#Steven already messed with the suit!!

[sarahghetti]

moving day; m.k.

pairing: marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

-

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

.

.

.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

-

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

-

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

.

.

.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

-

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

-

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

-

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

-

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

-

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

.

.

.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

[zolass]

Detectives Attraction Ch. 07 Top Male Reader x Male Yandere Harem

Not much going on with this rn but hey new characters for the background- It's not my fav chapter that's for sure but we have to keep going to reach more juicy chaps and the end T_T Reworked and opened my request blog again, just for fun.

cw: Alcohol and drunk male bitch <3 1.5k words

The outside of the club had a few drunkards loudly conversing– or sitting on the ground with their heads in their hands or between their legs, their figure slumped. As M/n walked past them he could hear slurred words which he didn’t spare any mind to, he was solely focused on the task at hand– getting in without being discovered and getting as much intel as possible, it didn’t sound or was an easy thing especially as a renowned detective who had his face plastered on papers.

So basically M/N either had to hope on stumbling upon someone who doesn’t know him– even if he in general hoped that nobody would bat an eye towards the papers nowadays– or any news in general, even on the internet. Or else he might be kicked out before even setting both feet into the club.

The exterior of the place was looking rather than an old brick warehouse with a simple neon sign of the club name ‘The Allure’ which made M/n raise a questioning eyebrow– but he didn’t think further about it. There were windows, some were blocked up the other were milky glass which showed the bright and colorful lights from the inside shine onto the street. At the open entrance were bodyguards and a rather impressive long line with a few tipsy people dancing to the loud music streaming from the inside.

But because M/n knew it wouldn’t be smart to make a scene– he simply waited in line, until someone rudely bumped into him while they stumbled to the front, clearly drunk. The detective wouldn’t have even spared the man another glance if it wasn’t for that– bitch on two legs, who suddenly snarled back at him, “Watch were you’re standing, fucker.” M/n grinded his teeth as he glared at the retreating back of the drunkard, ‘Be the mature one, stay mature– don’t act reckless,’ he told himself. 

“Not even twenty-four hours out of prison and already looking for trouble, Steven?” a rather low female voice lilted, behind M/n who only turned his head slightly to glance behind him. A tall woman strided over, before halting closer by the detective. She had long dark red hair that was tied back into a half-up, her eyes were piercing grey as they stared with a few glances between the drunk male and M/n, before she focused back on the drunk male, Steven. 

The woman raised an eyebrow, “It’s more of a surprise that you came out alive– did they make you their bitch? I wouldn’t be surprised,” the woman taunted the man with an amused yet cold tone. M/n was able to see how red the other's face turned, as he glared at the woman and raised a fist while swaying slightly side to side, “As if anyone could reduce me into a simple– bitch!” the man said furious. 

But the woman turned away from him– clearly uninterested in what the man had to say, instead she focused on M/n with a smirk tugging at her lips, she stalked over to him, “I’m sorry for what happened– you see this man is a mess who let’s his frustrations out on others. How about we go in and I’ll– buy a drink for you as compensation, hm?” The woman looked at him with a raised eyebrow and her head tilted to the side. Hands placed on her hips, she was wearing a black laced top with a suit jacket over it– black leather pants and black boots without heels, which almost made M/n raise an eyebrow. 

“Sure why not,” with those words they walked past the line, which might’ve gotten some people to mutter some words beneath their breath but they didn’t want to have the attention of the fiery woman on them.

Walking into the club felt strange for M/n as if suddenly multiple eyes were on him analyzing him from afar. Glancing subtly around the crowded place was easy– but figuring out from where the burning gazes came from was harder. Yet as expected the inside was a modernized warehouse, built to be a club while it kept the old charm of what the building once was. A large bar was placed across the entrance, it had a warm orange light which was a stark contrast to the flickering colorful lights which seemed to be the only thing that made this a club, as the booths and decor were mostly wood with burgundy, and a few plants that added a bit more to it. 

It was unusual to any other club in Noxhaven, but in a way did M/n like the charm it had. 

Following behind the woman who made her way past the crowd of dancing bodies, and past the bar where she greeted the barwoman and man, before stalking to a set of stairs which she quickly climbed without looking if her new companion followed, but M/n did. 

They walked down a hallway that led further into the building, but they stopped at the third door, ‘Private Room’ was sitting on a plate in cursive golden letters. The woman pushed the door open and walked over to a seat, while M/n took in the room just a tiny bit in case there were any threats. The room in all was like the lower floor, just smaller and without the colorful flickering lights, yet he didn’t comment on it and simply sat down on a nearby chair. 

“I saw how you eyed me– did you think you might get something?” The woman took a glass from the round table that stood in between them. It was a beverage which was easy to guess, alcohol. At the woman’s words, the detective couldn’t help but let out a snort, “I’m not interested in women– I was just surprised by the choice of clothing, nothing more and nothing less.” Leaning back in his chair, he simply waited for the reason the woman brought him here.

A chuckle came from the woman’s red lips, “You probably question why you’re here? Well shouldn't I be asking that question?” Her eyes were focused on him– as if he was prey, “After all– why would the renowned Detective Howard come here to the one place criminals alike spent some of their free time?” She raised an eyebrow waiting for the response the man would deliver. “Simply for– research in person. It has to do with my– latest cases,” M/n answered just enough he could offer. “So you’re looking for information– interesting. You know I have my eyes and ears in a lot of places– I might be able to– help,” the woman smiled as she placed her chin on her hand while her elbow rested on her thigh.

M/n only raised an eyebrow, “How could I know if you’re trustworthy?” “Says the man who walked into this place– all by himself. See it as a deal– I give you something and you’ll owe me one,” there was a moment of silence. Obviously this deal could only benefit the other, not him. With a scoff M/n stood up, already stalking over to the door, when the voice of the woman made him halt, “I know you might not like the idea of getting help from a criminal– but this might be your only chance to find what you’re looking for. Meet me tomorrow at the same time– I’ll send you the address and I’ll promise that whoever you’re looking for won’t find out about it,” The words of the red head, made M/n curious he can’t lie.

Without a response to the other the detective simply left, making the woman chuckle. “My oh my– what a silent temper,” the woman– Ana, said amused, “You won’t give him any– serious leads right?” a deep male voice suddenly spoke up, she grabbed her phone which had an ongoing call, to which she raised an eyebrow, “You do know that my loyalty lies mostly to myself– I want to see what I gain when I continue working for you Serpents– after all you do remember our little deal right?” Ana chuckled as she heard a grumble coming from the speaker, “Bye bye, talk to you– maybe later,” she sing-sang before ending the call and throwing the phone on the sofa with a roll of her eyes, “Typical.”

Suddenly the door was pushed open and a blonde woman walked in, she made long strides while her hips swayed, as she walked over to Ana who had her focus solely on the other woman. Ana took in how the red dress clung and wrapped perfectly around the woman’s body and curves, before the other woman was close enough to plop down onto the spread legs of the red head, “I saw a man walking out– he’s not one of the bodyguards so– who is he?” the blonde glared at the woman, as she looped her arms around Ana’s neck.

“Nobody important as of now– you know my eyes and heart belong to you right birdie?” ‘Birdie’ aka Fiona looked into the grey eyes of her lover, “I hope so– we both don’t want anything to happen right?” Fiona pouted fauxly, while Ana wrapped an arm around her waist, placing her hand on the blonde’s hip. A chuckle left the red head, “Well you wouldn’t be the only one fond of the thought, there’s some tension in our ranks with this specific man,” Ana shrugged.

If they knew they would hang on her throat.

[emma23]

Cracking the code :

Steven grant x reader

The early evening glow painted the small London flat in warm tones, the sounds of bustling city life seeping faintly through the windows. Steven stood at the counter in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, fretting over a pan of vegetables that were threatening to burn. His brows were knit together in concentration as he stirred with quick, deliberate movements.

"Steven, it smells amazing already," you said from the table, leaning your chin on your hand as you watched him.

He glanced over his shoulder, cheeks reddening slightly under your gaze. "Well, I don’t want to mess it up. You’ve had a long day—you deserve a proper dinner."

You smiled at his sincerity, your heart swelling with affection. Steven had always been like this: kind to a fault, always putting your needs before his own. It was one of the things you adored about him, though you also worried he didn’t give himself enough credit.

"Need any help?" you offered, already knowing his answer.

He shook his head quickly. "No, no, it’s fine. You just sit tight, love. I’ve got it under control."

"Are you sure? You’re looking a little… frazzled," you teased gently, nodding toward the slight chaos of the counter.

Steven let out a soft laugh, his tension easing. "Alright, maybe just a bit. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. These veggies don’t stand a chance."

You chuckled, standing up to walk over to him. "Well, if they fight back, I’ll be here to back you up."

Dinner was a success—though Steven spent most of it downplaying his cooking skills—and now the two of you were tidying up. You washed the dishes while he dried, the comfortable rhythm of domesticity wrapping around you both like a warm blanket.

"Do you think we’re too boring?" you asked suddenly, glancing over at him.

Steven paused, a plate in one hand and a towel in the other. "Boring? What do you mean?"

"I don’t know," you said with a shrug, rinsing another plate. "We never go out to fancy places or do wild things like other couples. We just… stay in and cook or watch documentaries."

Steven tilted his head, considering this. "Well, I suppose we’re not exactly jet-setters, are we? But… I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I like what we have. Don’t you?"

You met his eyes, his sincerity disarming you as always. "Yeah, I do."

He smiled, relief washing over his features. "Good. Because I’d rather spend a quiet night in with you than do anything else."

Later that night, the two of you found yourselves in the kitchen again, this time preparing for a baking experiment. A recipe for chocolate chip cookies had caught Steven’s eye earlier in the week, and he had insisted you try it together.

"Alright," Steven said, holding up an egg with a look of intense focus. "Do you want me to crack the eggs, or do you want to try?"

You raised an eyebrow, laughing softly. "Steven, it’s not rocket science. I think I can handle it."

"Suit yourself," he said, stepping aside to let you take the reins.

You picked up an egg, determined to prove your point. But the moment you applied pressure, it shattered messily in your hand, yolk dripping onto the counter.

Steven blinked, then burst out laughing. "Alright, maybe it’s a little harder than it looks!"

"Don’t," you warned, narrowing your eyes at him as you tried to suppress your own laughter.

"I didn’t say anything!" he protested, though the grin on his face was impossible to miss.

"Fine," you said, grabbing another egg. "Let’s see you do it, Mr. Expert."

Steven stepped up confidently, cracking the egg with a practiced motion and depositing it cleanly into the bowl. He turned to you with a smug smile.

"Show-off," you muttered, though you couldn’t help but smile.

As the cookies baked, you both ended up on the couch, a lighthearted debate about the best Ancient Egyptian pharaoh filling the room.

"Ramses II," Steven said, gesturing animatedly. "He was a proper legend! Built all those temples, had over a hundred kids—"

"And yet he still didn’t invent chocolate chip cookies," you interrupted with a smirk.

Steven gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "How dare you disrespect the great Ramses like that!"

You burst out laughing, leaning against his shoulder. "You’re ridiculous, Steven."

"And you love it," he replied, his tone teasing but his gaze soft.

You looked up at him, your laughter fading as the moment grew quieter, the weight of his affection evident in his brown eyes. Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft and unhurried.

When you pulled back, Steven’s cheeks were flushed, but his smile was radiant. "I really do love you, you know," he said quietly.

"I know," you replied, your heart full. "I love you too."

The cookies turned out slightly burnt, but neither of you cared.

"Next time," Steven said, breaking off a crispy edge, "we’re sticking to store-bought dough."

"Deal," you said, laughing as you reached for another piece.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt perfectly at home.

"You’ve got yolk in your hair, love," Steven said with a grin, pointing at your head. You stared at him in disbelief, then grabbed a handful of flour and threw it at him.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

how would the moon boys react to reader flirting w another person to make them jealous? (they're friends w benefits)

okay so I made this a tad angsty just bc I feel it suits and bc I wanted it, but shush, that’s neither here nor there. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

FWB MAKING THE MOONBOYS JEALOUS.

moonboys x gn reader (not as the moon system)

warnings. angst? bad writing/ thoughts and hcs

I feel like marc is a lot more insecure than he lets on or more than one may think. he's usually the type to shrug and gruff dismissively, not wanting to bring attention to it, or to the fact that he cares about something... you. because you're casually messing about, he tries not to expect anything else of you. to see you flirting may make him feel insecure and make him remember what a fuckup he is. it would make him feel stupid to think that you'd want something more with him. I don't think he would take it too lightly, and would most likely be wounded by your games. how you'd essentially toy with him when he put himself out there (he's probably had lots of casual sex before, but nothing quite like your situation) maybe he doesn't like to be on the opposite end of the stick - to be the one that is more invested in a 'relationship'. I feel like he'd brush you off, saying, "yeah, yeah im good. gonna uh— gonna head to bed now."

with steven I think he's always wary about situationships - it's not something he's usually down for. except maybe he really likes you, and this way being friends with benefits is as close as he can get to being with you, so he takes the opportunity. again, same with marc, it would make him feel insecure for you to flirt with someone else to make him jealous. it would make him feel inadequate to think he had a shot with you. he already felt like you were out of his league, and it would make him feel ridiculous for thinking otherwise. maybe he would laugh it off and pretend he was okay with you 'toying' with him, but really he'd just be upset and disappointed (in himself and dare I say... you... soz) I feel like he'd chuckle and say, "yeah, no— no, that was— yeah, you got me there." and he'd just walk off

for jake im on the fence a bit here. one hand I think he'd entertain it, maybe playing you and retaliating to make you jealous. he would find himself someone on their own at the bar, just in eye sight of you and would hit on them - making sure you can see. he thinks that becuase you're playing games, he gets to as well. BUT im also weighing with the fact of how volite and explossive he can be, and how he reacts before he can think. so perhaps if you're flirting with another man, he'd go up to you both and push him away, maybe holding your arm and walking you out the bar. mumbling to himself as he pushes past people. he'd be like, "what the hell was that? going around and flirting with people you meet at bars?" and then you say, "we're not dating. we aren't anything," and then he'd be like, "yeah, you're right," and then would let go of your arm and nod and walk away

[ivystoryweaver]

Based on a request by @mintellaine: Moon Boys married prompts #6&7: being able to predict the other's moves & predict the other's words

Content: f!reader, established relationship, action, violence, fluff, kissing, mentions of food

Word Count: 805

Moon Knight's cape swished valiantly behind him as his muscular thigh thrusted outward in a punishing kick. The foul-smelling, ghastly supernatural creature yelped, its phantom bones crunching as it careened toward you.

"Drop!"

"Yep!"

Your body had already instinctively reacted. Sprinting forward, you dropped to your knees, skidding under the creature. Raising your arm, you dragged your curved dagger through its hairy abdomen.

Your enemy's ear-piercing shriek momentarily disoriented you, propelling you into a stumble, rather than you flipping to your feet with your usual grace.

Before even your shoulder could graze the bruising asphalt, a white gauze-wrapped arm slid underneath you, absorbing your fall. Tucking you in tightly to the solid safety of his chest, the two of you hit the rooftop with an "umph."

Heavy breaths pushed past your lips as you came down from your adrenaline rush, cocooned carefully inside your husband's white cape. His glowing, moonbeam eyes narrowed into slits as he inspected you for injury.

"Give me a second?" You panted, grateful for his protective embrace.

"Yeah, I can do that," he answered, his mask disappearing.

"Hi," you breathlessly whispered, smiling at his handsome face.

"Hey," he casually returned, admiration etched into his cute smirk. "That was a hell of a move."

"Thanks, I - "

" - learned from the best," he grinned.

Pulling you to your feet, Marc grasped your arms to steady you.

Suddenly, white gauze melted away as a shining, three-piece deliciously tight suit appeared.

"Darling, you were amazing," Steven bragged...but before he could compliment your attire, which he was always prone to do, even mid-fight, his warm brown eyes widened in panic.

You were already ducking as the word left his mouth. Scrambling away from this newest threat, you heard the crunch of bone.

White, gloved fists brutally connected with the jaw of yet another vile creature. Where were these things coming from?

Rolling out of the way, you scurried around behind the beast, mindful of the roof's edge. But before you could attack with your daggers, it lunged backward, knocking you dangerously close to your doom.

Steven, whose white mask was in place now, leapt into the air brandishing his signature heavy batons. "Get away from her, you!"

Having gained the creature's attention, it turned and attacked him with a screeching howl. Steven became a flurry of moonlit precision, striking blow after kick after thud with his batons. This gave you time to attack from the back. With a cry of fury, you lunged forward with all your might, sinking two daggers into the creature's gangly back.

It screeched - its ghastly body arching in agony as Steven tipped his sassy chin in a final salute. "That's m'wife, mate."

Then the creature was ash.

You stood across from your husband - a dagger in each hand, hair a wild mess, chest heaving, hoping that was your final fight tonight.

"Wow...look at you," Steven marveled, his mask disappearing once more.

"I probably look as crazy as that thing...before it disintegrated," you laughed, tucking your daggers away.

"Not possible," he chuckled. "But let me guess: you're bloody starving." You always were after a good fight.

With a cute shrug, your nose crinkled in delight, "You read my mind."

"Dumplings?" He proposed, knowing how much you loved them.

"Mmm, the way to my heart," you murmured, yanking his tie and pulling his lips to yours.

The adrenaline of a fight always brought some spice to your marriage, and your knees gave out a little as Steven's tongue ran along the seam of your lips. Opening your mouth to him, you felt the beautiful proof of his life - his hot, panting breath, mingling with the slightly salty tinge of sweat from his exertion.

He was safe. And all yours.

Strong arms swept you up into a possessive embrace. Marc. His tongue licked in hotly into your mouth, tangling with yours, as the fullness of his lips caressed your own deliciously.

"Do we have to get vegan dumplings?" He pouted, nibbling your lips one at a time.

"Babe, you know that place on the corner always adds pork dumplings to Steven's vegan order."

With one final kiss, his mask and hood cloaked his face once more.

"Ready?" Marc proposed, nodding down to the street below.

"Do you even have to ask?" You teased, wrapping your arms around his neck trustingly. The moon was full tonight, so its Knight would glide across the sky with ease.

With you tucked closely to his side, Marc leaped into the night sky. The thrill of flying...or falling gracefully overwhelmed you, making you giggle childishly in delight.

"This is my favorite way to travel!" You called over the whoosh of air around you.

"Thanks, but - "

" - don't tell Jake, I know," you finished his sentence, knowing how much Jake liked to drive you around (and drive you wild).

IvyStoryWeaver's 500 Follower Celebration

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[eeunoia]

ENHYPEN Series

sinag — psh.

chapter two

synopsis: waiting for a great plot twist in your life, the ruthless and powerful mafia boss park sunghoon forced his way in to it.

pairings: park sunghoon x reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: a contains violence, guns, killings, abuse, obsessive love & other stuff. if you can't take this stuff, feel free to scroll away. let me know if i missed some.

note: not proof read. sinag’s chapter will usually have 2k-3k words. i'm sorry if there’s grammatical errors. enjoy reading and my ask are open for your messages. thank you so much!

© eeunoia 2023 — all rights reserved.

here ‹ chapter one | chapter three › here

“Calm down, Kwon.” a man wearing a formal attire focused his eyes at the scene beneath him, standing proudly in front of the big glass windows of his office. He holds a cup of whiskey on his hand, the other one inside his pockets.

“Calm down?” his tone frantic as he slightly slams the coffee table near him. His fists balled, jaw clenching feeling perturbed by the situation they’re tangled in.

“Your son is uncontrolled! This arrangement was long overdue! You know we already need to do something about this.” he added.

The man remained calmed and collected despite his opposite demeanor. He went here out of frustrations in hope to come up with a solution for their problem and all he gets is a couple words of consolement. If anything, that's the last thing he needs.

“I am doing my best to convince my son, Luis.” he slowly turns to face the raging man. The placid look on his face pretty much mirrors the same with the young mafia boss they are discussing about. The main reason of their distress and troubled affairs.

“You out of all people knows that convincing your son is already out of the choices.” the man stoods and stares straight to his eyes.

“He’s stubborn and proud.”

“Mainly why we shouldn’t act repulsively. Sunghoon knows when to play his cards and is not stupid.” he took a quick sip from his glass and pursed his lips into a thin line.

“He is unpredictable and moves only to his demand. He was never born to be controlled. He's my own flesh and blood afterall.” the proud smile spreads across his face that only adds to Mr. Kwon’s anger.

“But he’s now going crazy over some girl? Is this the same boy you are blabbering about?” the man scoffs that faded the smirk on Mr. Park’s face.

“If we cannot do anything with your son might as well start by getting rid of that girl.” the look on his face were shameless. The way he talks was too casual that you’ll think he’s just commanding a luggage to be discarded somewhere.

“We have to find her before he does.” he fixed his coat while still keeping his dark, serious gazes over Mr. Park.

“In order to solve the problem, we need go dispose the one causing them.” he stated with firmness to his tone indication of want on immediate action.

“I will expect a bigger progress soon, Steven.” he starts heading towards the door, one of his man held it for him. He stops from his tracks and craned his neck to the man by the windows, “I’m not a very forgiving and patient person. You know that.”

He left the room and Mr. Park was lost with his own thoughts. His emotions at a mess that rarely happens. The lack of sense in the current situation was very unusual of him. All he can think of is his son and the tangled connection link between the Kwon family.

From the plane to your way to the hotel, you are well taken care of. The stress and worries you’ve been feeling when you stepped at the airport hours ago were vanished into thin air. It was crazy and you can’t even believe that you’re actually thinking that this trip isn’t so bad at the moment. Like as if you aren’t the same girl in distress for being sent over for this.

“This way to your room, Madam.” one hotel staff guides you in this beautiful suite. It was a hug room with a breathtaking view of the city beneath you.

The streets are busy, people rushing towards somewhere, cars honking at each other but it didn’t spoil the ambiance of the place. You giggled and eyes shut for a couple seconds, embracing the breeze blowing towards you. It surely gives off a different vibe, the feeling of being new to the place slowly gets into your system.

Scary, but thrilling. You are feeling anxious and all but staying in a fancy hotel with a rowdy surrounding rather than secluded villa sure comforts you a thousand times better.

You are snapped out from your trance when you remembers the main agenda of your trip. Letting out a strained sigh, you walked towards your bag to fish out the well planned schedule that was prepared for you. It’s like a list of things to be accomplished along the trip. It sounds like something not of a big deal since this is a business trip afterall, but the amount is what’s gets you. Thankfully, they did left your first day vacant.

Another strained sigh liberates out from you, making your lungs feel more lighter. So much for enjoying this trip. You tried to find the brighter side of it. The things you will learn from the seminars and basically from the experience here will be much to your gain.

You ordered room service for lunch and decided to rest for a bit before roaming around near the hotel for the rest of the day. The next day, its work day so while waiting for your first agenda, you ordered food for lunch. If the place was great, of course the food was fantastic. It is expected and it didn’t disappoint. You enjoyed your meal and soon starts preparing for your errands.

Today’s task is an uncomplicated one. Pretty much a warm up for the upcoming busy two weeks of your stay here. You dress up cutely and comfortably before deciding on heading downstairs to ask the lobby for some directions.

On the other hand, multiple cars parked right in front of the hotel. People’s eyes darted curiously at the scene, some chooses to continue their day after watching for a while. Sunghoon went out of his black range rover and dominantly roams his eyes around, causing the lingering eyes of some individuals to tear away.

His intimidating aura just causes some to even stop at their tracks and give way to the handsome man. He didn’t give any care and went inside along with some of his men, tossing his car keys to the valley incharge without sparing him a glance. The boy bowed paying his respect, slightly anxious not to do any mistake.

Arriving at the hotel lobby, staffs bows as he walks by. It didn’t stop people to stare at him. His face is not one to be missed anyway.

His men clicks the elevator open and Sunghoon steps inside. After pressing the floor where his room was booked, the door closes. The people who's about to ride the elevator hesitates and decided not to join him.

As the door of the elevator closes, the one beside opens and you steps outside. Smiling to the people waiting just in front of it. They seem fazed about something that made you curious. Your eyes looks at the elevator beside you, but it was close and the lights above says its moving up the building.

Dismissing that matter, you shrug off your shoulders and walks towards the lobby to go ask for directions.

Sunghoon sighs and walks outside the elevator when he arrived the floor. The hallway was empty.

“What are you doing here?” his jaw clenches and his fist balled tightly at the sight of a man sat comfortably in the middle of the room.

He’s alone, at least here inside, and a glass of whiskey sat near him on a coffee table. The man smiles a little and opens his arms as a welcoming gesture.

Sunghoon furrowed his brows and kept his unamused expression.

“Is that how you greet your dad?” his Dad crosses his legs and gave him this stare.

Despite feeling so angry, Sunghoon grinned.

“Dad?” he scoffs. “Since when did you act like one?” his rude words pricks something inside Mr. Park’s chest, but he knew he was in no place to complain.

He took part on why Sunghoon became like this. He was part of his dark childhood that led him to be ruthless. He may feel sorry right now, but there’s nothing he can do about it anymore. All there’s left was to convince him over to do the arrangement and save him from any possible outrage of the Kwon family.

“Son,” he calls, tone longing.

Sunghoon face reflects disgust at what he heard. “Don’t you dare call me that.” he coldly rejects.

“What are you doing here? How did you know that I’m here?” his questions are full of suspicion for the older man. This isn’t the first time he did this, but its still so odd that he couldn’t help to not let his guard down.

“I’m here to talk to you.” he answers one of it, but leaves out one. It didn’t slipped off from Sunghoon and sure he isn’t someone to disregard it as well.

“There’s nothing to talk about with you.” he grunts, letting him know that there is no way he can expect him to cooperate.

He turns his heels and was about to head out when his father talks once again.

“Marry Luna.” his words were short and direct.

Sunghoon halt from his steps and the crease to his forehead disappears along the emotions in his eyes.

He slowly craned his neck to look at his dad.

“Didn’t Mr. Kwon told you what we talked about the last time he went to see me?” he smirks with no humor.

“Please, son. That is planned ahead even before you’re even born.”

“If you’re too desperate in making her marry a Park, why not you do it?” he suggests in complete taunt.

“Park Sunghoon!” his Father shouts.

Seeing his father lose composure and frustrated like this, sooths something in Sunghoon. It feels something accomplishing in some part of him. He smirks unbothered of his Father’s threatening tone.

“This will be the last time you and Mr. Kwon will bother me about this stupid marriage.” he states, back to being very serious. His eyes dark, almost mirroring his father’s.

“It will never happen. He can have a gun pointed at my head during the wedding and I still won’t say ‘I do’.” he smoothly puts his hands inside his pocket.

“Don’t make me do something you will regret. Stop pushing my buttons,” Sunghoon tilts his head. “... Dad.”

Mr. Park was lost of words. He felt shivers run his spine at how cold his tone was. He can’t remember when he became like this. What did he do for him to end up like the cold ruthless person he is right now?

His mind was occupied for a while before he snaps back to his senses. He sighed and rest his back on the chair before massaging his temple. He expects no easy way to convince Sunghoon into this. And as much as he hates how Mr. Kwon last resort of solution to their problem, he was left with no other choice.

He’s doing this for his son.

He fished his phone from his pocket and dials someone’s phone number. “Did you ask the lobby about a reservation under the name Aelia Choi.”

He waits for the response of his assistant from the other line. He received a tip that Sunghoon gathers info that the girl he’s searching for are booked in this hotel. He figured his son will come here to search for her so he decided to take the opportunity of talking to him.

“There’s none, Sir.”

His brows furrowed, a little confused. Disappointed for probably another false information. A part of him felt sympathy for his son, he’s been searching for her and still no concrete leads of her whereabouts. Another, felt relieved. He can’t comprehend what crazy things his son can do for this girl. He can only mean bad for him. If he’s this wreckless for her right now, what more if he found her.

“All right, ready my vehicle.” he commands and ended the call.

After asking for details and asking assistance for your ride to the city. Waiting patiently, your brows furrowed curiously at the sight of men in black appearing the hotel’s lobby. They aren’t that many, but enough to catch attention. Their black similar uniforms sure captures people’s curiosity.

The view makes you remember of a particular night of your life. It makes you nervous, pressing your lungs and light pinches to your heart. It wasn’t pleasant for you so you quickly glanced away and move towards a more isolated part of the hotel.

From a distance, you watch how they move in an organize manner. It was evident how disciplined and well connected they are to each other. Their built and postures sure insinuates how dutiful they are. It seems like they are there to protect someone. Someone very important.

Everybody went back to normal once they left the premises. You can hear some of them still talks about the said person that just left. Uninterested, you walks towards the lady at the front desk.

“Can I ask a room service once I get back?” you ask smiling. The lady returns and smiled warmly at you.

“Under what name of reservation?” she asks.

“Oh, under Mr. (boss name).” you pursed your lips as she tries to check something on her computer. Patiently, you roam your eyes around the hotel lobby.

You noticed another group of men wearing suits pretty similar to the ones from before. This time, you saw the man walking in between them. He seemed like a very powerful man. His hair perfectly fixed, some gray strands can be seen even from the distance but it didn’t make him look that old. If anything, he looks like a Dad of a very attractive offsprings.

You didn’t realized you’ve been staring too much. Thankfully, the lady at desk calls your attention. The moment you looked away, the man gazed at you. Both of you clueless about how each other will soon make a big change to your lives, missed the opportunity to meet due to uncertain timing

“What time will you be back for the room service, Ma’am?” she asked.

You gave her the time you possibly back from your errands. Thanking her softly before going on with your day, unaware of what lies ahead of you.

“Hello, Riki?”

He heard some muffled sound from the other line, “Yeah, hyung?” the younger one responds.

“I think there’s a rat in my men. They’ve been snitching on my Dad about my whereabouts.” he continuously says in a cold tone. He’s not yet sure if hes right, but what could possibly the reason of the unexpected appearance of his father?

He’s very strict on sharing infos of his life, specially when it involves about his search of you.

“I want you to find who it is and report back to me.”

“On it.” he replies and chuckles. “This is not free, hyung.” the younger one teased.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, “Just send me the bill.” and he ends the call before resting his back on his chair.

He’s inside his private jet. He went straight here after the encounter with his dad. The pilot waits for his command to fly and go back, but for some reason he felt something’s stopping him.

The plan of searching for you at this place sure is already sabotaged. He hope what they received was just a false information or else he will make his Dad pay for missing you once again. He tries hard to convince himself that its also probably his father who tipped him so he can have time to talk. But he can’t get rid of the thought that you might be near him. It’s making him suffer.

He have no idea how many times he will feel this way in the future, but he doesn’t care. He will never stop looking for you, even if it means he have to spend his whole life hoping that you two will meet again without a definite certainty that it’ll happen.

here ‹ chapter one | chapter three › here

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[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None, mostly some angst.

A/N: Whaaaat? Another chapter already? Sorry if this one is a hot mess, but it was bound to happen eventually!

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool

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Chapter 9:

A House Divided

“Seriously, Jake.” Layla scoffed as they walked down the sidewalk, careful to keep her voice low so nobody eavesdropped easily on their conversation. “You didn’t have to kill that guy the other night.”

“It was either break his neck or let him shoot you.” He quirked a brow. “Would you rather I let him shoot you and you deal with a healing gunshot wound?”

“Well, my armor’s magic, same as yours, so…” She held up her hand in a “duh” like manner.

Jake rolled his eyes at her and adjusted his cap. “Ay, just shut it. And besides, Marc and Steven would never shut the fuck up if I let you get hurt. Even in your Scarab armor.”

“Oh, I could chew them out whenever one of them fronted, just chill out you damn edgelord.” Layla grunted.

“You could just say “thank you” and not be a pendeja?”

Layla clasped her hands at him and batted her eyelashes, “Oh! But of course! Jake, my hero. The man who turned a guy’s neck into bone fragments because he pointed a puny revolver at me.”

“Pendeja.”

“And no offense, but your mustache makes you look like you’re a 1970’s porn actor.” She huffed, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Now that finally got Jake to emote, as he actually dropped his jaw, furrowed his brows, and clutched his imaginary pearls. “It does not! It makes me look distinguished!”

Layla gave him a “do you honestly believe that?” look. Apparently, he’d convinced Marc and Steven to let him front long enough to grow a mustache and the beginnings of a beard. Marc, as long as she’d known him, had always miraculous facial hair growth. Where it’d take almost a month for someone to grow a thick beard, it merely took him maybe two weeks. She often wondered if maybe it was a side-effect of the Moon Knight suit, that the magic had changed that physical aspect.

But, apparently, Jake did believe it. He seriously believed his ridiculous ‘stache made him look cool.

“Ay, ay!” Jake hissed. “Don’t give me that look! It does! Plenty of people consider facial hair distinguished.”

“Maybe if you’re sporting a full beard and not some weird porno ‘stache with scruff on your face.” Layla smirked.

He jabbed a gloved finger at her, and narrowed his eyes, “You listen, cabróna, do not insult my mustache. And you will change your tune when the beard comes in! It will–”

“Oh, look!” Layla said, sweeping her arm upwards, gesturing to the sign of the shop.

Your shop.

“You little–!” Jake sputtered as Layla dragged him through the door, the little bell above the frame chiming loudly.

“Hellooooo!” Layla says cheerfully.

“Layla!” Your voice calls from deeper in the store. “Be there a minute!”

Layla grinned, but both she and Jake freeze when they see Taweret awkwardly standing off to the side, giving them a little wave with her fingers.

“What are… oh, I’ll ask later.” Layla said to her softly, shaking her head with a smile.

Jake tipped his hat to Taweret. He liked her. She was a sweetheart, and he remembered what happened when…

He shook his head free of those thoughts as he took his place in one of the reading nooks, Layla going on ahead and skittering to her usual romance section of the shop.

“You poor thing!” Taweret said to Jake. “You boys need more rest. Layla and I agreed to help in exchange for you getting your rest!”

Jake couldn’t help but smirk as she wagged her finger at him, a small frown creasing her snout. “Layla isn't suited to all of our work, Taweret. And I don’t want her to carry the burden by herself.” He said softly, keeping his voice low.

“Oh, I have half a mind to swaddle you like an infant, Jake Lockley!” She huffed, her little ears wiggling indignantly, planting her large hands on her hips as she looked down at him. “You need to stop shouldering the world’s burdens on your own! I know you’re a protector by nature, but you will seriously burn out at this rate!”

“I know, vieja.” He sighed.

“And what have Steven and Marc had to say about this?”

“They’ve been letting me front solo for a bit. Like today.” He grinned. “So, I’d say they might give me a lecture, but otherwise they’d be pretty understanding.

“You boys are so…!” Taweret threw her hands up in exasperation. “Oooh! If my hair could gray, it’d be white as snow because of how much you worry me!” Ah, her motherly nature. Both a blessing and a curse…

Jake opened his mouth to say something, but he jumped back when a furry black blob jumped onto the table in front of him, and he held his hands up as big green orbs blinked at him, the green mere slivers around the inky black of the pupils.

A cat. Wait, when did you have a cat? Did you adopt one recently?

The cat mewed softly, followed by an inquisitive “prrbt” as it looked up at him.

“She won’t hurt you, Jake.” Taweret giggled, her demeanor softening. “She wants you to pet her!”

“...Right.” He said hesitantly, tugging one of his gloves off before scritching the cat on her chin. He relaxed as she leaned into his touch, turning to run her whole body along his hand, the tip of her tail curling different ways as she happily purred.

“Well, aren’t you a friendly little lady.” Jake smiled at her, gently twisting the tip of her tail around his finger before doing another head-to-tail stroke.

The cat made a soft chirping noise as she looked at him, shaking her head as she sneezed.

“It’s getting cold out there, isn’t it, chiquita? You’re lucky the nice lady here took you in, you know? I’d take you, but our landlord would have a fit if we did that without permission.”

The cat seemed to understand, and meowed up at him. He smiled, the bushy mustache he now sported quirking upwards and twitching as she leaned in to sniff at his nose.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table while he allowed her to investigate him.

“Oh! I see Puck’s went on ahead and introduced herself.” He heard your voice chuckle.

Jake lifted his gaze and frankly, the outfit you were wearing suited you. Maybe a tad… old-fashioned, but cute. You wore a knitted half-sleeve burgundy sweater with some faded, black-denim overalls buttoned in the front. Taweret giggled and wandered off to go find Layla.

The two you stared at each other for a minute, your eyes squinting ever so slightly, and your eyebrow raised as you smirked. “Jake?”

Okay, he was impressed. Most people couldn’t tell when he was fronting. And when he had to, he was good at impersonating Steven or Marc if someone confused him for one or the other. You, apparently, were not such a case.

“Yeah. How could you tell?” He said, smirking at you.

You put your hand on your hip, your other arm was currently preoccupied with a stack of books you had tucked against you. “Well, Steven usually keeps his hair a bit messy, and he likes to sit at almost an angle, slightly hunched over the table, he also likes to drum his fingers on it, or bounce his leg as he sits. He’s also partial to weirdly-patterned flannels. Marc is a bit stiffer, and prefers to sit with his back against a wall, palms flat on his thighs or knees.” You tap your nose with a wink as you walk over to the counter to prep the books for your pick-up order. “You sit openly with your back to everyone else, and tend to look out the window. You’re almost relaxed in posture, but seem like you’re still on-guard.”

“And besides. You have worn that cap every single time I’ve seen you. Plus, y’know. You got that teeny accent.”

Jake chuckled and shook his head. Okay, those last ones were some obvious points. But you on the other hand, recognized their physical tells as well.

Puck mewed loudly, putting her paw on Jake’s other hand that still sported his glove. He smiled down at her and humored her voiceless request, pulling his offending leather off to pet her unobstructed. Puck purred loudly and happily while she curled around his hand as he petted her.

“Aw, she really likes you.” You say, walking over to them. "Yeah, that’s my little vagrant.”

“Ah… she’s yours?” Jake said.

“Technically? She vanishes now and again, but I keep my door open for when she comes by. I keep stocked on kibble, her favorite dreamies–”

“Dreamies?” Jake smirks up at you.

You flush slightly and you rub at the back of your neck awkwardly. “Oh, her treats. That’s just what I call ‘em.”

“Got it.” He chuckles.

“But yeah, she’s kind of a stray, kind of not a stray. I like to let her have her freedom.” You cringe slightly. “Even though letting a domestic cat outside isn’t necessarily good for the environment, but she doesn’t like to stay indoors for very long…”

“Ah, a free spirit, I can relate.” Jake smiles, scratching Puck’s little cheek.

You reach out and give Puck a hefty stroke down to the tip of her tail. “Just wait til she shows you her belly. She loves tummy rubs.”

You didn’t notice how Jake’s eyes narrow in on something, staring with his brows furrowed in shock.

“Yeah, she’s a weird one, but she’s a cutie.” You lean and pull your hand back. “But I–”

You were cut off when Jake reflexively reached out and gripped your forearm, turning it until he could see the inside of your wrist clearly.

Three moons. Three crescent moons.

The bottom left moon was full.

He felt his heart thud in his chest as he stared at it, his mind running a mile a minute as he willed himself to calm before Steven or Marc accidentally fronted in front of you. Your mark could mean anything, but him knowing what the moon meant to him, Marc, and Steven’s daily lives had his mouth go dry.

“Uh… Jake?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. You didn’t try to pull away from him, merely stared down in concern. You knew that he was upset about something, and that he wouldn’t hurt you. Like his brothers, you never got a feeling of unease around Jake; even now.

Jake shook his head suddenly and released your arm. “Ah, sorry, señorita, I… agh. I’m not sure what came over me.”

Thank the gods that Steven and Marc weren’t currently co-fronting. He would have to…

You turned your wrist up and looked at your mark. “Ohhh, this? Yeah, people tend to ask what it means because it changes. I don’t blame you for being curious.”

You hold out your wrist for him to examine, as if it were the most casual thing on the planet.

“What do you mean, it moves?” Jake asked you, not looking up from your skin.

“Well, not as in it moves to somewhere else on my body, but it… changes.” You shrug.

“Changes.” He repeated flatly.

“Yeah, sometimes one moon is full and the other two aren’t, stuff like that. Sometimes, if one is full, one or both of the others will sometimes turn into half-moons, but not always.”

Jake swallowed at the lump in his throat. “I… see.”

“Well, it’s kinda neat, but sometimes I just wish that my–what–Puck!” You sputter after the fluffy little terror bites into one of Jake’s gloves, secures it firmly in between her little teeth, and darts off somewhere into the store.

“Oh, god, I just–” You whine. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her, lately. I’ll–I’ll go get her.”

You huff and stomp off to try and locate your furry little terrorist, hoping she didn’t gnaw Jake’s glove too harshly.

Jake shoved his spare glove into his pocket and pushed himself out of his seat, rushing to go find Layla.

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“Are you sure?” Layla asked Jake as he paced on the rooftop, hands clasped behind his back as the moon shined down on them.

Both their faces were bare, but they were both wearing their divine armor that they were bestowed as Avatars.

“Yes, what else could three fucking moons mean? She said sometimes that one will get full while the others don’t, Layla. I saw it.” He growled, turning to fix her with a glare.

It wasn’t one laden with malice, but of frustration, concern, and… fear.

“What do Steven and Marc have to say?” Layla replied calmly.

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose as he resumed pacing, keeping his breathing level so his panic wouldn’t rise and alert the other two within their headspace.

“They don’t know.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “I…I don’t want them to know. Not… not yet.”

“Jake, they have a right to know!” Layla gasped. "If she really is your soulmate--"

“No!” Jake snapped at her. “She’s not… she can’t…”

He gripped his usually immaculate hair in his fingers and bunched the raven curls between them.

“She’s innocent. We can’t just... I can’t bring her into this world on a hunch that she might be…”

Layla fixed him with a soft, sympathetic look as she took a step closer to him. “Jake…”

She slowly put a hand on his shoulder, feeling him stiffen beneath the dark trappings of his suit.

“...Remember when Marc was hurting and said his hand felt like it was burning? And that he had a headache?”

“Yes…” He slowly lifted his eyes to look at her suspiciously.

“Well…” She said awkwardly. “Um.”

“Layla.” Jake said sternly, feeling a bit of anger start to rise. “Did you know?”

“I’m just saying!” Layla continued, taking her hand off of him to raise both in a placating gesture.

“But, when I went into her shop after I got here… her hand was burned. And then she mentioned she tripped and hit her head…”

“LAYLA!” Jake shouted.

When she winced, he snorted out a hot puff of air from his nostrils, rubbing his temples. “Sorry. But we had a right to know.”

“But you’re being a hypocrite by not telling Steven or Marc.” She said softly, looking at him from beneath her lashes.

“...Layla. She’s an innocent person. I don’t want to expose her to Khonshu and his schemes, I don’t want him to use her like a weapon against us like he did to you!” Jake said, waving his arms at her.

“I don’t want her to be put in danger! She’s the one normal spot we have in our fucking lives, and it would be nice to just have one normal friend!”

“But she might be more than that.” She narrowed her eyes sharply at him. “What are you planning to do, keep it a secret from the other two and reject her for them?”

“No!” Jake said, his eyes widening in shock.

No, no, no. He would never dare to do that to you. He knew what rejecting a soulmate did to the other party. He couldn’t live with the guilt knowing his rejection of you might curse you to some sort of half-life, living in a gray, colorless world.

And… god. Everything they've been through, every injury they’d gotten… you felt it, too. Even when Marc’s mother would beat them, even when he was hurt out in Egypt, when they wore the armor… everything bounced back to you.

Either way, you would suffer no matter the choice. It was unfair and cruel to you, cruel to them.

Why the fuck couldn’t fate have given you a less complicated partner?

Just this once, why couldn’t they live their lives without causing somebody else’s suffering?

And no doubt if Layla figured it out, that means Taweret and maybe Khonshu knew, as well.

He looked over the rooftop and down through your window, seeing you curled in on yourself on your couch as Puck snuggled into you, sitting like a cute little black loaf in your lap.

You were so blissfully unaware of the evils and supernatural surrounding you. Surrounding them. You… you deserved peace.

Jake felt his heart tear in two, one part indecision and the other telling him to damn the consequences and tell you.

Why… why was fate so cruel?

Above all else, he knew… god, Jake knew that whatever he–or they--did, they couldn’t let Khonshu get his bony hands on you.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, biting down the surge of anxiety to keep from alerting his headmates. He felt tears of frustration burn at the edges of his vision when he opened them again to look down at you.

You were still sitting innocently, laughing at something on your television. But Puck was looking up.

Right at him and Layla.

The pain of knowing that you were possibly their soulmate, and you had been so tantalizingly close this entire time ate him up inside; it was like dangling a loaf of bread in front of a starving man, but he knew if he reached out for it, he could face his limbs being lopped off, or the bread snatched away from him at the last possible second.

Either way.

Suffering was assured.

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Chapter 10: Link

[i-may-be-an-emu]

Hello! Hope you’re having a good day!

I’ve been meaning to ask… we get a lot of queer couples (canon or headcanon) and a lot of queer characters in the SFTH-verse, which is wonderful, obviously. Is there some ship (couple, throuple, anything really) that you personally headcanon as QPR?

Hello anon!! :D thank you, I hope you’re having a good day/night too

Honestly I don’t really know- I have some ideas, but I find it hard to distinguish the difference platonic and romantic feelings as is anyway, and relationships in general kinda confuse me lol

(I’ve also never personally been in a qpr or known anyone who is, but I do understand what it is :))

With that being said, off the top of my head I would say Snowdrop and Violet (fanon name for Sam’s elf character) from Divorces And Teddy Bears- I think they’re actually a ship but I could totally see them being a qpr too! (I might be remembering wrong though) (with the fic that the name Violet is from, violet uses she/he and Snowdrop uses they/them, so in my mind they’re already pretty queer :)) they seem like that relationship dynamic would suit them

The Oompa Loompas from West End Big Boys (who are kind of similar to Snowdrop and the other elf character) would also be a cool qpr headcanon I think. Idk what it is, they seem like they have that vibe? I can’t quite remember that scene 100% accurately but from memory they have a lot of trust in each other. I could write an essay on those characters honestly, there’s so much subtext there!!

David and Mr Steven/jim (fanon name) from milkman could also be cool- they used to work together (if im remembering the quote right) so they have a history. I know they’re a ship people like, but a qpr might work and even be better :) idk really :)

I really think that those two flatmates of the Bus protagonist are in a qpr- we don’t see them for long, but just their VIBE and the way they talk about things… idk, I really think that they fall into that dynamic :D

I’m having a hard time thinking of more (my brains a little scrambled right now sorry) but I think that there’s so so much potential for qpr’s honestly!! I feel like there’s been some I’ve thought of before but I just can’t remember haha

I’d love to hear ideas for more of these though :D (or if I’ve messed up anything about qpr’s be sure to tell me!! <3)

[justmeinadaze]

Take It Out On Me Part 11 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

A/N: It's about to go down. Ya'll ready?!

Enjoy <3

Warnings: Dom Steddie & Plus Size Sub Y/N and all that implies (I regret nothing!), Smut and ALL the angst. These three confront the parents and as you can imagine it doesn't go well. Steve's dad is a douchebag and Y/N is referred to as a whore a few times. Eddie gets hit *cries*. He in turn gets a little rough with the reader but Steve intervenes. A bit of a cliffhanger ending... I mean I guess lol I think that's everything!

Word Count: 3335

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you slowly open your front door and enter your house, Eddie and Steve following close behind. 

Both your parents are standing in the living room and to your surprise so are Steve’s. His dad visibly looks a mess, his hair and suit completely disheveled.

“Oh, Steven!”, his mother exclaims as she runs to give him a hug.

“You can leave.” Your dad gestures towards Eddie.

“I could but I’m not. Do I need to call my uncle so we have everyone who needs to be here present?”

“It’s not like you can call his dad.”, Mr. Harrington sasses under his breath as you angrily glare at him. 

“Mr. Munson, you don’t need to be here. I asked for my daughter to come home with Mr. Harrington here—”

“Yeah well, my understanding is you have a problem with me to so…”, Eddie shrugs. Your dad turns to your mom and whispers something to her before she rises to head for the kitchen to use the phone. “He works at the mill up there. He should be in by now.”

You three sit on the couch as you try to keep your emotions in check. The way everyone is staring at you guys terrifies you but you were also extremely angry, knowing how this conversation was going to play out. No matter what they said, you loved Eddie and Steve. You weren’t leaving them. 

“Wayne said he would be here in 15 minutes.”, your mother notified the room. 

“Good. He can take his nephew when he gets here. Now while we wait, Steven, I’m just going to say this out right, stay away from my daughter. This thing you two have is over.”

“Dad—”

“And as for you, you disobeyed us. We told you to stay away from him especially since he’s associated with this one here.”, he points to Eddie. 

“Which ends today to. I don’t want you spending any more time with this freak.”, his dad adds.

“Well, what does it matter, dad? According to you, I’ve already tarnished our name by not making into college, right? I’m too fucking stupid and lazy. Isn’t that what you said?”

“You’re goddamn right! We raised you to be better than this.”

“You didn’t raise him at all!”, you defended. “He’s spent half of high school alone in that big house.”

“Y/N!”, your mother scolds and you immediately fold back into yourself. 

The boys glance your way before looking back down at the floor. “I guess we see now why she was so meek and scared before.”, Eddie softly smiles as he reaches for your hand. 

“Hey! Don’t touch my daughter.”

“I love your daughter! No one has ever cared about me or made me feel the way she does.”

“Wait…”, Steve’s dad rubs his palm over his eyes. “I’m confused. Steve, you told me you were dating Y/N.”

“I am and I love her to.”

“But he just…”

Your eyes meet your mother’s before hers drift towards the ceiling. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

A knock on the door brings everything to a halt and your dad quickly answers it to allow Eddie’s uncle entry. “Get your nephew and get out of my house.”

“Wait. What is happening?”

“You to, Bill! Get your son and leave. It’s obvious we need to have a long talk with our child.”

“We can talk as long as you want, dad, but that’s not going to change how I feel. I love them to and after we graduate, we’re moving in together.”

“Huh…well that explains some things.”, Wayne smirks as he looks at all the other adults in the room. “I mean I had a feeling but didn’t want to assume.”

“You’re ok with this?!”, your mom shrieks. 

“Yeah, I mean… they aren’t doing anything wrong. They aren’t a gang or something. They’re three people in love. It’s nice and rare at such a young age.”

“Exactly! ‘Young age’! You three are way too young to understand what you are feeling!”

“ENOUGH!”, your dad booms as all conversation ceases. “This is over.”, he points his index finger towards you. “End it now. As long as you are under my roof, you will follow my rules. You are not allowed to see either of these boys again.”

“You can’t keep us from her.”, Eddie responds as he grips your hand tighter. 

“I sure fucking can! I’ll call the cops! I’ll send her to live with family in other states! I’ll—”

“You’ll call the cops and tell them what? Your daughter is spending time us? And you can send her anywhere you want, no matter what, we would follow her.”, Steve interrupts reaching for your hand as well. 

“Steven Harrington, you think about this now. If you insist on staying with this…whore…I will cut you off—”

“Hey now.”, Wayne cuts in. “No need to be rude or disrespectful. If you say something like that again, I’m ending this and taking all three of them back to my home.”

As Eddie’s uncle spoke, your eyes scanned your parents. Their angry eyes were staring into a void they seemed to stuck in. What killed you most was while Wayne defended you, your mom and dad remained silent, seemingly agreeing with Steve’s father. To them…you were a whore.

“Cut me off, dad. I don’t care. I’ve spent my whole life trying to impress you and be what you wanted me to be. Now I just want to figure out who I am and I want to do it with this woman here. I may not be the best student, man, or even fucking son but I am good at taking care of baby girl here.”

“Do you agree with his dad?”, you blurted your question as you addressed your family. “Do you two think I’m a slut?”

“What-what are we supposed to think, Y/N?”, your mother stutters. 

“It’s not like I’m-I’m opening my legs for all of Hawkins! I’m in a relationship with these two. I—”

“Stop it, Y/N.”, your dad warns.

“No!”, you suddenly rise to your feet. “I’ve never done anything wrong or given you two any reason to worry before. You both always said I was smart and knew how to make my own choices! Why is this ONE suddenly wrong?”

“Sit. Down. Y/N.”

“Sweetheart…” Eddie tries to pull at your hand to get your attention, getting to his feet as well. He recognizes that look and tone from your father; he’s seen it before on his own. 

“Dad, they are both so good to me. If you just got to know them—”

As your dad’s arm rears back, the metalhead slides between you two, taking the slap that was meant for you. Wayne moves forward as Steve stands, tugging you behind him. 

“We’re done here. I’m taking them to my trailer until Steve and Y/N feel safe coming home if at all.”, Wayne growls.

“You can’t do that.”

“Oh, I assure you I can. Unless you want to call Hopper down here so we can explain to him how you just assaulted my nephew.” His uncle reaches for Eddie’s arm and guides him towards the front door. “You kids get a head start. I’ll be right behind you.”

Without speaking, the three of you exit the house and quickly move to Eddie’s van. 

“Do you want me to drive?”, Steve asks.

The metalhead shakes his head, opening the passenger door for you before slamming it shut. As he begins the drive back to the trailer, you start replaying everything in your head. You knew your parents weren’t going to approve of this relationship but you never expected them to be this angry to the point where your dad would react the way that he did. 

 Eddie got hurt, Steve was cut off, you and he didn’t have a home anymore. Then everything that happened last night… this is all my fault… 

You tried to hide the tears that flowed as you curled into the window. After a while, the trailer came into view but even after the man parked no one moved. You glanced over at the driver, suddenly realizing his chest was rising and falling rapidly. 

“Eddie… are you okay?”

Steve followed your eye line as he shifted to the other side of the van. “Munson. It’s okay, man. You’re okay.”

Eddie’s eyes shut as his mouth opened to release a loud scream as he repeatedly hit at his steering wheel. His hair blocked his face as his head hung to his chest. The driver’s side door gradually opened as Wayne leaned against it, reaching for his nephew’s arm. 

“Come on, son. You’re okay.”

Gently, he tugged his nephew out and the rest of you followed suit. As you entered the trailer, you and Steve sat on the couch while Eddie’s uncle looked him over. 

“He got you pretty good but…it would have probably done way more damage to her. That was a brave thing you did, Eddie.” The metalhead’s shoulders deflate as he exhales. “You two are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Y/N, I can give you some cash and after school tomorrow you and the boys can go into town so you can buy some essentials.”

“I’m sorry…”

Wayne came over and bent down on his heels beside you. “You have no reason to be sorry, honey. You are not a whore; you’ve done nothing wrong. Okay?” He smiles when you nod. “Ed, I have to get back to work. Are you three going to be alright?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

As his uncle straightens up, he reaches over to pat Steve’s shoulder. Once he leaves, Eddie abruptly turns and heads for his room. You two trail after him, finding him in a chair with a cigarette dangling from his lips as he tries to light it. 

“Fucking…piece of shit…lighter…”, he growls before angrily throwing it to the floor. 

Slowly, you place yourself in front of him, extending your hand out to run your fingers through his hair. Eddie sighs again as he leans forward and rests his forehead on your stomach. 

“I’m…thank you…” The tears start flow again as you hug him to you. His hands glide up to your lower back as his lips press against your tummy. The metalhead’s eyes glance up to meet yours for the first time since you left your parents house and the pain you found within them killed you. It was like the man now was fighting with the scared little boy he was back then, trying to remind himself that he was in control. You lean down to kiss his lips before nodding you head, whispering against them. “Use me.”

With incredible strength, Eddie lifted you under your arms and all but threw you onto his bed. He tore off your clothes, rapidly trying to do the same with his own. After opening your legs, he spit into cunt, gripping the base of his cock and guiding himself roughly into your body. His hips pounded aggressively into yours as he remained pushed up on his palms, long hair blocking his face from your view. As you reached up to move it out of the way, his hand flew to your wrist, pinning it flat to the mattress. 

You winced at the feeling of each hard thrust; he had never been this rough with you before. He began muttering things under his breath you could barely hear as you caught every other word. 

“Fucking…asshole…I could…knock him…out.”

“S-sir?”, you whimpered as Steve knelt by the bed, scanning your face.

“Color, honey?”

“Yellow, Da-daddy.”

“Eddie, she needs a minute.”

“They think…tell me…what to do…no. I’m…in control.” Your eyes widen as his hand suddenly flies to your throat, gripping it hard between his fingers.

“Eddie! Stop!” Steve quickly shoves him back and he tumbles off you, releasing you from his hold. “Y/N, are you ok?”

You cough as you try to catch your breath. 

“Fuck. F-fuck, Y/N. Sweetheart, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t even hear you. I…fuck!”, he shouts as he hits the trailer wall with his fist. 

You glance over at him before looking up Steve, assuring him you were alright. “Take these off, Daddy.” You tug at his shirt collar and he nods, rising to his feet.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me. I don’t want to hurt you again.”, Eddie’s voice shakes as you turn and place your hand on his chest. 

“Do you trust me?”, you whisper.

“Yeah, I just…don’t trust myself.”

Leaning forward, you tenderly kiss his lips as you push him carefully on to his back and straddle his waist. “I do, Master.”

A moan escapes his beautiful lips at the title, his palms coming to rest on your thighs as you carefully slide his cock into your entrance. Balancing above him on your hands, you grind your hips as you tilt your upper half closer to his chest.

“You’re always so protective of me. I feel so safe with you and Daddy.”

Steve climbs on to the bed behind you as you crane you neck to watch him spit in his hand and stroke it along his length. His eyebrows raise as if to ask if you’re ready and you subtly nod, allowing him to grab your waist and push himself into your ass. 

Once again, you felt so full by both of them immediately, moaning at the delicious stretch of them inside of you. Steve’s arms came into your field of view as his chest pressed against your back and his hands rest near yours against the mattress. 

Your eyes rolled as he began rolling his hips into yours, panting against your skin. 

“You both feel so good. Oh my god… Please, Sir. I NEED you to move.”

“You need me, princess?”

Eddie licks his lips as his hips thrust upwards eliciting a loud moan from you both. Steve leans back onto to his knees, guiding your movements with his palms as he glances between your bodies.

“F-fuck, baby. You take us both so well.”

The metalhead nods underneath you, agreeing with his friend. “Such a good girl.”

“Mmm—use me. Fill me up, please. I need you to. I need to—mmm-- feel you cum inside me.”

Eddie’s fingers reach up to caress your face before gripping the back on your neck, bringing your lips to his. 

“I love you, Y/N. You are safe with us. I’d never—God—I’d never let anyone hurt you like that.” His glassy, blown out eyes lock with yours as he pumps into you harder. Steve tries to match his pace, slamming his hips into yours. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your pussy clenches around him as you cum. Eddie grunts below you at the feeling, clinging to your waist as he follows you.

The other boy holds you against his chest as he chases his high, his arms holding you tightly as he thrusts his spend into your body. 

Without a word, they each gradually pull out of you making you hiss and wince at the slight sting. The metalhead gently takes your hand and walks you towards his shower. After cleaning you and making sure you were comfortable, he places you back on the mattress in front of Steve who casually begins brushing your hair. 

“Wayne doesn’t need to give you too much cash. I, um, I bought some stuff and have them here for when you spend the night like that brush.”, Eddie gestures towards Steve. “We just need to find you some clothes more than anything. In a couple days, maybe my uncle can talk your parents into letting you swing by to get your stuff. You may have to wait till we find an apartment to bring everything… Trailer is kind of small.”, he smiles. 

You fingers reach out to move some of his hair back so you can see his face. 

“I’m really fucking sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to… Your dad hit me and I just felt like a boy again, you know? I got lost in my brain.”

“It’s okay. I understand. I genuinely do. I’m sorry he hit you.”

“I’m sorry for my dad to…talking down to both of you like that.”, Steve sighs. “You’re not a whore, Y/N. That goes without saying but…”, he chuckles. “I know you like to be called that in bed—”

“By you two. But even then, when you say it, I know you don’t mean it like they do.”

They nod at your statement, each man leaning in to kiss your lips. The rest of the night, they kept an extra close eye on you; making sure you were fed and comfortable before falling asleep in their arms. While Eddie leaned out his bedroom window smoking a cigarette, you shot up in bed, grabbing your heart as you panted. 

“Hey! Whoa, sweetheart. It’s ok, you’re ok. It was just a nightmare.”

Silently, your head feel back against the pillow as you sobbed. He tossed the end of his smoke out into the yard, closing the window, and enveloping you in his arms. The metalhead tenderly kissed your forehead as you rolled over, pressing your face into his bare chest. 

“I know, baby. It’s ok. I’ve got you. Master’s here for you.”

##########

That following morning, Eddie gave you a shirt to wear so you could at least have on something different than yesterday. All eyes felt like they were on you as you three climbed out of his van and headed for the campus. 

“Is it just me or are there more eyes on us than normal?”

“Well, King Steve did just show up with the freak so I imagine there’s a lot of gossip there.”

You squinted towards the metalhead, pursing your lips. “I hate when you call yourself that. You aren’t a freak.”

“Y/N?”, Masie called as she waved you to her locker. 

“We’ll see you in class, alright? Everything is okay.”, Steve soothes as he tenderly pets your head. 

“Hey Maze. What’s going on?”

“I was going to ask you that.” Your best friend takes a few steps closer to you as she lowers her voice. “Is it true that you’re fucking Steve Harrington AND Eddie Munson?”

“I—what—I mean—where did you hear that?”, you ask as you stumble over your words. 

“Y/N, Mr. Harrington went to the bar last night talking about how you ‘corrupted his son’ and how delusional the three of you are. The whole town knows about it. Is-is it true? I mean I know you spend a lot of time with them but I thought they were just friends.”

“I…um… what if I was in a relationship with them both? Would that be so wrong?”

Masie’s eyes widen as she takes a step back from you. “I-I-I don’t know what to say.”

Your eyes begin to water as you slowly back away. “No. I completely understand. Um, take your time and I’m just, um, going to go to class.”

“Y/N, WAIT!”, she screams after you as you run away from her down the hallway. You don’t stop till you’re outside your first classroom which is currently being blocked by students.

“Move! Everyone out of my way!”, Mr. C pushes through the crowd and you follow close behind. 

A couple of boys were on the floor wrestling with Steve and Eddie. The desks were pushed out of the way and blood had already began staining the linoleum. A few other teachers with campus security ran in pulling everyone apart. 

“What is going on?!”, your teacher shrieked. “Mr. Munson? Mr. Harrington? Care to enlighten me?”

They were furious, you could see it reflecting in their beautiful eyes even as they tried to avoid your gaze. Another student finally piped up and pointed towards the blackboard where you and Mr. C quickly turned to look. 

In big bold letters, written in yellow chalk read the words, “Y/N Y/L/N. CLASS SLUT OF 1984.”

#########

@manda-panda-monium @sherrylyn628 @needylilgal022

@local-stoner-bitch @katethetank @danandphilequalsmemes

@alienthingstwo @sidthedollface2 @mandyjo8719

@bexreastoomuch @chelebelletx @shayeddie @anaibis

@wroteclassicaly @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

@siriuslysmoking @raptorbait529 @miarosso

@micheledawn1975 @paleidiot @unfocused81

[soulsforsales]

Professor Steven Grant x Reader

Warning: This is my first fic (Idk if that should be a warning but I am scared lol), fluff, age gap, no use of Y/N, sorry for any grammatical mistakes

Summary: You always had a weak spot for nerds but Steven Grant might just be the man of your dreams.

Pairing: Steven Grant x reader (yes, we do have Marc and Jake in the next chapters!)

Thankyou @ivystoryweaver for your ideas and support <3

Chapter 1

It is a warm Tuesday afternoon in October. You are browsing the books in the "classics" section at the bookstore. Usually, you come to the bookstore on weekends but you've decided to meet a friend this week, so here you are.

Your eyes roam the bookshelf along with your hand in a straight line until you hit something. Someone. You step back, an apology already on your lips until you turn and see the man beside you and suddenly you are at a loss for words. You stare at him.

Normally, if you run into someone at the bookstore you would just turn away and apologize, which happened a lot since you were always lost searching for your book but it wasn't a rom-com movie where anyone you accidentally stumble upon turns out to be your soulmate - but, god, right now you wish it were.

Honestly, you have seen your fair share of good-looking men, but this guy was, you dare say it, gorgeous.

He had a defined, sharp jawline with dark brown eyes, and his hair was a mess of curls. He was wearing baggy clothes but it suited him just fine and a messenger bag slung on his shoulder. 'I'm sorry,' you hear him say and he gives an apologetic smile. O.K. If you thought he was good-looking a moment ago, his smile was absolutely beaming - and it wasn't even a real smile. 'You okay?' He asks, his fingers grazing your forearm for the slightest second, bringing you back to life. He is looking down at you, confused. Really? Could he not see what he was doing to you or did he not know how good-looking he was?

You nod, saying, 'I am fine. Sorry about that.' He waves his hand in front of his face, 'No worries,' he replies with a smile. He looks a bit older than you, thirteen years or some.

You are staring at him again. You can feel yourself getting red. So embarrassing.

'That's a nice book you've got there,' he says, pointing to the book in your hands that was now wrapped around your chest. The blush on your cheeks deepens, he doesn't notice.

"Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte" you trace your fingers over the cover of the book.

'Yeah,' you say, pushing the book closer to yourself, 'you too.' Alright, you do not know why you said that, but he was holding a book and it only felt right to return the compliment.

Or maybe you are just really bad when it comes to conversations with someone who's got you fawning.

He shows the book to you, "The Ennead" it reads. Suddenly, you are intrigued. Yes, you work for a textile company but History, especially Egyptian, has always been interesting to you. And before you know it, you are both somehow in a long, elaborated conversation about the Ennead, Egyptian history, and the pyramids.

He knew so much that it left you speechless. You could only admire him as he kept spitting engrossing Egyptian facts as if it were the weather report. He talked animatedly, with his hands moving and his eyes gleaming. His hands, wow, his perfect, sleek hands were totally distracting you from his stories.

He stopped abruptly when his phone rang. He was telling you something about Ammit, the sinister goddess of the Underworld but he had to stop and pick up the call.

He held the phone close to his chest, saying, 'Looks like I'll have to leave.' He looked like he was in a hurry but he glanced at you once more before walking out the place, as if he wanted to say more.

He disappeared soon as if he'd never even been here.

Your heart is beating fast and it feels almost as if, you have never had a conversation like this one before. Maybe it was the person more than the conversation itself.

You didn't even ask for his name, you wince at the realization. You should've totally asked for his name.

Maybe you'll see him again.

For some reason, you are sure you'll see him again.

•------🌙

You are a few feet away from the coffee shop's door when you notice your friend. She's sitting at the table with someone, you can't really see who, and is typing aggressively into her laptop.

Your friend is in the last year of her University, she's a year younger than you. You always knew that University was not your thing but you'd attended it anyway because your parents wanted you to and being exceedingly wealthy, they had proposed to pay your study loans for you.

So now you have a full-time job, a good paycheck, and an apartment of your own without any piles of loans above your head. While your friend, still in Uni was drowning in projects and assignments and you knew she needed to loosen up a bit, hence, the reason you two were meeting today.

You enter the shop with a smile, but it drops the moment you notice who your friend is with. You freeze a few feet away from the table. You couldn't be sure if it was him but the resemblance was there.

Your friend looks up from her laptop, noticing you. She waves at you, grinning, which makes, whoever it is, sitting in front of her turn to you.

You almost trip. He looks even better than the last time you'd seen him. He was still wearing baggy clothes, his hair tousled and curly but it looked purposely done. And he was wearing glasses, red colored glasses perched on the top of his nose. Adorable.

You always had a weak spot for nerds but he might just be the man of your dreams.

Your friend asks you to come over and have a seat and you do. You can tell that he remembers you. He's been staring at you ever since you walked in and you can't breathe. What's happening to you?

Your friend, however, is oblivious, she introduces you to the man, telling him your name and he introduces himself, 'Steven Grant,' he says, shaking your hand clumsily. You nod. His hand, oh god, the handshake sent tingles all over your skin.

'He was just helping me with a few assignments, thank you so much for this,' your friend adds and after telling her that it's no big deal Steven leaves the table to get his order.

You watch him go. Steven Grant. You had met him at the bookstore almost a week ago and yet, you couldn't stop thinking about him. It felt foolish but you'd never, in your life, daydreamed about a guy the way you'd daydreamed about Steven Grant.

'Stop drooling,' your friend says interrupting your rail of thoughts. A blush spreads on your cheeks. You aren't drooling... are you?

'How do you know him?' You ask her

Your friend grins, 'he's my history professor.'

Your jaw drops, 'he's a professor?' You repeat, placing your hands on your chest dramatically, 'he's like everything I've ever wanted.'

She chuckles, 'You should ask him out. He's exactly your type and I am sure he's single.'

Your eyes turn to Steven who's now getting his coffee, 'how's he still single?'

'Because he's the most awkward person you'll ever meet and the only friend he has is a goldfish named 'Gus', it is one-finned or something. He loves talking about it,' your friend tells

You smile to yourself but your heart's hammering against your chest and you know you'd never have the courage to ask him out.

'I could never,' you say, biting your lower lip. Before your friend can reply Steven comes back with a flask that the barista had filled for him.

Your friend smirks as she closes her laptop and leaves the table the next moment. You silently beg her to stay but it's too late.

Steven looks at you and you can't stop blushing. You are praying that your complexion doesn't give it away. 'Correct me if I'm wrong,' he speaks sweetly, 'but... have we met before?'

Your cheeks redden, 'yeah,' you say, 'Yes actually, at the bookstore... that day, I - I had no idea that you were, would be - what a coincidence, right?' You give yourself an imaginary facepalm. Someone must remind you how to form a coherent sentence again.

'You're at University too?' He asks

You shake your head, 'Oh no, not anymore.'

Steven smiles in reply and you two fall into an awkward silence. You want to say something - you know you should say something but he hasn't stopped smiling since you arrived and you can't think straight when he's looking at you with those deep, soft, brown eyes.

Maybe you should ask him something about his job - anything would be better than staring at him like an idiot.

You open your mouth to speak but Steven cuts you off, 'that day when we met,' he says, taking his glasses off, 'I wanted to ask you something, actually...' he pauses to take a good look at your face, you can swear you are as red as a tomato by now. 'I was wondering if - if you would want to - maybe - uh, have dinner with me sometime? I was just thinking if...' You don't hear the rest of the sentence. Your breath hitches in your throat. Was he asking you out? Was Steven Grant, the man you had been reeling after - asking you out on a date? This felt unreal.

'I'm sorry,' his voice reaches your ear, interrupting your thoughts, 'I think I might be reading too much into it. I understand if you're not interested.'

Your eyes visibly widen at his words. It wasn't that at all.

'No.' You almost yell, 'I - I am interested. I want to, I mean. I would love to go on a date with you.' You are smiling hard and you can feel the butterflies rummaging in your stomach. 'If - if that's what you are implying.' You add.

This is bad.

Steven lets out a small laugh, his cheeks turning pink, 'Yes. Yes, th - that's what I meant.'

You grin, not because you want to but because you can't help it. He's so nice and so absolutely beautiful.

Steven fiddles with his sleeves nervously, saying, 'Well, there's this really nice restaurant down the street. They have all kinds of food options. I - I was thinking maybe we could, you know, check it out.'

You nod, still smiling. Still feeling the butterflies in your stomach. He looked ten times better when he smiled.

'Yeah,' you say, 'yeah, sounds great.'

'I'll see you tomorrow then? If - if that's okay with you. I get off work at 5'

'Tomorrow's good.'

'Yeah?' He's smiling with his eyes now, crinkles appearing around them and oh, you could just die.

Steven's expression softens as he starts to get up, 'I am terribly sorry, love,' he says, with a weak smile, 'I would really like to stay but I have to leave now - I have a meeting at work. I could, uh, text you the details, though?'

You tell him that it's alright and exchange phone numbers.

'See you tomorrow, then?' He asks, sliding his messenger bag down his shoulder, his curls toss as he fixes the strap and you fight the urge to push your fingers through them. You really wanted to.

'It's a date then,' you say, biting your lower lip. It was hard to contain your giddiness.

'I'll call you.' He says, passing you a little smile before finally walking out the shop.

Oh my god. It happened! You are going out on a date with Steven Grant. You are acting like a teenager getting asked out for the first time but you're too happy to care. You are happy - excited even - for a date, you haven't felt this like this in a long time.

Your friend finally comes back to the table, holding a sandwich in one hand and a coffee cup in another.

'You were ages.' You say, adding Steven's phone number into your contacts

'Was I?' Your friend replies, slurping her drink, 'well, the barista was super cute - not really my fault, besides, what were you chatting with Mr. Grant about?'

You smile. Your cheeks hurt from smiling now but you can't help it, 'I am going on a date.' You tell her, 'With your professor.'

Tagging: @wittyjasontodd (I didn't know if you'd wanted to be tagged since this is not DC related but here it is!), @fandxmslxt69 (bcs I was inspired by your math professor lol >.<)

Anyone who wants to be tagged, just lmk!

[autismsupermusicalassassin]

the santi problem 🌙

Moonknight single dad au

ft. Dad!santiago

plot: when shopping a flee market with “auntie” Layla in the park they come across a familiar face

A/N: dad!santi belongs to @reallyrallyauthor and I don’t own anything but Isaac Randall lockley Grant Spector also holy mother of comics this is a long one!

<Prev. Next>

GLUNK!! As Jake wince at the fact isaac tries to throw his plastic bowl into the sink. “Mijo no we don’t do that” he told his messy son who is just smiling without a care in the world, you see today Layla is coming to visit for a day or two and the flat kitchen is kinda a mess and there’s hardly anything to eat due to the recent setbacks that they been dealing with taking his son off the high chair and into his playpen Isaac crawls fast to play with his bunny and a taweret stuff animal while Jake reculting force to clean up the dishes while hear Steven trying hard not to laugh which Jake looks at him in the reflection of the kitchen knife glaring at him “ríe y mueres” he scold making Steven to be quiet. “Jake give him a break” Marc said in the headspace “Layla seen the flat a big mess before Isaac became involved in their lives.

Marc took control of the body and cleans up some stuff as a knock on the door “she’s here early” Marc mumbles as he dries his hands as he opens the door to reveal Layla standing there her curly hair pulled up into a ponytail as she smiles “hello Marc” she said giving him a hugs, which Marc gave one right back to her, it as if they were still a married couple even though after the events with harrow and his fallowers in Egypt and such, they remained good friends no matter what “hey Layla” Marc gives a tight hug before Letting her go,so she could greet Isaac “ your here earlier today” he said with small smile at her “well I had to get ahead start since there’s gonna be a bit of traffic for a flee market that’s happening in the park” she replied leaving Marc to muttered ‘flee market?’ in confusion as Layla turn to see Isaac in his playpen making his bunny and taweret stuffie kiss causing her to chuckle“now there’s my quote unquote nephew?” Isaac looks up and squels in excitement to sees his “aunt” dropping his stuff animals and attempting to walk towards Layla but crawls towards her instead , she picks him up and lets him play with her loose curls “looks like someone is happy to see his auntie” layla joke bouncing isaac causing him to laugh “Layla what do you mean by flee market?” Marc ask her while picking up whatever toys his son threw on the floor “oh there’s a flee market happening in the park” she replied with a shock expression “I’m surprised Steven didn’t tell you about it”

with that Marc side eye the mirror as Steven throws his hands up in defense “mate that slipped my mind” answer honestly and Jake just snickers in the background. “Must’ve slipped his mind because we were busy finding a new day job that isn’t Jake’s driving” Marc replied as smirk at Jake’s cursed words in Spanish “plus we’re taking care of the baby anyways and trying to say dada or walk so…” isaac blows a raspberry at him making Layla holding back a snicker when a baffled Marc looks at them “well are you coming?” She asked him, sighing Marc softly smiles and nods when the three of them left to the flee market.

the market was lively in the park it reminded of him and Jake times when they were back in the U.S seeing farmer market at certain locations in cities where he just browsed around and similar to Egypt flee markets , “sir would you like a handcrafted jewelry for your lady friend?” A shop owner asked with a kind smile which Marc responded “no thank you she’s already perfect and doesn’t need anything else” he said fixing his cap as Marc turns to see Layla checking out the books while smiling that the stroller hood is up protecting Isaac eyes and the suns heat which bizarrely tries to make his baby nap as he about to approach them he suddenly spotted khonshu wearing the Mr.Knight suit and sitting on the bench making marc muttered a curse words as he goes up to the moon god crossed arms knowing that Khonsu wanted to talk to ether him or Jake about something.

Meanwhile, Santiago was in the market alone and being a bit grumpy because he and his family were supposed to be together today on their vacation only to have his toddler getting sick with a stomach ache and a pregnant wife taking care of his son. Sighing Santiago basically browses the market in the park to find something for his wife and kid only to find hand crafted stuff and foods that he thinks they would enjoy it , “come on kiddo you gotta burp up” santi heard a voice and turns to a curly hair woman,Egyptian desenct, (Santiago hasn’t been in Cairo during one of the delta missions to know) has a burp towel on her shoulder while holding a baby boy wham by the looks of it is trying to get them to burp on the burp towel but she was failing to get the baby to do so, “how do they get you to burp so was?” She mumbles giving him a sigh and then starts walking up to her knowing that it shouldn’t be his business but she was struggling so he gonna help her with the baby burping issue.

Layla was struggling with this trying to deal with the boys baby son “come on kiddo come on” she tried the baby talk to no avail Isaac was refusing to burp for her “you need help?” Layla turns to see Santiago walking up surprising her “yea I think so but-” Layla gets cut off as she witnesses Santiago gots Isaac to burp surprising her “there you go kid” Santiago says as he hands Isaac back to Layla “how did you do that?” She asked him , he smiled “had practiced with my kid when he was around this buddy’s age” santi said trying to hand Isaac over to Layla when Isaac was blowing spit bubbles and babbling “huh seems like your kid likes me or something” she blinks in surprise “oh no Isaac isn’t my son” Layla exclaimed “I’m his aunt” that caught him off guard “oh sorry I thought-” santi was about say until marc shouted “Layla , Isaac”

When he approached Isaac smiles and reaches for his dad to get to him forgetting that Santiago was right there and ignoring his staring at Marc , santi recognized Marc from before “Steven Lockley” he said making Marc finally notice him and frowns at what he said, then he heard Steven and Jake speak up “bloody hell it’s that man we met Jake” “Mierda, Steven your right it is him” yep Marc instantly knew now that both his alters were co-fronting each other, one day in America when Marc was asleep in the headspace and that’s how this man gotten the mix up of his alters names “uh hi, who are you?” Marc asked as a confused Layla realizing that she too hadn’t gotten santi’s name either and Santiago sighs “I’m Santiago Gracia” he answers arm crossed and looks at Marc like his a criminal or some shit “and I have a bone pick with you Steven Lockley-“ “actually it’s Marc Spector” Marc correct him as Isaac sees khonshu over Marc’s shoulder slowly starting to tear up at the sight of the moon god.

“okay “Marc” can you tell me why my son suddenly saying khon after our first meeting? my wife thinks it’s just a phase” Santiago gets straight to the point and Layla is about to prevent this from going out of hand but Marc stops her “look man that wasn’t me that accidentally caused your toddler to say Khonsu-“ Marc told Santiago while getting Isaac to calm down so his little baby doesn’t start a big crying fit not only from Khonsu standing behind Marc but this conversation that is about to cause scene if it doesn’t died down “it’s hard to explain but I just don’t mean to sound rude, but I have no memory of meeting your kid or anything like that but all I have to say is I’m sorry for Steven and Lockley accident you and your family encounter with them” and then Santiago takes a deep breath and says “Iforgive you…for now” both men nodded in understanding “I have to go now to check on my wife to see if she’s alright” santi replied and bids them a goodbye as leaves them be.

“that was…” Layla said to Marc “weird I know but that’s what world we live in layla” he turns to look at her as Isaac started to be fussy causing him to get back in his stroller with a toy to be distracted while Marc and Layla continue shopping at the flee market while having a adult conversation “so.. what did Khonsu want ?” Layla asked,Marc gives her a surprise look “Marc I’m not blind, I noticed you walked over to a park bench where he was seen sitting there” Layla said “I’m Taweret avatar remember?” He rolled his eyes playfully, “we know that” he said bluntly “to answer your first question ….” He sighs readjusting his cap “Khonsu wanted to talk about trying to go after a pervert and some other gross guys in East London tonight…” Marc wasn’t happy about it but at least the usual babysitter is coming over to watch him tonight “to be honest…I’m need a break from doing this moon knight stuff just to rest” she nods sympathizing at his situation and hand him a chocolate ice cream bar “at least you have the suit to protect you from the harm” marc takes the ice cream bar and takes a bite of it , “true” he says “but it isn Going to be easy since taking a role of a three dads in one body situation here” groans and looks at his son and smiles “your a good dad Marc..and so are Jake and Steven “ Layla pointed out softy as they leave the flee market with baggies of food and vegan food on the way back to the apartment.

“you know something?”

“what?”

“that Santiago guy remind me of you on our first meeting before learning the truth of our meeting”

“oh my god Layla I’m 36!”

tagged: @reallyrallyauthor, @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @itsmiguel2099 @angel-of-the-moons, @guruan,

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER FIVE

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

masterlist | previous | next chapter

CHAPTER FIVE - TIES AND STRINGS THAT BIND.

The late afternoon sun painted long shadows across the cityscape, casting an amber glow over the bustling streets of London. After his peculiar encounter with the enigmatic Mira Batala-Carter, Marc Spector finally returned to his apartment located just a bus ride away from Trafalgar Square. He staggered into the dimly lit unit marked 502 on the fifth floor, his footsteps echoing in the silence of their cozy living space. The long flight had left him weary, jetlag gnawing at his bones from all the excitement that unfolded. 

Marc let out a deep sigh as he glanced over at Steven Grant’s reflection looking at him from the nearby mirror. 

"You've had enough of the spotlight for one day, huh?" Marc’s alter grinned, his arms folded as he watched his head mate push the luggage beside their wooden cabinet with his right foot, not even bothering to unpack.

"Yeah, I need a break”, Marc chuckled weakly, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him. “You go ahead and be the life of the party"

Immediately surrendering control, Steven took the reins as he was already bustling around the apartment, completely at ease. Ignoring the chaotic mess that is his study and bedroom, he deposited his duffle bag on the couch. 

Wait until Mira sees this mess of an apartment, Marc piped into their headspace once more. You should send her a picture.

Steven flipped a bird at Marc’s direction in the mirror reflection, which was uncharacteristic of his British upbringing yet his teasing reaction was expected. Shrugging off his charcoal-gray suit with slow, deliberate movements, he changed into a crisp white t-shirt before slipping into a pair of dark pants. His stomach then growled in mild hunger, prompting him to pad into the kitchen for a light meal, selecting a bowl for what would soon become a delightful reprieve from the day's fatigue.

Vegan cereal filled the ceramic vessel, and he poured fresh almond milk over the golden clusters, watching them slowly soften as they embraced the creamy liquid. It was simple, yet comforting, and he savored every spoonful. But it wasn't long before Steven’s thoughts wandered to the sweet delicacies Mira had generously shared with him and Marc back at the airport. Her exciting recommendation weighed on his mind, and curiosity got the better of him.

He retrieved the ziplock bag of treats from their duffle bag and perused the contents, the vibrant colors and exotic flavors beckoning him. With a grin, he decided to involve Marc in the tasting adventure. 

“What do you reckon we should try first?” Steven spoke excitedly as Marc's eyes widened from his silver spoon reflection.

“You’re vegan, right?”, Marc replied as he surveyed the array of options before them. “I think you should go for the dried mangoes first”

Steven, ever conscious of his vegan lifestyle, appreciated that Marc’s particular choice aligned with his dietary preferences. With eager anticipation, he plucked a slice and bit into the chewy fruit. The taste sensation was an unexpected revelation. The dried mangoes burst forth with a symphony of flavors—sweet, tangy, and slightly chewy. Steven's eyes widened, and he exchanged an amazed glance with Marc. It was as if a tropical paradise had been captured in a single, delectable bite. The decadence of this newfound treat made their eyes twinkle with delight, and they couldn't resist reaching for more, savoring the afternoon's unexpected adventure into the world of exotic flavors.

Like night and day, the two of them had developed a remarkable understanding over the past few weeks, unlike the first few months when they were still sharing lives apart from each other. Marc’s life was a whirlwind of chaos and unpredictability, and every time he thought he had found some semblance of stability, it slipped through his fingers like sand. 

Steven, on the other hand, was the steady anchor in Marc's turbulent life. He was the one who managed the day-to-day affairs, kept their finances in check, and ensured that Marc didn't do anything too reckless. He was also the one who helped Marc cope with his dissociative identity disorder, a condition that had plagued them both for years.

After finishing the bowl of cereal and putting it away in the dishwasher, the full force of jet lag clung to them like a heavy shroud. Without further ado, Steven (and Marc) finally retired to their bedroom, taking the former’s previous precautions of taping their door, spreading sand around their bed and tying their foot to the wall post to prevent sleepwalking. Against their will, it had become a shared routine born of necessity.

Marc and Steven knew that they weren’t alone in the body. Their last battle as Moon Knight in the streets of Cairo cemented that fact as the unknown third alter made his unexpected appearance. While the two of them and Layla were on the doors of death at the hands of Arthur Harrow’s newfound power, the mysterious entity acted on his role as the body’s protector and saved them all from a sure demise. 

You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you? Marc spoke gently in Steven’s head as the latter finally collapsed into their bed.

“Can’t help it”, Steven sighed, remembering the night Khonshu freed them from their servitude to the moon god. “It would’ve been nice if we knew who really saved us that night”

I’m not really sure if I would want to know. Marc murmured, slowly blinking his eyes closed as he and Steven slowly succumbed to their well deserved respite. Determined to not think too much about the events of the past month, their shared consciousness slowly drifted to their encounter with Mira Batala-Carter instead. They collectively recalled her with fondness - her graceful presence, her captivating beauty, the way she had intrigued them both – these thoughts brought a soft, endearing smile to their faces, even as sleep began to claim them.

The next morning, however, would bring a new twist to the tale. Marc awoke to the soft chime of his phone. He reached over to his bedside table and groggily picked up his phone, flipping it open and squinting at the bright screen. It was a text message from Layla, his ex-wife.

I’m back in Cairo. Hope you got home safe.

His mood immediately sombered, his emotions shifting as though he'd been doused in cold water. It had only been a day after his divorce was finalized for Christ’s sake, and the idea of entering another relationship shouldn't even begin to cross his mind. Yet the high walls he built within himself were effortlessly brought down by Mira - the very woman who he recently met on the plane from last night and shouldn’t even be the sole, primary occupant of his head. 

Marc, what's wrong? Steven called out in their headspace, sensing Marc’s ongoing turmoil. He was briefly puzzled on why Mira was currently on the forefront of their shared thoughts, until his eyes finally caught Layla’s latest correspondence on their phone. Ever the perceptive one, Steven started to piece together his alter’s current dilemma.

You know, Marc, sometimes we can't help how we feel. Steven spoke softly, ever empathetic as he offered his counsel. It's okay to be drawn to someone. You don't have to beat yourself up about it.

"It shouldn’t even happen in the first place”, Marc ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed. “Our mind’s all over the place already. I don’t need to drag her into our collective shit”

I mean, you don't have to dive headfirst into anything. Steven’s voice was calm and understanding. You can take your time, get to know her as a friend first. If it's meant to be, it'll happen naturally.

“No, Steven”, Marc softly shook his head, cursing himself for falling so easily for Mira's charms. He couldn't help it; her beauty and intelligence were truly captivating. "I need to keep my distance. Hell, I should be better than this”

I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Steven nodded, his eyes filled with empathy. You deserve happiness and companionship just like anyone else. 

“I don't need that”, Marc shook his head, his frustration evident. "I need to get our life together, and I can't afford to get involved with someone right now, especially with our current circumstances"

Steven nodded in understanding, although wishing that Marc would have a different perspective. He knew that Marc's fear of being rejected due to his condition was a powerful motivator for his self-imposed emotional distance. 

We'll take it one step at a time, lad. Steven continued to reassure. Just remember that you don't have to go through this alone, I’m here for you.

But Marc’s resolved hardened, very determined to protect his fragile heart. He couldn't afford to get too close to anyone and let his guard down. Keeping his new acquaintance, Mira, at arm's length is becoming an evident solution to his problem. Friendship would be the only connection he will allow to develop between them, no matter how much his heart might yearn for more.

That morning, Steven took the reins of their shared life to hopefully keep Marc’s stormy thoughts at bay. He started to go about his normal routine, dutifully feeding their pet goldfishes, Gus II and Fig. Settling down before the office desk, he opened his laptop and started to work on his CV. He started updating the details regarding his work experience and past education, and the possibility of securing the tour guide position that Mira potentially offered for the British Museum was becoming too enticing of an opportunity to pass up.  

As Steven typed away, he couldn't help but think about Mira. Her passion for her work and her kindness had left a quite deep impression on both him and Marc, and the prospect of working closely with her was both exciting and intimidating. He knew he had to be at his best to secure the job, so he plans to put his best foot forward.

After a few revisions, Steven finally keyed in Mira’s email address from the calling card she gave to Marc and clicked send to his composed email introduction. He can only hope that this upcoming job opportunity would allow him to see you more often and get to know you better.

Meanwhile in a bustling corner of London, you were deeply absorbed in your role as the curator of the British Museum. The burst of caffeine energy you received from your morning coffee was deeply focused on receiving and cataloging the latest shipment of Egyptian artifacts and relics, which was a crucial addition to the upcoming Ennead exhibit scheduled to open next week. 

Your passion for your work was evident in the way you handled each artifact with care, your fingers tracing the intricate details of ancient history. You couldn't wait to share them with the world.

Most of the artifacts for the Ennead exhibit had been recovered by the Scarlet Scarab - a mysterious figure known to the people of Egypt and the antiquities community. Albeit anonymously, you had received emails from the enigmatic vigilante, explaining that it was her way of returning "stolen goods" to their rightful owners and ensuring they were used for the benefit of the community. It was a curious and unexpected turn of events, but one that filled you with gratitude.

Taking a brief break, you leaned back in your office chair and let your thoughts wander. The museum had always been your sanctuary, a place where you felt most connected to the past. But lately, it seemed that your world was expanding to include new acquaintances like Marc Spector and Steven Grant. 

Your laptop chimed with a new email notification, pulling you out of your reverie. With a curious smile, you opened the email and the sender's name immediately caught your attention.

Subject: Application for Museum Tour Guide Position - Ennead Exhibition

Dear Mira,

I hope this email finds you well. I am writing to express my keen interest in the Museum Tour Guide position for the upcoming Ennead exhibition at the British Museum. As a passionate advocate for Egyptian culture and history, I am excited about the opportunity to contribute to the visitor experience and help bring this extraordinary exhibition to life.

I’ve worked previously with the National Art Gallery, where I have developed a deep appreciation for the cultural significance and historical context of artifacts. I am confident that my ability to communicate complex ideas in an accessible and engaging manner, combined with my enthusiasm for the subject matter, makes me a strong candidate for this role.

Please find my attached CV providing more details about my qualifications and experience. I look forward to meeting you this Saturday to discuss the job opportunity further. If you could kindly disclose the dress code for that occasion, I highly appreciate it.

Thank you for considering my application. 

Sincerely,

Steven Grant

You promptly composed a response, a smile tugging at your lips as your fingers danced across the keyboard. As you hit send, a flutter of anticipation you haven’t experienced in a long time coursed through you.

Subject: Application for Museum Tour Guide Position - Ennead Exhibition

Hello Steven,

I’m delighted to receive your application. Please come to the British Museum after lunch at 1PM for the museum tour guide interview. The dress code for this occasion is business smart-casual.

I look forward to meeting you this Saturday.

Sincerely,

Mira Batala-Carter

The days passed quickly, and Saturday finally arrived with a sense of anticipation. As the curator, you were tasked with welcoming the final batch of tour guide applicants. You stood in the grand entrance hall of the British Museum, where a diverse group of eager tour guide aspirants began to gather before you, their eyes filled with anticipation and enthusiasm.

They all had a common dream – to become a tour guide at one of the most prestigious museums in the world.

You had meticulously prepared for a mini-program before you got into the actual process of the job interviews, where you would briefly introduce yourself and explain the application process to the attendees.

“May I have everyone’s attention, please?” you politely called out to everyone in the vicinity. “We will start the program in about ten minutes. Thank you all for your patience”

You ended with a quick smile, walking away briefly towards the double door entrance on your way out to the nearest cafe to grab some much needed caffeine. But before you could even take the next step, a strong body unwittingly collided against your own, prompting you and the culprit to fall down together on the cement stairway.

“Oh, bugger! I am so sorry”, a soft, British accent greeted your ears before muttering under his breath. “I’m such a plonker, I should’ve looked where I was going”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it”, you said breathlessly, brushing off dust from your beige pencil skirt as you felt muscular arms slowly hoisting you up. A shock of unruly dark hair greeted your vision, with but a few curly strands framed carefully over his forehead. Your eyes trailed down to finally meet his familiar striking brown eyes surrounded by a subtle network of laugh lines. 

“Marc?” you gasped at the eerily familiar man before you, his shoulders hunched low as his own eyes widened in recognition. 

“Not him, sorry”, his British speaking voice startled you once more as he spoke, and you were definitely puzzled by the way he’s carried himself right now. “Although, he has told me a great deal about you” 

Your eyes then flickered with recognition, as if two puzzle pieces were finally solved together. The resemblance between him and Marc Spector is quite uncanny, as if they were just one and the same person.

“Steven Grant?” you muttered, prompting the man before you to let out an apologetic smile, looking slightly disheveled in comparison to his twin brother.

“Spelled with a V, yes. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mira”.

END OF CHAPTER FIVE.

masterlist | previous | next chapter

[infiniitefrequency]

@ayoungeststark liked for a steven stark starter:

The landing had been rough, to say the least. Falling out of a hole the sky in center of Manhattan directly into the Hudson River would do that to you. The fact he was still breathing was a miracle to him at all. After being eye to eye with a super novaing Scarlet Witch, surviving wasn't on the menu.

He was running on auto pilot at this pint, especially with given how his suit's internal systems weren't wanting to respond, not that he had much voice left to give commands, so at this point he was flying blind.

He emerged from the water a mess of sparks and leaking fluid, half in a daze, at least one eardrum burst, Steven just wanted to get home. The only thing he could think at this point was get home, make sure there was a home left to get to.

It took. twice as long as normal, the rocket boosters working at best at 25% efficiency, but eventually he landed on the landing pad of Stark Tower. He stumbled forward, already starting to shed the pieces of his armor that weren't fused to his skin, making it almost to the door, when all the wind knocked out of him finally, adrenaline depleted.

Falling to his knees against the glass, he called out hoarsely, "Kali, send- send distress signal."

"Sending distress beacon now sir. Connecting to Stark systems-"

[dexteritywins]

untitled || todoroki fluff

a/n : uh so i know almost everyone love character x reader or character x character so dont get mad when you find out its x oc. her quirk is called cosmic energy heres the desc i came up with

- allows user to take and store forms of energy such as light, sound and heat from their surroundings which is than stored in their hair. it can be released to used a weapon or to propel themselves. as long as they dont have too much taken energy in me my hair goes back to normal. and the user can also put stuff in their hair and it works like lions mane (steven universe)

content warning : cussing, it sucks at the beg and gets a little better, you might get secondhand embarrassment, i used ‘i’ super often, oc is aizawas (adopted) daughter like every mha oc

timeline : its like right after they move into dorms like barely a week

————————————————————————

“hey todoroki can i do something with you real quick?” i walk up to him as soon as i walk into homeroom. he looks up at me.  “do what?” i had already set my bag down at my desk, now im pulling out my phone so i can show him an example.

“its trend from like a long time ago, this video is from 2023 i believe. but i just feel like it be cool.” i show him the video and its a tiktok of the ‘you drew stars around my scars’.

“and im not forcing you or anything i just thought itd be cute or something.” i say putting my hand on the back of head. “sure.”

‘ah! what did i hear him right?’

“wait what?” being a bit shocked he said yes so quickly. i just have to double check, maybe even triple.

“i mean sure, do you have a pen or marker?”

“uhm yea i do,” i put my hand in my hair, my hair lighting up around where my arm is, looking for a pen, “got it!” its just a basic bic pen so its easy to wash off.

making sure one more time, “wait are serious fine with me like touching your scar and just your face in general?” triple check it is.

he gets out of his chair, “yes i am fine with it.” then he sits on the floor, waiting for me to follow suit.

‘oh i didnt think of sitting on the floor, i was just gonna pull up another chair but that works!’

i quickly sit in front of him, by now midoriya, denki, sero, yao-momo, and bakugo have shown up, not paying any attention to us. but tsu and uraraka are paying attention.

“can you like hold you hair up like this?” i lift my bangs on the left side of my face, todoroki just nods and does it, “thank you!”

“mhm”

i lift my hand to his face, barely cupping his cheek, guessing his face is so warm from his quirk. since the cap was already taken off my pen so i raised it up to his face and start drawing stars.

barely had drawn 5 stars, “woah are you guys kissing!?” denki practically yells, catching everyones attentions. they all practically run over to us.

everyone who is standing - everyone here by now, except bakugo - had gotten over here. “no we are not kissing, shes drawing stars on my face.” todoroki speaks as i continue my progress, my face getting a little red. 

“it was a trend in the 2020s, of an american song by taylor swift.” i explain a little, not focusing on if im right and instead concentrating on drawing, im not about to let myself mess up.

most of the girls just kinda watched as i continued and everyone went back to their conversations. at some point a got a little to close to his eye and in turn he shut them. “sorry”

“youre fine. it just feels weird like i wanna laugh.” but instead, pulling the pen away for a moment, i laughed, “so it tickles?” 

“i guess so.”

by the time i had finished i had drawn over 30 stars all over his scar. “ahh stop this literally looks so cute! can i take a picture to show you what it looks like?” todoroki just nods.

picking my phone up from beside me and take a considerably good picture, “looks good right?” i turn my phone to him. now i think he looks even better than usual but i dont have to say that.

he just stares at it for a minute and then slightly smiles, “yeah i guess it does.” i can practically hear all the girl melt at that. i take one more picture with him smiling, definitely favoriting that later.

“well if you wanna wash it off you can, you just have to use soap.” he doesnt even think about as he shakes his head.

“ill just wash it off in the shower.” at that, i thought i was gonna die. like hes gonna keep it on all day, i mean i would too but…

the tell tale sign of homeroom offically starting can be heard, the door to the room opening. in walks aizawa with midnight and present mic. we all rush to our seats. iida forgot to tell us homeroom was starting.

“today we are-“ aizawa sensei pauses as he looks up, “todoroki what is on your face?”

“stars, am i not allowed to have drawing on my face? i can go wash it off.” he moves to get up before our teacher starts again.

“no no youre fine i was just wondering why.” 

“oh because satomi-san had an idea.” then i can immediately tell present mic is trying not to laugh as aizawa quickly sends me a look, like hes mad.

i cover my face out of embarrassment, ‘oh, cant wait to go home.’ i cross my fingers hoping he doesnt chew me out once we go home.

“mhm. continuing…”

- lunch time -

iida had seem to forget about this morning. just all of our morning classes.“todoroki-kun what are those stars on your face?” 

me personally, i am dumbfounded, “were you not here this morning, in homeroom?” i quickly say before todoroki has a chance of answering. i apologize for cutting him off before the pro heros son could even start.

“what do you mean?” uraraka physically facepalms, then midoriya follows suit. “i was present in homeroom, i was the first one there.”

“todoroki-kun literally explained it at the very start of homeroom.” uraraka then explains in place of todoroki having food in his mouth.

once midoriya finished chewing his food he piped up, “can i see the video. i was gonna ask this morning but you were busy drawing.” i nod pull my phone out of my hair and show him and uraraka the video.

“oh so its like supposed to make people more comfortable or confident with their scars.” putting my phone back in my hair, i nod. “i also just thought it would make todoroki look even cuter.”

urarakas jaw drops, all eyes on me. then i slowly process what i just said. i can feel my whole face heating up, “i mean everyone knows todorokis’ attractive so its not like calling him cute is weird.” im just digging the hole deeper, someone needs to cover it now.

“ok let me try that again, i just mean that like i believe, at least, every girl in our class thinks he’s attractive. right ochaco-chan?” i pray that shes the same wavelength as me. she nods, thank god.

“and so just…” i dont even know what im saying at this point. raising my hands up to my face i say, “nevermind just take that how you want to.” beside me i hear hagakure giggle.

“someones blushing~” she teases. turning to her i give her the dirtiest looks i can muster right now, but since shes, yanno invisible, it goes straight to bakugo. “what was that for loser? hah?” 

i finished my food a while ago, taken my dishes back to the counter so in front of me theres a clear space. i just lean forward, letting my head practically slam on the table. 

“are you okay?!” uraraka paniced voice says. i just hold a thumbs up, then reach in my hair, once again, for some gum.

i make the wrapper into a heart and give it to - after playing a quick and unlucky round of enie menie miny moe - todoroki. i just know my whole face and neck is red, confidence is key here. i sit up and before i say anything, “are you sure youre okay? thats a big mark on your forehead?” todoroki points out, across from me.

“yup, mhm totally fine, excuse me.” i get up and as i do, bakugo looks up, immediately starts laughing his ass off. i flip him off and  walk to the bathroom. 

-bathroom -

‘literally what was that. now hes gonna think i have a crush on him and i definitely dont. at least i think, maybe, i dont know. why wont this go away?!’ im trying to get the red mark on my face to go away but it just wont.

the bathroom door opens, making this even better, in walks mina. “girl what are doing?” i turn around and show her the mark. “it wont go away. and then i called todoroki cute and attractive to his face.” i cover my face with my hands again. 

she wants over to me, put her hands on my shoulders, “youre joking.” 

“im really not. so series of events real quick. im at the table, iida asks what the stars on todorokis face are, i show midoriya the video i got the idea from, he point out the purpose and then i say that i thought it would make him looks cuter too, as hes sitting right in front of me, i try to give hagakure a look and end up doing to bakugo, then i slam my head on the table, made a gum wrapper heart and ended up having to give it todoroki.” i take a really deep breath. 

“damn girl,” mina quickly glances at my forehead, “well the mark is gone.” i lift my hand to feel it and yeah its gone.

“thank god, now i have to go back cause then midoriyas ass is gonna get worried.” the pinkette just laughs, “have fun!” 

before i walk out i remember something. “youre joking…”

“what?”

“me and todoroki are paired up today for training, im gonna start bawling my eyes out.” 

- lunch room -

“its gone” i say getting back into my seat. “the marks gone.” 

- end of the day, dorms -

sitting on the floor playing mario kart with kirishima, mina, and sero, im starting to get mad. “i swear to god! stop throwing green shells at me fuck faces!” another one hits me, yell just out of anger.

“what the fuck! why am i the only one getting fucked this is some bullshit, 12th place cause of you absolute losers!” they all laugh and i can hear denki laughing behind me. 

“no because all of you always target me, i swear to fuck! you all decide, yeah let just fuck satomi over all game! here you play!” i turn and shove the controller at the blonde behind me. 

staying in my spot, denki sits next to me, playing as my character. “you get one race, i need to calm down.” 

“uh-huh, works for me.”

i get up to, i dont even know. going to the kitchen, i might look for some snacks, and just stand their, staring at the fridge hoping something shows up. “you shouldnt leave that open, it wastes electricity.”

“u.a. is rich i think theyll be fine man.” i close the door and turn towards the voice i didnt really process, its midoriya. “hey. do you have snacks?” 

“huh?”

“do. you. have. snacks. i want some.” i lean my back against the counter, thinking of people who have snacks. well their all down here so cant get any from them. “no i dont think i do, at least any you would like.”

“do you have chips like just original any brand?” midoriya shakes his head. sighing i go back to the living room, “hand it over kaminari.” he pouts before giving my controller back.

soon enough - not even one race later - im raging again. “every single fucking time, im the only one getting fucked, over and over! kirishima stop! agh! WHAT THE HELL YOU ARE SUCH BITCHES!”

from all my yelling we’ve amasses a crowd, consisting of midoriya, denki, bakugo, jiro, tsu, tokoyami, and yao-momo. and at this point im standing.

“YOU MOTHER FUCKERS I SWEAR TO GOD! GO FUCK SOMEONE ELSE OVER! MINA YOU BITCH THE HELL!? AGHH YOU ALL FUCKING SUCK, YOU WAIT FOR ME TO GET IN 2ND OR 1ST THEN ALL FUCK ME! I HATE ALL OF YOU!” 

i had noticed some of my classmates watching but who i hadnt noticed was todoroki coming down here. “eijiro kirishima you best keep one eye open tonight, same with you sero. im gonna fuckin get ya i swear.”

“how long has this been going on?” 

“about 20 probably 30 minutes.”

the race had finally finished and overall i came 9th while in order kirishima, sero and mina in 1st, 2nd and 3rd. a noise of just pure anger comes from me as a throw my controller at the ground.

except i dont here it hit the ground and its weirdly cold now. i look down to see ice, it caught the controller from slamming on the ground and breaking. ‘youre fucking joking me right now’ i just stare straight ahead, not really hearing anything, tune all their laughing and talking out. im about to start crying if i dont calm down right now. 

trying to do my breathing, i can feel it getting a little hot then going back to regular temperature. i pull my hands to my face, feeling a tear roll down my cheek. “im done, denki you play or something.” i walk of to the elevator but i can hear footsteps behind me. ‘open faster dammit, ok, walk instead, yup lets go.’ quickly putting on my slides near the door, i walk out and just go on a walk. 

so theres this thing i do that if i get too mad i start crying, i know “youre a hero in training, you need to get that under control” but it just happens. by the time i get back to the dorms only the girls are left downstairs so i just go straight to my room. instead of being able to enter my room, todoroki is blocking my door.

[trivial-pokemon-ramblings]

So now that Legends ZA got another trailer, I wanted to give my thoughts on the game as a whole. I also want to give my hopes and whatever the antonym is called for this game (under the cut).

I think ZA doesn’t look like what I expected. I didn’t really like how SV looked, so I’m not a fan of the visuals. The starters are interesting choices. I would have liked it more if it were an Industrial Revolution time period, but it’s whatever. The battle mechanics are really intruiging. I like the battle system more than in other games. And that’s it.

1. Diantha

I want Diantha to get a better character than what we got in XY. As champions usually are, they’re more on the fleshed out side of Pokemon characters (ie Cynthia, Steven, Iris, N, etc.). Diantha goes into the least fleshed out Champions camp like Lance (unfortunately) and Wallace (unfortunately). Most of her character (in my opinion) is based off of her manga and anime counterparts. I’d love to know more about her.

2. More megas

Is there anything to say here? I think everyone in this fandom understands.

3. Xerneas and Yveltal

It’s Kalos. Zygarde, Yveltal, and Xerneas are a part of the Coordinate Trio. I don’t know the fanmade term anymore. Anyways, give me more lore.

4. AZ and Floette.

It’s called ZA.

5. I saw the holograms, and it reminds me of Lysandre.

6. Emmet.

Don’t make me think that Emmet is just grieving Ingo back in Unova. Just give me a happiness.

7. Descendants(?)

If this is in the far future, as in XY characters are dead, I want to see their descendants. If we got ancestors in PLA, then I think it’s rational to believe that we’ll get to see the descendants.

7.5. Lance x Diantha confirmation (100% copium)

8. An emphasis on Diancie

The sun dial in the Olympia city looks similar to Diancie. The whole Diancie/Diantha association is interesting to me. I loved the Paladin Diantha suit in Masters. Diancie is my favorite legendary in all of Kalos (maybe in all of Pokemon and that does include mythicals too). Diancie got a mega evolution too. It’s way too marketable important to not have a slight emphasis on Diancie.

I hope that my Lance x Diantha ship can get even more fuel in cannon. I mean, I have Masters and Journeys.

As for what I don’t want:

1. A sideline of the XY story

I want Calem and/or Serena to have a Red situation. Along with the “rivals”, I’d love to see them grown up.

2. New forms

I don’t want new forms that are like the Violet Paradox mons. Those things were stupid. I hated it.

3. Remembering Hoopa and Volcanion

I hate these stupid legendaries! I wish them to be forgotten. Fuck their movies. I hate them.

4. An additive legendary to an already established trio/duo.

I don’t want another Enamorous situation. I think Enamorous pulled it off because it added to the motif of the Four Holy Beasts that the original Kami Trio had. I don’t think we can add another to idk…the Dream duo (Cresselia and Darkrai).

5. Mega Mewtwo Z and Mega Charizard Z

They’re attention whores.

6. Mess with the lore

Lore is the one thing I came to this fandom for. I love learning the lore of video games. It’s the reason why I like the Legend of Zelda. It’s the reason why I have a situationship with Fire Emblem. It’s why I keep coming back to Kriby. It’s the lore that I’m interested in. I don’t want them to mess with the lore more than they already did.

[hifithepanda]

The Perpetual Bond- 7/10

First in the Oliver Harper Trilogy

*Old Review*

The Perpetual Bond was performed by Peter Purves, written by Simon Guerrier, and released in February 2011.  

Fair warning that my opinion on this trilogy is highly biased.

In the aftermath of The Daleks’ Master Plan, Steven and the Doctor arrive on Earth, in 1965.  In the I.M. Foreman junkyard no less.  Their plans to visit Ian and Barbara are derailed however when they spot an alien among the London residents.  With the help of trader Oliver Harper, they uncover and stop a most heinous scheme.

So I have already listened to this trilogy twice so I came to this story with some preconceptions and opinions.  I did, however, find that I enjoyed this story a lot more than I did earlier.  My main complaint prior to this round was the Doctor’s actions and attitude in this.  After further review, I actually think his character is really well done in this.  He’s definitely showing his more sneaky and manipulative side- seemingly agreeing with the Fulgurites and “selling” Steven and Oliver out to the slave trade.  Of course, it was just a deception and ended up, well, not selling them out.

The plot isn’t anything remarkable.  It’s not awful and it’s not terribly clever.  It’s about what you would expect.  The story is pretty political with strong anti-slavery and anti-government (or at least critical analysis of the gov’t) sentiments.  

I found that this story really builds upon the Doctors and Steven’s relationship.  One can definitely detect that it’s breaking apart.  As it is set right after TDMP we see Steven deal (slightly) with Sara’s death and how the Doctor doesn’t really do so.  In the end, Steven expresses fear/disappointment at the fact that he believed that the Doctor would’ve just let him be sold as a slave.  You can really detect that their relationship is struggling- something which will later be exacerbated by the events of The First Wave and come to blows in The Massacre (and even The Savages).  

We get a new companion in this story- Oliver Harper.  I really like Oliver though this may just be because I was inclined to like him and I’ve listened to this series before.  However, I do think he’s a very interesting guy.  He’s got a secret (which I do know) and there’s definitely this air of mystery about him.  He’s being pursued by the police for reasons that we don’t know which adds to his likeability (?).  The fact that he has a secret is mentioned multiple times but it isn’t pushed excessively- just enough to make you interested and want to listen to the next story!  He’s also got a strong sense of right and wrong which seems rather unshakable.  He also seems to adjust quite quickly to the idea of aliens.  

Steven and Oliver have a fantastic dynamic.  Again, I may be biased but I truly do think that they’re wonderful together.  They have some great moments like when Oliver helps Steven find a suit or when Steven starts singing and Oliver joins in.  Though I know what happens to them afterward and how they interact, I really can’t wait to see more.

Steven was quite good in this.  It was nice to see him do a bit of thinking and working things out quickly.  As previously mentioned, he does deal with the aftermath of Sara’s death and that affects how he sees the Doctor, which is, of course, nice to see.  He also gets to play dress up, put on a little accent, and sing- all of which I found highly enjoyable.

Overall, I liked this story a lot more than I had thought.  I don’t think I gave it enough credit really.  It’s a very nice setup for the next two stories and I can’t wait to listen to them (again.  For the third time).

7/10

Friend Death Count: 0

Steven Tortured Count: 0 

The Doc does some messed up shit to Steven Count: 1