both laughed awkwardly.  “Can I-” “Can-” You stopped, chuckling awkwardly as Steven shook his head.  “Sorry love- didn’t mean to speak over you-” “No no it’s okay! My bad,” You reassured him. “Go ahead,”  “No really-” He rubbed the back of his neck, smiling. “You start,” “Steven-” You started to protest (why were you even doing that) but he set you with a firm look and you sighed. “Okay. I was…yknow…going to ask. If-” You trailed off. “Yknow…” “If…? Unfortunately love, I’m very bad at guessing games. You’ll have to specify,” You sighed, rubbing a hand down my face. You took a deep breath and right as the bus stopped at your station, you blurted quickly, “Can I have your number?!” It came out in one breath, a quick sentence and Steven’s browns furrowed. You panicked, thinking maybe you had read this wrong? What if he doesn’t want to give you his number? 
But then his face exploded in a wide smile, and his eyes lit up adorably and his cheeks filled with a soft blush. “Oh. My number!” He laughed, soft and clearly full of anxiety. “Yes- right yes, of course you can. Sorry it took a minute there-” He muttered, quickly digging through his bag and pulling out his phone. “Right then, quick quick before you miss your bus-” 
“It’s okay,” You mumbled quickly, steering him away from the growing bus line so you could plug in his number. You did it painfully slowly, double checking each number and going over the series at least 5 times. By the time you finished exaggerating and actually putting the number into your contacts, Steven was tapping his foot anxiously on the ground as he watched the last person board the bus.  “You have to hurry it’s going to close, love,” You looked up and glanced at the bus. “Oh crap-” You quickly fumbled to put your phone away and return his, but by the time you took a step towards the bus, it dinged and the door closed as it slowly started back up to drive away.  "Shit,” Steven tugged at his curls. “Oh god love, I’m really sorry- maybe if we run we could catch its next stop?” Didn’t people always say make the best out of a bad situation? The bus is gone, another won’t be coming for probably another half hour, and you were not running. 
But maybe…maybe this was a good thing? 
You shrugged, trying to sound as upset as you could possibly gather, but even to your own ears it sounded fake. “Oh no….the bus is gone. This is horrible. What do I do now?”  Steven started to say something, but then stopped, frowning a little, before his eyes widened and a smile grew across his face. “Hang on-” He stepped closer to you, his eyes glittered with humour. “You planned that, didn't you?” You gasped. “What? Me? Why would I ever want to miss my bus?”  “Hmm….” He tapped a finger to his chin, thinking loudly. He leaned down then his face barely inches away from your face. “Maybe because you wanted to spend more time with me?” He has no right being cute and nervous one second and then sexy  and all mischief the next.  Your eyes widened, you felt your skin heat and your cheeks flush pink with how close he was. His eyes looked even prettier up close, and his lips looked so kissable.  “Really?” You managed to breathe out. “You think I’m that captivated by you?” He shrugged. “Maybe.” He paused, biting his lower lip. 
Fuck. 
“Are you? Captivated by me?” He asked.  “Hmm. Let’s see…I think your nerdiness and awkward attitude and shy personality has definitely captivated me, Mr. Grant,”  His face explodes into a bright and beautiful smile. “Really? So if I asked to go on a walk right now, you’d say yes?” I hum, pretending to think it over. “I think…yes, I would absolutely say yes,” The look on his face made it seem as if he just experienced heaven. Your heart fluttered, and you knew then that you’d never ever get tired of seeing him this happy. “Brilliant. Great, alright then um..” He stood up straight again, looking around. “Let’s go?” 
You smiled, gesturing to the roads bustling with people. “Lead the way,” 
238 notes · View notes
80pairsofcrocs · 2 years
Text
baby scarab masterlist
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TAGLIST REQUEST FORM!!
fanart!!
playlist!! - by @hutaos-gh0st
y/ns tumblr - @p0pt4rts
welcome to the baby scarab masterlist!! the chapters will be slow coming out but i'll try my best
chapters with the ( * ) indicate nsfw, but dont worry! if its not your cup of tea, they have nothing to do with the plot. they are just bonus chapters.
hope you enjoy <3
sausage
casper headcanons
dating casper
also dating casper*
~~~
chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9
chapter 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
chapter 13
chapter 14
chapter 15
chapter 16
chapter 17
chapter 18
chapter 19
chapter 20
chapter 21
chapter 22
chapter 23
chapter 24
chapter 25
chapter 26
chapter 27
chapter 28
chapter 29
chapter 30
chapter 31
chapter 32
chapter 33
chapter 34
chapter 35
chapter 36
chapter 37
chapter 38
chapter 39
chapter 40
chapter 41
chapter 42
chapter 43
chapter 44
chapter 45
chapter 46
chapter 47
chapter 48
chapter 49
chapter 50
chapter 51
chapter 52
chapter 53
chapter 54
chapter 55
chapter 56
HALLOWEEN SPECIAL
chapter 57
chapter 58
THANKSGIVING SPECIAL
chapter 59
chapter 60
chapter 60.5
HOLIDAY SPECIAL
chapter 61
chapter 62
chapter 63
chapter 64
chapter 65
chapter 66
1K notes · View notes
ninebluehearts · 2 years
Text
Dos Oruguitas
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Summary: Your sweet boyfriend helps you fall asleep with a lullaby after he sees you're still up waiting for him.
Warnings: A bit of hurt/comfort :)♡
A/n: I was listing to the Encanto soundtrack as I painted my room (it's finally purple!!) and when Dos Orugutias came on, all I could think about was Jake singing it to you 🥺 So, here you are. Please enjoy 💕
I do not own the rights to Dos Oruguitas; all credit goes to Lin Manuel Miranda.
-------------------------------------------------------
You sat by the window drinking a cup of luke warm camomile tea, watching the late night London traffic bustle about. You wondered what sort of things they could be doing at three in the morning on a Wednesday, but you figured you also didn't want to know.
The majority of people out at three in the morning were the same kind of people Khonchu has Marc, Steven, and Jake deal with. What that meant exactly; you also didn't want to know.
You weren't stupid. You've washed one too many blood stains out of their favorite articles of clothing before, but them not telling you exactly what they were doing left room for a chance that you were wrong.
So no, it didn't bother you that you had no idea where he was right now, or even what he was doing. He still hadn't answered your goodnight text from four hours ago, so he must be busy.
Doing what?
You took a long sip from your tea, closing your eyes because that somehow made the taste more intense. More comforting.
You flipped your phone over on the side table and turned it on to check the time.
3:56
"Where is he?" You mumbled, picking up the phone and dialing Marc's number, pressing it against your ear. You took a deep, calming breath as you listened to the drawn out rings while waiting for an answer.
"Hey, you've reached Marc Spector. Please leave your name and number and I'll-"
You hung up, his voicemail more painful than comforting at the moment. You stared back out at the city that somehow maintained a constant gloom even on it's sunniest days.
You didn't have to stay there for long, because soon you could hear Marc's keys jingle as he pressed his key into the lock.
You made your way into the kitchen and set your mug in the sink, turning to watch the door as Marc made his way inside. He first took his shoes off, then his coat, then his hat.
"Jake?" You watched him freeze, his wide eyes slowly sliding over to look at you.
"Mi amor? What are you doing up so late?" He asked as he made his way over to you, planting a kiss on your forehead as soon as he did.
You pulled him into a close hug, your body relaxing against the comfort of his strong, safe embrace. "You know I can't sleep without you guys." You mumbled against his chest, pressing a kiss above his heart.
"I know, I know. I'm sorry I'm late, I got caught up with.." Jake paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. "Work.. Yeah.."
You nodded, reluctantly pulling away from him as you suppressed a yawn against the palm of your hand. "I'm just glad you're home. That's all that matters.
Jake pushed your hair out of your face and moved it behind your ear, proceeding to cup your cheek against his palm. "Si." He whispered, before guiding your face up to his, pressing a slow, passionate kiss against your lips.
As he slowly pulled away, you chased his lips, only successfully catching his bottom lip for a moment before he gently pushed you away, a deep chuckle erupting from his chest. "Come on. Let's get you to bed, cariño."
Jake held your hand as he lead you to your shared bed, pulling the blankets over your bodies as you cuddled up against his chest. He ran his hand along your back, drawing random shapes and letters with the tips of his fingers from time to time.
You looked up at him, watching as he suppressed a yawn of his own. "Jake?"
"Mhm?" He hummed, not taking his eyes off of the ceiling.
"Will you sing to me?"
Jake glanced at you, a small smile creeping onto his lips. "Cantarte? ¿Qué quieres que te cante, mi amor?"
"Anything." You started to draw shapes of your own on his chest, smirking when he let out a quiet laugh and gently grabbed your hand.
"Will you stop tickling me?"
You nodded, your eyes lighting up with the hope of hearing him sing. It wasn't something he did often, but when he did, you could feel yourself falling in love all over again.
"And you'll go to sleep?"
You groaned, gently tapping his shoulder. "Jake! Please?"
"Alright, alright!" Jake laughed, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his lips to press a kiss to the back. "Dios mio.." He shook his head and cleared his throat, then he began to hum a soft, lively tune.
"Dos oruguitas enamoradas. Pasan sus noches y madrugadas.." His quiet voice rasped against your ear as he gently pet your hair. "Llenas de hambre. Siguen andando y navegando un mundo.."
You finally let a yawn escape as you gently nuzzled your cheek against Jake's chest, a wave of exhaustion washing over you.
"Que cambia y sigue cambiando. Navegando un mundo. Que cambia y sigue cambiando.." By the end of the song, you barely noticed that he began with mariposas instead of oruguitas, already fading into a deep slumber.
"Buenas noches, mariposa." Jake whispered as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, holding you close as he too slipped into sleep.
Español - English
¿Qué quieres que te cante, mi amor? - What do you want me to sing, my love?
Cantarte? - Sing to you?
Mi amor - My love
Cariño - My sweet/my dear
Oruguitas - Caterpillars
Mariposa - Butterfly
Buenas noches - Goodnight
Dos oruguitas enamoradas
Pasan sus noches y madrugadas
Llenas de hambre
Siguen andando y navegando un mundo
Que cambia y sigue cambiando
Navegando un mundo
Que cambia y sigue cambiando
-
Two oruguitas
In love and yearning
Spend every evening
And morning learning
To hold each other
Their hunger burning
To navigate a world
That turns, and never stops turning
Together in this world
That turns, and never stops turning
Taglist: @hot-mess-express1
650 notes · View notes
oddballwriter · 8 months
Text
Candy
🔞NO PEOPLE BELOW 18+ BEYOND CUT OFF🔞
VIOLATORS WILL BE AUTOMATICALLY BLOCKED
꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦
Summary: Jake buys some aphrodisiac candy from a shop and wants to try them out with you.  
Warnings: Reader's gender, pronouns, and actual sexual anatomy isn't mentioned or specified but reader does get penetrated and theres a reference to them having worn lingerie. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, people). Use of aphrodisiacs. Jake comes inside of reader, so I guess it's breeding (if you want/see it like that). Dumbification (if you squint) of Jake. Jake whining during sex but I don't think anyone is complaining about that lol. PwP (I think) 
Author’s Snip: This is my first ever start to finish written smut. I just got this idea and decided "Fuck it, I'm putting on my big writer pants tonight.". So if this is mid or maybe even ooc for Jake, that's why. This is my first so bare with me. Maybe if I feel like it again I can break out of my shell again and get more experience.
Notes: Again, this is my first smut so if this seems wonky, forgive me.
Word Count: 2164
I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.
꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦
You and Jake were walking along a strip way downtown for the sake of seeing what was there since that specific strip was known for having pop-up shops of varying things and thought it would be fun.
You ended up that this shabby boutique.
While you were looking at all the shitty clothes made with cheap fabric, Jake had wondered off somewhere deeper into the store. But when he found you again, he held something in his hand.
"Béba. Mira, mira." he smiles in a hushed tone as he shows you what he found. When you took the small baggy in your hands to see what he was giggling about you saw velvet red colored packaging with various fruits and kiss marks printed on it and with the label itself reading "Love Candy" on it. At first you thought that it was one of those regular Valentines candies that were being sold while out of season, but you saw the smaller words below the actual label reading "aphrodisiac stimulant candy".
You looked up at Jake, with a bit of blush on your cheeks that made your unimpressed face more funny. "Where did you find this?" you ask. "In the back. I noticed that they had some cute outfits over there and wanted to see if there was something for you." Jake explained while still wearing that smug look on his face.
You glance towards the back and see that there were some displays of equally cheap looking lingerie. No actual surprise to be honest, it makes sense that he would find these there.
"I took a glance at what was there but if you want, you can come over and see what you like." he suggested with a brief wiggle of his eyebrows. You roll your eyes at his antics and turn back to looking at the regular clothes on the rack in front of you. "I know this place is cheap, but I'm not wasting money on something that's going to get torn up as soon as I wear it." you remark. "I won't tear them up." Jake responded. "Save that promise for the actual ones I buy, Lockley." you comment in a playfully stern tone.
You didn't see Jake actually buy the candy, but you also didn't see him head to the back like he put them back either. He was standing in the entrance of the shop waiting for you to finish up. It also made it evident that he had brought them due to him having something in the pocket of his jacket that made a crinkle sound when you grazed it.
When you got home and made it through the doorway you turned back towards Jake before he could even take his jacket off. "Why'd you buy them?" you plainly asked. "I'm a grown man. I can buy what I want." he said in an equally plain voice but you could see the smirk grow back onto his face. "And what harm can it do, beba? It's just some candies that turn you on." Jake justifies.
"Are you saying that I don't turn you on anymore?" you tease. "Oh no, mí amor. Quite the opposite." he flirts. "I just thought it could be something new to try out." Jake explains as he takes out the bag of candy. "I'm not saying that we do it now. But we could do it some other time to see how it goes." Jake suggests. "I don't know how well this is as it's own foreplay." Jake notes.
You think for a moment, looking between the bag and thinking about certain factors that would be involved or get in the way if you did them now.
"I mean," You start, "The neighbors next to us are gone and the other place next to us is vacant. So we wouldn't really get a complaint." you mutter to yourself. You think for a bit longer before looking back up at Jake, who's waiting on you.
"Okay. We can test them out now if you want, but once we start feeling it we're laying down a towel. I don't want to have to wash anything out of anywhere." you answer. Jake nods but you can see it in his eyes that he's mentally pumping his fist in excitement that you're willing to try this out.
A while after taking a few pieces of the fruity tasting candy, you start to feel fuzzy and actually started pacing around the living room because of how uncomfortable it felt to sit still. You felt like you were heating up from the inside. Jake was sat on the couch, clearly feeling the same thing but was opting to stay on the couch in case moving made him worse.
This wasn't a bad feeling. It did make you feel funny but in a good way. Though you were starting to feel uncomfy with the clothes, that were previously fine, touching your skin.
"This wasn't a dumb idea after all." Jake remarks in a breathy voice. "I never said it was a dumb idea." you comment back.
It had actually been quite a while since you ate the candy and you wanted to get rid of the uncomfiness of this whole situation, but you didn't want to throw in the towel and go get the previously mentioned towel because you felt like it would be like you were accepting defeat in a competition that you never betted each other but were playing.
"Stop pacing, béba. You're gonna burn a path into the floor." Jake saying, with the slightest hint of a whine. "Just get- come over here." he suggested with a come here gesture. "No, I can last a little longer." you remark. "You go get the towel if you want to do this already." you say as you look at him.
You've been seeing him squirm in his seat when he thought you weren't looking, and his tanned face was now red. He looked like he was trying to sweat out a fever with how his face was settled and his occasional huffing. You were bad, but so was he.
"Go get it for me. I feel like I'm going to explode if I stand up." Jake huffs out, being the one to tap out and admit defeat.
With that you speed walk towards the laundry cabinet where you stored your clean towels, grabbing one, and placing it on the bed.
"Jake. Get over here." you call from the bedroom. You hear his heavy footsteps before he walks into the room. You can see that he was expecting to get to it on the couch due to the button and zipper of his pants being undone. But that didn't really matter much since he practically jumped on you.
He settles between you legs once you and him get on the bed and starts rapidly taking practically every article of clothing off in a desperation to be free of the feeling of them touching and rubbing up against him. You do the same. But the time you took to get your top off was apparently too long for him and he took it upon himself to take off your bottom wear and undergarments. You take the opportunity to press a kiss on his partially open lips, which immediately takes away his attention from what he was previously doing so that he can focus on tasting your mouth.
In the case that you two weren't on aphrodisiacs, you two would usually not be using a heavy amount of tongue while kissing pre-sex. But since you were, you didn't mind that the main muscles of your mouths were getting as all over each other as you two were.
Jake didn't regain his focus until he rocked forward which caused your entrance and his member, still left suffocating in his boxers, to graze each other, making you both let out a moan. You took the liberty of lowering your hand and hooking your fingers around the waist band and pulling it down to finally let Jake be free of the feeling of him being strained against his last piece of clothes.
Precum had already leaked out of the tip and it was clear that most of the blood in Jake's body were busy occupying is erection instead of his brain, giving a reason for every word he barely managed to get out. Though some blood was still in that general area since his face was still hot red.
"Béba," he groans out. He moves one of his hands from where it previously was to help line up his member with your entrance. You twitched when the tip made contact with it. Without any further words, like asking if you were ready, Jake pushes himself inside of you.
You let out a mix between a whine and a moan. It didn't hurt that you were taking it with no try of prep with the effect of the candy clouding it over and helping you. Plus, you were used to the occasional no prep from Jake.
Jake shifts the position so that he had himself completely on the bed and lifts you up by your hips to have your ass rested on his thighs and moved one of your legs to be against his corresponding shoulder as to have him hit the inside of you at a certain angle. And that's when you knew that he was about to go to work.
You felt that same type of 'too much' feeling inside of you when Jake started thrusting, but it felt good. Almost impossibly good. You were already enjoying everything but something inside of you made you whine out "Harder. Go harder.", which Jake took no time doing.
You were of course holding nothing back and just letting whatever wanted to come out of your mouth have the luxury of doing so. But amongst your high you could hear Jake riding his own and also letting himself go.
Jake was always vocal when you were having sex but the aphrodisiac was having him really let it out. He was breathing out, moaning, and everything, but you could hear him let out these whines that would take over some of his moans.
You could also tell that he was trying so hard to keep himself together but was struggling. With his skin glistening with sweat and some of his hair sticking to his forehead, along with him gripping the thigh of your leg that he has against him while his other hand is gripping the sheets of the bed with his arm keeping him propped up.
"I-I can't..." Jake moans out.
"I ca-n't handle thi-this." he manages to finish his sentence.
You start to feel the pressure in your gut start to turn into a knot that was getting tighter by what used to be the minute but was now going faster. You place one of your hands on his shoulder that's been left alone in an attempt to brace yourself but you just felt the almost burning heat of his skin on your palm.
"Jake," you moan out, causing him to let out a shaky breath in response.
"I'm almost-" you manage to say before another moan interrupts you. "I know," Jake says, "God, I know..." he moans out as he keeps thrusting like it's all he knows how to do right now. He was starting to get sloppy and you can feel that he's getting close to coming.
"Just cum already. It's fine." you beg. "I'll ride mine out. Just- please." you say.
It was clear that Jake didn't need to be told twice. He gave everything he had in him in order to cross that threshold so that he could finally let go. When he finally reached it he leaned forward to be deeper inside of you as he came, letting out a moan and giving more lazier thrusts to fully get off his high.
Jake panted out while still inside of you. He let out a surprised yelp when you rolled him over, seemingly forgetting what you said earlier about riding out your own orgasm.
It was clear that Jake was blissed the hell out but that he was by no means going to stop you and letting out tired moans and whines as you rid like you were trying to break it. He held your hips as he encouraged you like you did him.
"Fuck, just like that. Ride me out." he moaned.
Once you got to your end of the line you toppled over slightly and rolled off of him as you caught your breath.
Thankfully, depending on how you look at it, you still had the aphrodisiacs in your bodies which drove you two to go at it again a few times after catching your breathes. The whole session didn't stop till your bodies decided that they were done rather than letting the damn candy run out of their effect themselves.
꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦
Translations of Jake's spanish:
"Mira" - look
124 notes · View notes
storyarcscribe · 2 years
Note
Hi!! If you write for moon boys, would you please consider a prompt about f!reader x Steven stuck in an elevator? We all know that building is old enough :) strangers to friends/lovers, no ER. Smut or no smut - you decide :) if this prompt is not interesting for you, feel free to skip it! Have a good day :)
Oh I've been WAITING for this one, my beautiful anon....
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Stuck with a Stranger
Steven Grant x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1K
Summary: On your first day for a new job, being trapped on an old lift with a neighbor doesn't seem all that bad.
A/N: First Moon Knight fic EVER. Did I get this right? Keep me honest as I love this show and would love to keep writing on it!
Warnings: Pure fluff, tired and beautiful Steven Grant, me trying to relive my days living in London for college, an American trying her damn best to write in a British voice
Masterlist & How to Send a Prompt | Read on AO3
Reblogs and feedback are appreciated, loves!
-
Moving from America on a work visa, you had no idea what a flat could be like before moving to London. You expected a chic, Victorian style building with beautiful ceiling and a park across the street. A fool’s fantasy, but it was one you dreamed of as a little girl. 
Your new building wasn’t Buckingham Palace.
You didn’t think it was even up to code.
The flat served its purpose though. It was spacious, albeit old and falling apart. You were pretty sure your landlord refused to update anything past 2002. However, your commute was short, and you were close to everything via tube. Your older neighbor brought a pound cake to your door last night, welcoming you to the building. Residents were quiet and relatively all older or of working age. 
Today was your first day of work. You landed your dream job in your dream city. Everything today had to be perfect. You dressed sharp. Pencil skirt. Blouse. Blazer. Not a crease or stain in sight. You brewed your favorite tea and managed to pull back your hair into a decent style.
Stepping into the lift, you sipped your tea and checked your watch. 8:15 a.m. Perfect. You would have plenty of time to set up your things and meet your new team before the work day started. 
“Hold the lift!” A voice shouted down the hallway. 
You looked up from your watch to see a struggling man with a stack of papers rush to lock his door. You held an arm against the door to keep it open—no good making an enemy of your neighbor. With a final tug, he closed the door and rushed to the lift. He only noticed you when the lift doors closed as he struggled for breath. He wore a dark button-down collared shirt and stained trousers. The stranger's curly hair was wild, like he didn’t even brush it through, the curls overlapping in every direction. The papers he clutched were a crumpled mess. 
“Cheers,” he breathed. 
His eyes connected with you like a deer in headlights. He was handsome, though, that much you could tell yourself. You couldn’t get past the the purple under his eyes. The curls fell over his forehead, framing his large, brown eyes that went so wide you could see your reflection in them. 
He cleared his throat, his apple’s adam bobbing under the tight collar of his shirt. “T-thank you.”
The doors shut, and the lift began to descend. You forgot how slow this damn thing was until you were in it. Then, finally, one floor passed after what seemed like an eternity. 
He shuffled around, trying to give you some room until some of the papers fell from his hand, scattering across the ground.
“Oh.. bloody hell,” he mumbled, attempting to pick up the paper. He looked like a baby bird trying to pick up a worm. 
“Here,” you placed your ceramic cup on the ground. “Let me.”
You squatted as gracefully as you could in a pencil skirt. Another floor went by. 
“Oh goodness,” he blushed. “Please, don’t. I’ve made a mess of myself…”
You lifted a paper to him that flew closer to your corner. “It’s okay-“
The lift jerked to a stop, causing you to lose your balance. He fell against the obsidian wall, arms falling out to catch himself as he balanced himself in the corner. The rest of the papers were scattered across the floor. Something metal-like screeched along the top of the lift. You struggled to regain your footing. 
He stepped forward, hitting the ground-level button. Nothing. He hit your floor’s number. Nothing. 
You pulled out your cell and tried looking up a phone line. No service. 
“Great,” you deadpanned. Fan-fucking-tastic. Your first day of work and a first impression was going straight to the gutter. 
“It’s fine,” he assured. “Someone will have to notice.”
A light bulb above you went out. 
“Eventually,” he murmured.
“Sure about that?” You breathed. 
Your very tried neighbor paled. “Donna’s gonna kill me.”
“Donna?” You repeated. 
He looked frazzled for a moment like he didn’t expect you to hear that. “My boss.”
You sighed, understanding. “At least you’re not starting a new job.”
“Oh goodness,” he lamented. “They’ll understand, yeah? Has to be on the list of excuses you can say on this first day.”
You attempted a smile. “And that won’t work with… Donna?”
“Oh, no,” He scoffed. “I’ll be in the manager’s office as soon as I walk in.”
You snorted, and he smiled like he didn’t even realize he made any joke.  
As you two sat on the lift floor, the conversation flowed easily. He had lived alone in this building for a few months, worked at the National Art Gallery, and had a goldfish. You shared your recent move for a new job, furniture hunting, and adjusting to the British lifestyle. He was easy to talk to, looking at you as he held to every word you said. You had never captured the attention of someone like this before. 
“What do you like about living here?” You asked candidly. 
His brows furrowed. “Honestly?”
“Yeah.”
Steven thought carefully, lost in thought. “London’s a city where you can be your own person, yeah? There are so many of us here, new and old. So much history, but it changes every minute of every day.”
Words failed you for a moment as he twiddled with his hands. 
“It’s a city for everyone,” he shrugged with a sheepish smile. 
There was such hope in his eyes like today wasn’t possibly the day this stranger you met would not get fired. In his tired eyes, you saw such wonder for life. 
“Corny?” He asked candidly.
“No,” you disagreed whole-heartedly. “It was perfect.”
The elevator groaned back to life. 
“Clearly,” you smiled. “The lift like that answer, too.”
As the doors opened, you introduced your name with a soft smile. 
“Steven Grant,” he answered back with a little wave. 
The action might have been amusing to any other human being, but he was so genuine with warmth in your eyes that you couldn’t help but embrace it. He was so much more relaxed even as he bounced on his toes. The tiredness in his eyes was replaced by something else. 
As you departed from the building together for the tube, you couldn’t help but be grateful for your old building allowing your kind neighbor who makes being in a new city easier to manage. 
On the following day for work, you waited an extra minute as Steven flung himself out of the door, late for work again. For some reason, you wished the old lift would stop again, giving you an extra moment with your neighbor.
-
A/N: awwwwww :) Ooof maybe I should do a Jake and Marc elevator meet q as well because this was FUN.
Thank you for reading and follow for more of our Moon Boys! 🌙
715 notes · View notes
heartthrobin · 9 months
Text
my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night
jake lockley x female!reader
wc: 9.5k
warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me
an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers
summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?
Mouse was noisy.
You really wished he wouldn't be.
He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.
Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.
It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.
When he'd be left alone in the flat.
Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.
You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.
There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.
It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.
After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.
Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.
You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?
He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.
You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.
Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.
That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.
Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.
Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.
You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.
Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.
From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.
Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.
Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.
He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.
There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.
You met Marc eventually.
He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.
You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.
More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.
It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.
It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.
The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.
Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.
He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.
There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.
Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.
You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"
His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.
"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.
Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.
He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.
"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.
The man's brow tightened, "Sure."
There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.
"Uh ... I suppose so."
Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.
Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.
"It was nice meeting--"
It closed with a thump.
"... you."
Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.
Steven worried about him, about Jake.
Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.
"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"
Marc's eyes flickered up just once.
"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."
"You don't know?"
His eyes flickered.
"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.
His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.
"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"
And so it passed that way, for weeks.
Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.
It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.
The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.
Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.
You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.
The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.
"Jake?"
He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.
"Yeah?"
His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?
"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"
Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.
You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."
He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."
When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.
That was the first night.
The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.
It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.
Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.
"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.
In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.
Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.
"Jake?"
The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.
"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.
Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.
"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"
"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.
He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."
Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"
He nodded.
Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.
You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"
"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."
Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.
"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"
Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.
You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"
Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.
"You're a doc, aren't you?"
"For animals!"
He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."
Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.
The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.
You nodded eventually.
"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."
There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.
He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.
"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."
With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.
"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.
When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.
He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.
"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."
"He tenido peores."
I've had worse.
You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.
Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.
You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.
Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.
When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.
"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."
The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.
"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"
You huffed. "Jake, please."
It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.
You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.
He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.
When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.
"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.
He shrugged, "Are you?"
Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.
Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.
The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.
Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.
"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."
A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.
"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."
You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.
It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.
Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.
When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.
Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."
You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."
He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.
The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.
"Thank you."
You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."
But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.
His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.
"What is it?"
Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."
You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."
"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."
"Meaning?"
He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.
"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."
The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.
"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"
He shook his head in place of answering.
"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.
The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.
-
In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.
Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.
You didn't see Jake once in that time.
Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.
Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.
But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.
That was until he came again.
Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.
The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."
You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.
He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.
"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.
Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.
Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.
When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.
You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.
"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."
Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.
"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.
You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.
Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.
Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.
The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.
Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.
Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.
"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.
He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"
There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.
"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."
Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.
"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."
You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.
"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.
Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.
"Who took out the stitches?"
His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."
The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."
"Yeah."
"What did they say? About the scar?"
Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.
Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."
Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.
Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.
It was warm and sticky with sweat.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"
His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.
You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.
"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."
You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.
-
Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.
It peaked suspicion in you.
"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"
Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."
Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."
"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.
Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.
It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.
Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.
He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."
"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"
"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."
You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."
That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.
It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.
You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.
He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.
The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.
It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.
He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.
His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.
A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.
He didn't.
The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.
Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.
It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.
The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.
Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.
Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.
Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.
Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.
"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"
I never stop.
"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"
He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.
You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.
Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.
And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.
You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.
"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"
Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.
Why're you doing it then?
Because Marc and Steven are in there.
They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.
"What's it to ya, Lockley?"
Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.
He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.
Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.
Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.
It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.
"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"
You hummed, not looking at him.
Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."
A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.
"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.
Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."
You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.
He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.
"And white roses?"
"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."
It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.
"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."
"Not to you, I didn't."
Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.
He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.
"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."
You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.
"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"
"You kissed him."
That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.
Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.
"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.
Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.
"Yeah. Tha's all."
He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.
The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.
"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"
As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."
"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."
"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"
You swallowed. "That you're okay."
His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?
"You have work in the morning."
A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."
He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.
"I'm not gonna go change."
"But you're wet."
"A little rain never killed anybody."
"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"
You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.
"Shut up." He mumbled.
You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.
"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.
He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.
The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.
"Where did you find this giant dog--?"
"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"
Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.
"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."
He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.
A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.
"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.
You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.
"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."
There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.
He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.
Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.
A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.
He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.
It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.
His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.
He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.
Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.
Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.
That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--
He blinked the thought away.
There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit. 
Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.
But not him.
It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length. 
Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights. 
You twitched against him.
"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."
I promise.
-
Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.
You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.
It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.
Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.
Marc was around almost as much as Steven.
He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.
You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.
He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.
His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.
"Steven?" You whispered against him.
Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.
"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."
You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."
He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."
You kissed him.
Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.
You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.
But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.
He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.
Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.
"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."
It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.
"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.
He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."
That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.
"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.
Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."
You rolled your eyes.
"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."
"Jake, wait--"
His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"
He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."
You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."
It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.
Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.
"Why're you looking at me like that?"
He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.
You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"
"Like that."
"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.
"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.
Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.
"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.
His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"
He was gone again.
It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.
Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"
"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."
-
Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.
There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.
You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.
The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.
Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.
But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.
With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.
The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.
"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"
Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.
Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.
Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.
It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.
You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.
The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.
Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"
Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."
The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.
“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.
He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”
He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.
“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.
“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”
It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.
The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.
But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.
“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."
Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.
"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."
"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.
"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"
He betrayed you with his silence.
"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.
Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."
"Can't? Can't what?"
"I can't have what I want."
You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.
"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."
Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"
"It's not the same. thing"
"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"
Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.
"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"
You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.
"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.
He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.
His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.
"Don't come back, Jake."
Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.
"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."
Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?
"I want what they have."
He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"
His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."
You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."
It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.
"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"
You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.
"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."
Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"
His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.
"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."
Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.
There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.
When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.
"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."
He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.
"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"
He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."
You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.
"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.
You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"
"You're very annoying."
Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."
His face ran hot all over at the allegation.
"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."
Your face drew closer against his own.
"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."
His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"
"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."
It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.
His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.
"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"
Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."
Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.
You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."
Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.
"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."
"What do you mean?"
He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"
A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."
"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."
Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.
-
comment and repost <3 mwah!
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Celebrating Valentines with the moon boys
A.N: HELLO PEEPS I HAVE BEEN RESURRECTED what better way to celebrate my return than by a small hc about my baby moonboys and how theyd reach to celebrating valentines?!
enjoy this as i write it at 2 am, well past valentine but who cares eheheehhe
(English isnt my first language. Please pardon any grammatical/spelling mistakes. Gifs not mine)
[ pls ignore all spelling mistakes and capitalization issues i'll fix it later i promise 😭😭😭 ]
Steven
while he may very well be the definition of a nervous wreck, he'd definitely be the type of person to remember your favourite flowers and chocolates and buy the largest possible set of both. top it off with a personal letter in which he confesses just how good you make him feel. steven would be the person to make you feel loved for yourself, never having to put on a facade for him, because he loves you more than you could ever love yourself. he's shocked when you cry at the words and you guys end up cuddling the rest of the night, with one arm around you and the other gently stroking your hair, whispering 'i love you' until you fall asleep.
once he's sure youre asleep, he'd snuggle into you, holing you tightly and recount every moment he's been grateful to have you for
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Marc
as we all know marc is a true baby at heart. he'd be the kind of person to not make valentines a big deal but the moment he sees you pouting he'd turn the world upside down. not even khonshu would be able to calm him down. once you tell him that in fact you do want him to pamper you on valentines, hed go to pull all the stops. make it the best valentines youve ever had.. first up is a lovely breakfast in bed, with pancakes and strawberries and chocolate syrup overloaded. then he'd take you out for a picnic in the flower fields where you make a bouquet for him and he almost starts crying at the gesture (because why in the world would someone with a right mind ever do something so sweet for a mercenary?). the next stop was a romantic movie date that was being re-played in the theaters, followed by stargazing at night.
you were full of love and adoration for your man and the efforts he took to keep a smile on your face.
"all the stars in the sky couldnt compare to the love i hold for you, marc"
hed start crying, because he's new to being loved. its a foreign feeling but one he cherishes the most. he'd thank all the gods above for bringing you into his life
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Jake
we all know he's a little shit. the more you'd hint him to treat you on valentines, the more dumb he'd act. ("valentines??? whats that???") to a point where youd start pouting and sticking your tongue out at him. cut to valentines and you thought he'd surprise you and all of the acting dumb was just to irk you. but when he actually has nothing planned it pisses you off. youd be sulky and bratty and purposefully get on his nerves too (*cough* no bra in the house *cough*)
turns out there was a surprise for you. one of the most hottest and filthiest nights you couldve ever imagined. rest assured there was no way youd be able to go out in public because a) your legs wouldnt move and b) with the amount of hickeys you had someone would thing youre being abused 😭😭
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ronn-uuu · 1 year
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Stay up for me?
I made a part 2 for y’all bitches!! 😁 I hope you y’all enjoy!! 🫶🏾
|Part 1|
Summary: It’s been 4 weeks since the music incident with Steven. You’ve been trying to talk to your neighbor(s) to befriend ‘him’ but he’s never there. One day you hear him through the walls one night and decide this is your chance.
Pairing: Marc x Reader (heavily), Steven x reader and Jake x reader.
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You were laying on your bed with your phone in hand reading some random stuff (like you are now.) trying to cure some sort of boredom or need inside of your chest. Your mind wondered onto the neighbor, the one you met about a month ago, you kinda wanted to see him again. Your attempts to talk to him always failed. He was never home and when he was you were out. One time you passed him without realizing it, he was leaving and you were heading to your Flat. You walked right past him no words at all. You didn’t realize he might be your neighbor until you were trying to fall asleep.
You huffed in embarrassment, you really missed your chance and you don’t know when—
Muffled speaking cut your self loathing. You looked at the wall next your bed, waiting to see if you were just hearing things.
“We need to talk to Khonshu about these hell of hours, yeah?” Muffled through the thin wall. It took you 5 seconds to hop off your bed put some pants on, slip your fluffy boots on, and clean yourself up in the mirror. It was embarrassing how quickly you changed emotions, your looks and self esteem just for a guy who knocked on your door a month ago. Though you didn’t care, you wanted to finally speak to him. The very pretty Steven Grant was home and you just had to shoot your horrible shot.
You closed your front door and walked next door. Your heart was going so fast and I you were literally beaming, like a kid who just got praised for something. You knocked softly after fixing your hair one last time.
Marc was currently in control, he got them home and cleaned them up. The month after meeting you was full of them running around meeting up with Layla, protecting people, artifacts, and people. Their sleep schedule was totally fucked, once steven finally fell asleep and in the same minute Jake woke up and went out to go fight crime. They had an altar meeting after waking in a dark alley bloody, bruised and still in the suit.
Marc sighs as he feeds Gus 2.0 since Steven will never let Marc get away will killing the original Gus. Just when he was beginning to start his horrendous sulking he heard a knock.
“Who could be awake at this hour?” Steven questioned.
“Who knows,” Jake replied. Marc walked towards the door and opened it. None of them would have thought it would be the pretty neighbor from next door, Marc should have given the body to Steven but Marc didn’t give him an ounce of control. His eyes racked over your frame. You looked so snug in that fluffy faux fur jacket and those fluffy boots, he couldn’t help but think you looked cute.
“Hey Steven!” You exclaimed. You were excited to meet him again but hearing a name that wasn’t his but his altar’s made him jealous.
“Hey, it’s been awhile,” Marc says. You notice his accent was American, his features were more rougher, and he stood more confident than when you last saw him. Maybe it’s because last time you saw him, he was tired. But he changes accents when he’s tired…?? You shoved the thought of it down. Maybe he’ll tell you one day.
“Yes it has. I’ve been trying reach you for a while,” you admitted. Marc smiled, you we’re trying to reach them and it won't be the first and definitely not last time he cursed khonshu. He could have been spending his time with you but he knew deep down that lives would have lost so he kept the cures to a minimum.
“Really?” Marc smuggly asked. Steven was partying in their mind., their neighbor literally sought for them after the music incident. This was the close he got for someone showing interest in him. Jake praised him for it too.
“Yes, steven,” you said as you playfully roll your eyes. Marc would be lying if he didn’t say ant to tell you everything… First with his DiD. That he was Marc Spector and not Steven, but one thing held him back. Rejection. If you reject him even the slightest about his identity he’ll never feel alive again. His mind is already ‘broken’ enough.
"I should have asked this when I knocked on your door. What's your name, sweetheart?" Marc asked looking down at you. You smiled and told him your name before he parriot it back to you with such softness, like it was a delicate flower. Your eyes soften towards him, if he keeps saying your name like that you'll never let him go. Their mind was filled with steven and Jake repeating it.
“Hey I’m thinking of getting a late night snack… want to come?” You ask and ‘steven’ nods. You smiled widely that would have your cheek bones hurting for a bit.
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nowayhomerry · 2 years
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steven grant rec list
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a lot of these fics have moments or mentions of marc spector x reader, but this is a primarly steven centric list. i will eventually be making another list for marc so stay tuned for that - <3
red flags | series (18+) - @astroboots
masterlist
categories: smut, some fluff in there too
word count: 109.1k (in total)
summary: sweet as he is, dating steven means you have to be willing to ignore a few red flags along the way
chocolate (18+) - @laters-gators
categories: smut
word count: 6.1k
summary: after weeks of pining for your coworker steven grant, sharing chocolate over a late shift causes sparks to fly
crush <3 (18+) - @mcusua
categories: smut, fluff
word count: 6.2k
summary: a simple date with your coworker crush turns into so much more
cheer me up before you go go (18+) - @missdictatorme
categories: smut, fluff, tiny bit of angst
word count: 4.5k
summary: you have a crush on your sweet neighbor, and after steven's bad date emotions surface. as the sexual tension between you grows impossible to ignore, a third party joins the chat, so to speak
meet cute - @scandalous-chaos
categories: FLUFF
word count: 0.6k
summary: you meet a cute gift shopist on your way to work
tuesday's on the phone to me - @spilledkauffie
categories: angst, fluff
word count: 2.5k
summary: steven misses a date with you; understanding and thinking that you'll never want to see him again, he apologizes and leaves...
ya rouhi | series (18+) - @skvatnavle
part 1 part 2
categories: smut, fluff
word count: 4.0k (in total)
summary: along with your new job at the museum, you meet a sweet gift shopist
good day - @oswildin
categories: fluff
word count: 4.0k
summary: you and steven work at the museum together. little did he know you had a crush on the man. after getting yourself into trouble, you and steven are both punished with an evening in inventory
a lasting impression - @writefightandflightclub
categories: ANGST ANGST ANGST (like your heart will break)
word count: 7.9k
summary: steven falls asleep on you. no... i mean literally on you
take over (18+) - @foxilayde
categories: SMUT
word count: 3.3k
summary: there's a girl in his bed and a wolf at his door
history lesson (18+) - @polaroidpetal
categories: smut
word count: 2.4k
summary: people say not to mix your personal life with working life. the rules change when your working life is a major turn on for your personal life
take on me - @oswildin
categories: fluff
word count: 4.6k
summary: you end up on an accidental date with steven, but it ends up being the best date you could've asked for. it leads into more, but things aren't as simple as they appear. with adoration strong for the man, you take a chance on him
lovin' arms to hold me | series - @harrysweasleys
part 1 part 2
categories: fluff, a bit a angst
word count: 8k (in total)
summary: being a tour guide at the museum and development a stupid crush on steven, only to have that all crash and burn when you find out about his date
where it starts - @silversweetpea
categories: fluff
word count: 3.9k
summary: you can't tell if it takes you a day a week or a month to fall in love with steven. you just know that you do
in you i find solace (18+) - @cunaeparker
categories: smut, fluff
word count: 6k
summary: thunderstorms are frightening. she finds herself wound up at her neighbor's flat- aka her best friend's residence. surrounded by candlelight and words unspoken. maybe the blown fuse was a blessing in disguise?
angry sex (18+) - @thatredheadwriter
categories: smut. fluff
word count: 2.3k
summary: steven's had a lousy day at work, but when he comes home to find you just getting out of the shower, the two of you find another way for him to blow off some steam
first time's a charm (18+) - @babyboibucky
categories: smut, fluff
word count: 3k
summary: steven's about to lose his virginity to you
the first move | series (18+) - @paper-n-ashes
part 1 part 2 (part 2 is marc x reader)
categories: smut, fluff
word count: 6.3k (in total)
summary: you work at a tea shop and you have a crush on one of your regulars, a cute museum worker. you're convicted that he's never going to make a move, until a "friend" of his tells you that you're going to have to make it yourself
stupid - @mrsknightt
categories: fluff
word count: 1k
summary: working at a museum had its perks, one of them being developing a stupid crush on your coworker
really, truly (18+) - @jangofctts
categories: smut, some fluff
word count: 5.3k
summary: a little incident at work lead to some private time alone in a back room with your coworker
like you better (18+) - @helpinghanikan
categories: smut, fluff
word count: 3.2k
summary: only a few hours inside his head and steven managed to annoy marc into making a pit stop before reaching egypt. but maybe marc isn't as bad as they both think
heavy metal lover (18+) - @ozarkthedog
categories: smut
word count: 1.2k
summary: steven fucks you with one of his batons after you watch him fight
holy mary (18+) - @vi-sinner
categories: smut, fluff
word count: 2.5k
summary: you and steven have been together for a few months, and every time you reached to take things farther he pushes away. but in reality, it has everything to do with him, not you
a little banged up (18+) - @grippingbeskar
categories: smut, a bit of fluff
word count: 5.6k
summary: you haven't seen steven in a few days so you decide to go to his flat and check up on him
sucking (18+) - @myfictionaldreams
categories: smut, fluff
word count: 2k
summary: steven seemed to have a fascination with watching you suck on your fingers
love you like the sun came out - @marc-spectorr
categories: fluff!
word count: 0.9k
summary: steven spends an evening with two of his absolute favorites - the egyptian exhibit at the museum and you
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fluffyprettykitty · 1 year
Note
This isn’t a request(unless you feel inspired) but I was reading the prompt list you reblogged that has “I broke his heart cause he was nice” as one and the way my mind immediately went to sweetheart Steven Grant. I don’t why I’m torturing myself thinking of someone saying that!!!! Like, Steven is so broken and Marc/Jake are both desperate to find out what happened and you pop off with that line. The devastation!!!!!!!!! Argh.
I couldn’t stop the suffer spiral and I want to drag you with me! ❤️
pairing: Marc Spector x gender neutral reader (no other specifications!)
word count: ~900 words
warnings: unresolved angst.
summary: Marc needed to pick up Steven's broken pieces but first he needed to understand.
a/n: hi nonnie!!!! I love your mind and I loved this slash of wonderful torturous angst, I hope you like this short piece :D Steven doesn't make an appearance in the story but it's implied they had a romantic relationship that got resolved.
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The phone hasn't stopped ringing. It's been five hours since you left Steven's apartment in London and now you were here next town over sitting on your couch. Your phone only stopped ringing enough for the landline to blast.
You knew who it was. But there was nothing else to be said, you wanted out, you got out. That's how it is, that's how it works where you are from and this is how it should also work for Marc. Insane how now he seems incapable of accepting an answer. Yet if he was the one pushing you or Steven away it would have been your fault because he's just so broken.
Unfortunately, he's going to have to learn that you can't have it both ways.
Your relationship started with Marc, in dark alleys, sharing a cigarette together before ending up sharing sweat and bodily fluids. It evolved to one with Steven, one morning you woke up and saw him there watching you in almost horror but incredible care. Marc let you in on his condition because after that Steven wouldn't stop talking about you.
And you agreed. Made you feel all innocent and pure, like the man your teenage self could have wanted.
At first, everything was nice and sweet but you weren't the type to stay somewhere for long, never the type to commit and it was your time to move on.
You had already warned Marc about this. Warned him so that he could also prepare him for the inevitable heartache. For two weeks now. He either ignored you or dismissed you until you finally told him. Bluntly.
That was the last Tuesday. And today just like the other days your phone is ringing, ringing... Steven can't seem to get over you and now Marc's after you. Should have been more careful maybe.
But it was the first time you heard banging on your door.
"Open up, Y/N!" Marc shouts from across the wooden door and his tone is full of anger and spite.
"Or what?" You shout back slightly amused.
"Or I will break this door down with my bare hands."
He would. Kinda hot though you'd love to see it. You get up and slowly unlock the door before opening it, his fist going immediately for the door pushing it wide open, followed by his hand on you pushing you inside the apartment and closing the door behind him.
Aggressive. Typical.
"I need you to explain."
"Marc, I have already said everything there is to be said."
"Did you have to break his heart?"
"That's hardly my fault. You should have prepared him. I am not responsible for him."
"Why did you break his heart?"
This conversation could be endless, you needed to cut it right there and then. Marc was acting purposely too dumb to realize. You are not for people like Steven. Never have been and never will be.
"I broke his heart 'cause he was nice." You spit out, eyes unfazed.
Marc breathes out, tilting his head just a little, and narrowing his eyes. Oh, he hates you now, he hates how much you are right.
"You wanted to hear the truth and that's it." Your stance doesn't change not even for a millisecond whilst Marc's face is getting redder.
"I'm not that kind. I'm not good. I can't play house, bake cookies and bat my eyelashes. I'm not the person you bring home to your parents for Sunday tea. I warned you that this would happen and you'd end up having to pick up his pieces."
"You can't be that heartless." Honestly, you feel as if you're talking to a wall.
"I can."
"That's not you." Is he really that dense?
"It is. You just happen to think you're the only one who can do whatever he pleases and have no one question anything because you're so goddamn broken? You don't know anything about me."
"He was supposed to stay innocent. I was supposed to protect him." Marc is trying to relax his stance, to swallow his anger and his frustration.
"Then you should have never let him meet me."
"Yeah, so that's on me?" He's full of hatred again, you can tell by the way his eyes darken and his body gets tense.
You nod your head. What happens now is well beyond your concern.
"You could have been nicer about it."
"I am nice about it. I haven't slammed the door in your face yet." He stares at you, then back at the door, then at the top of his boot that's touching your slipper.
"I was wrong about you." He breathes steadily wanting to push his anger away.
"I was the one who was wrong about you. Thought you could actually handle a situation."
"You're cruel."
"No more than you."
He shakes his head, forces a polite smile on his face, and turns around to open the door. One push and he is out.
"I'm sorry." He whispers so low that only your heartbeat could match it. He lets go of the door handle and jolts outside, rushing down the stairs.
You were sorry too. Just not for the same reasons.
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