#marc spector one shot

[inklore]

PARASITIC

premise: your fingers wrap around his throat to pull his head from your neck. his heart thrumming against your palm. you could end it right now, squeeze the life out of him, wait for another unsuspecting human to fall into your lap. but you won’t.

pairing: marc spector x succubus!reader

contents: p in v, coming inside, somnophilia, light choking, mind control so dubcon, death mentions, blood and slight gore, biting, oral, masturbation, sub!marc i guess, reader is a monster therefore has a monsters body | wc: 2.8k

note: i hope everyone is having the best hornfilled month thus far, i missed writing for my number one emo boy!

KINKTOBER WEEK ONE: succubus, somnophilia.

You know hunger. 

You’ve grown accustomed to it—the never ending rumbling in the pit of your stomach that begs you to feed. The ache your teeth get to bite into something, your lungs threaten to stop working if you don’t cater to the hunger. To fill them with something leaking with life—that sweet tang that only humans have to hold onto their meek lives with a determined fist that makes them taste sweeter on your tongue.

It’s been months since you’ve gotten your fill. 

The pile of decomposing bodies you sit on like a throne becoming one with the dirt on the cave floor. The drip drip drip of water and the scurry of nails in mud from the rats who share your feast with you, your only company. Nagging noises that only set you on edge and make the craving in your gut worsen. 

Feeding off the dead only makes you sicker. 

Serves no purpose for what you are. What you were made into. What you became so long ago. What keeps you destitute in this cave and the relic you’re bound to.

Magic put you here, and by magic, you’ll stay and wait. 

Wait for your next meal; for the grins of unsuspecting humans to enter a cave they expect to find undiscovered and holding riches where it only holds a death sentence. 

A dinner for one. 

They come; they always do. 

And they always see the same thing; a beautiful woman trapped in a cave, crying and begging for help, so weak and caked with mud, naked and inviting. A potential victim to some, a treasure to others. But they always fall the same and taste the same when you have them pressed against a wall, your tongue down their throat, licking at their insides. Tasting their misery, their fear when the veil is finally pulled back and the horns, jagged teeth, and black eyes come into view. Gone is the innoence of a lost woman, and gone is their want for you. 

Fear tastes delicious on your tongue, but the hunger inside your gut gnaws for the carnage that only comes from lust. The little death that you bring when you keep the veil over their eyes. When you lower them to the floor and sink down on their weeping cocks and use their bodies until their nothing but a shell, you’ve sucked dry. 

Fucked until their life beats in your belly and you feel full. 

Taking bites out of them and wearing their blood like a blanket. The coppery taste makes the opening between your legs clench. An added high to your appetites. 

Your life an endless cycle of feeding—devouring—only getting your fill for a while until your body longs for more substance. More death. More life. 

And maybe if the kills—the fucking, the blood, the taste of the cords of a neck, the tang of a life being drained through a straw and into you—weren’t so delicious, you’d want something more than kills in a dirty cave. A variety of lungs to squeeze into your mouth like a flimsy can. 

Thoughts of leaving the depths of your cave don’t come until you see him. 

Until he enters your feeding ground. 

Marc. 

There’s always a different smell to humans; greed, anger, fear, excitement.

Never darkness. Never shadows cast behind the eyes and a desperation to rid the tar pulling at the bottom of their hearts. Begging to be rung dry of the misery that’s sunk into it. That holds on. That can’t be found at the bottom of a bottle, inside someone's pussy, or through bloodied fists. 

It’s all you can smell when he enters the cave. 

The two others' scents clouded over by his.

By the deep set of his brow. 

By the way anger and grief cling to how he moves. How he steals and claims things within your home like he owns them. Like he’s found the answer to that desperation in his heart. The score that will finally fix everything. 

You don’t make yourself known. Don’t put a veil up, don’t hide in the shadows, and wait for your victim to find you. 

No. 

You’re a breeze on his cheek when you reach your fingers out to brush against his skin, his eyes unknowingly meeting yours. Staring into the black depths of the soul you don’t have—making something quench and yearn for something you haven’t felt since before. 

A deep groan rattling in the cave as you let your tongue slip from your mouth, the feathery touch of the tip running along his pulse point—a slap at his neck, a bug to him—his taste sour and sweet and intoxicating. 

The perfect blood bag.

A beautiful tortured soul to feed off of.

To play with.

For days, months.

Forever. 

The sweetest of treats falling into your lap, you can’t let him go. Refuse to let him become another meaningless body in this cavern. He’s too pretty, too delicious to drain within seconds. To not drain that desperation with a slow, loving hand would be cruel.

And with a helping hand, your relic is placed in plain sight like an offering from the devil; he’s putting it in his pocket, unlike the other jewels that lay clattering in a bag at his side, like he knows. Knows all you can give, take, and lick from his body—that tar soaked heart dug into by your nails until he’s coming and you’ve fixed him—drained him.

You don’t touch him for weeks. 

Letting yourself continue to go hungry and crave. 

Your insides gnawing at you like a rabid dog trying to let itself free from a cage to bite the hand that feeds it. 

And it seems the more you play with him—the more you haunt his mind with dreams of meeting a strange woman in the shadows, her hand around his throat as she rides him, his fingers dug into her skull as he fucks up into her, hard, rough, raw, marks on both their skin red and bloody. The sweetest noises falling from his lips as his hips rock against his mattress, the weak noise of him coming in his pants and waking up in a cold sweat, chest heaving and heart pounding like a symphony of hymns to your hungry belly—the more you wonder whos torturing who here.

The more your teeth ache, the more you feel starved. 

So many nights spent beside him in bed watching him sleep, making him dream, whispering in his ear. Never allowing yourself to touch him because you know you won't be able to stop. 

He’s a prized treasure you want to take your time with. 

To keep.

But allowing yourself a little appetizer won’t hurt. You need it. After all the playing you’ve done with him from afar. A little touch won’t hurt, you won’t let it. 

As you round his bed, Marc on his back, his chest moving rhythmically as he sleeps peacefully, the tip of your nail moves along his arm. You can feel the beat of his heart, slow and calm, as you press into the crease of his arm. The thrum making arousal beat it’s own drum between your legs. 

His scent even more intoxicating now that you’re closer to him. Now that you’re moving the covers from his body, perched at the side of his bed as you watch the twitches and small beads of sweat move along his frame. The dark briefs he’s wearing cling to his thighs—thighs you want to sink your teeth into—hiding the treat you want to taste tonight. 

You don’t need to touch him to make him see you or to plague his dreams once more with the girl from the shadows. But you want to touch. Need to touch. So you press your fingers to this temple and smile at the way his mouth parts with a small gasp when you’ve inserted yourself into his mind. Your fingers grip his jaw with a light hold—lighter than you’ve ever treated a human—as you turn his head towards you. 

Watching the contorts of his brow bone as he dreams, the hard swallow, the grunts as you waste no time in getting the dream to where you want it—him fucking you, the girl from the shadows, a dream disguised as a nightmare. 

You watch his face for a beat more. Let your fingers run through his hair, trace the pulse in his neck, his bottom lip before you press the lightest of kisses to his parted mouth—letting your tongue run along the chapped skin of his bottom lip for less than you’d like to. 

There’s something else you want to taste. 

The nails at your feet digging into the mattress as you climb over him, maneuvering yourself so you’re kneeling between his thighs. 

He doesn’t stir when you pull down his boxers; why would he? He wouldn’t. He’s too happy in the throes of his dream. Buried deep in the pussy of a monster with a beautiful smile. 

The evidence of that, of the enjoyment of the dream you’re casting, leaking at the tip of his cock. Clear and sweet as you bend and gather it onto your tongue. Swallow it down and sigh contently when your stomach flutters in approval. 

You’ve watched him wrap his fist around his cock for weeks now. 

Even after he’s woken from his dream, his boxers sticky and clinging to him. A vengeful fist wrapped around his spent cock, the scowl on his brow from how oversensitive he is—from the burn you know he feels, the ache and pang of being overused and finding pleasure from it making you bite into your own arm so you won’t reach out and feed off of him. So you won’t stop this beautiful sight. 

He looks so pretty like that.

Making himself grip the sheets, grunts and groans, flowing through the air as he fucks up into his fist in anger, frustration. There's a hatred in it, and it makes you yearn. 

And when he says your name, a name you whisper against his lips in his dreams but in his ear in reality, it’s better than feeding you think.

But not better than the way he tastes.

Your tongue runs up the length of his cock, a smile at the corners of your mouth when you look up, and his lips have parted more. Fingers dug into the sheets, a whimper stuck in his throat as his hips buck. 

Those pretty noises make your hunger greedy the more your tongue moves against him, the tip wrapping around the head, pushing into the slit of his cock to taste the bountiful offering he’s giving you for pleasing his cock. 

When you finally put him into your mouth, the guttural noise that falls from his lips as his back bows makes you purr. Makes you pump your mouth faster and harder so he’s reached the back of your throat—a cavern without a bottom—the suction your body contorts to pull more of his noises, more of his pre-come from the very cock you’ve been hungry for for weeks—is animistic. Not fully your style. 

But Marc is different. 

Marc is potential. 

A divine feast. 

You know he’s going to come soon. 

And your stomach begs for it. Begs for you to keep going until he’s come so deep down your throat that you’ll feel fed for days or weeks. Your hunger sedated by his sweet taste. 

But you want more. 

Another part of your body begs to be fed—filled by his leaking cock. 

You were made to seek pleasure, after all. To share it with your victims, to come as you bared your teeth into their throat or watched the life drain from their eyes with your tongue down it. Your come coating their cock as there’s pulled the last breath of life from them. 

Your indulgence in Marc has gone as far as it should tonight. Has gone past what you promised to be just a taste, but you can’t stop yourself from climbing on top of him. From sinking your wet cunt down onto his hard cock, the air caught in his lungs as he fills you. A deep sigh of relief makes your body shake. 

And you should leave it there; you should just fuck him until you’re both coming. Not let your hunger get the best of you and drain him before you want to—before he’s ready. 

But you want to see his eyes when he’s coming inside you. Want to see the desperation they hold. 

“Marc,” you whisper into his ear. Your hips rocking slowly, enough to have his cock moving against the walls of your pussy. Enough to make him stir and whimper. “Marc, wake up.” You kiss at the skin below his earlobe, your tongue coming to lick at the sweat that coats his body, your taste buds mewling. 

When he finally comes to, slow and out of breath, he doesn’t freak out. Doesn’t push you off of him when he sits up and wraps his arms around your ribcage. His dark eyes looking up into your black ones. 

He doesn’t see the horns, the sharp teeth, or your dark lips and tongue. Doesn’t see that you’re nothing like the girl in his dreams—except you are; you’re she, and he still thinks he’s dreaming. Still thinks you are nothing but an innocent fuck, a hole for him to feel at home in. 

To forget those parts of his brain that cause those shadows to gloss over his eyes and that anger that makes him bloody his knuckles and punish himself. 

He looks up at you with need in his eyes, desperation, hunger, admiration. 

And all you can do is smile.

Cup the back of his head, your fingers digging into his hair, your hips moving again—faster and rougher his time. 

His mouth biting and kissing at your collarbone and chest, his fingers digging into your shoulder as he holds onto you as you fuck him. As you bounce on his cock. 

It’s so much better than you’ve imagined. Than you’ve watched playout in his mind, than you’ve felt with other victims.

But Marc’s not your victim. 

He’s not just a feast. 

Something to fuck and eat. 

He’s saying your name into your neck, letting his teeth sink into your flesh. Your own purrs and noises mix with the sounds of skin on skin, wetness, and raw fucking that only feels this good when it’s depraved. When someone’s about to lose something.

Not this time, though. 

Or maybe even the next. 

You feel your lips tingle, a silent plea to press to his mouth and deflate his lungs. To feed on more than just the taste of his cock and the fill of it inside your cunt. 

Your nails dig into his back to stop yourself—making him groan, his hips bucking, fingers and mouth becoming rougher against you the closer he gets to coming. The more needy and desperate he is for his release. 

There will be dried blood there in the morning. Scratches he won’t be able to explain. 

A satisfied noise rumbles in your belly at the image of watching him look at them in the mirror with a scowl. 

Your own orgasm on the cusp of soaking his cock. 

Your fingers wrapping around his throat to pull his head from your neck; his lips wet and swollen, his pupils blown out, heart thrumming against your palm. You could end it all right now, squeeze the life out of him, and wait for another unsuspecting human to fall into your lap. 

But you won’t.

Not even as you press your lips to his, the kiss rough, Marc’s hand at the back of your neck to keep you there. Like he’s been waiting for your mouth to be on his all night. Like it’s what he needed to finally be able to come—his hips thrusting up more sloppy and quick. His breathing more ragged. 

“Look at me, Marc.” You say against his lips before using the hold on his neck to bend his head, so he has no choice but to look up at you. To look up at the monster who’s claimed him. Who’s falling into the depths of the darkness in his eyes and squeezing the tar from his heart one dirty dream at a time—one stroke and clench of her cunt at a time.

“Come for me.” 

His head nods, a weak noise that sounds too much like your name to be anything else as his hips thrust up one more time before he’s spilling inside. Before you’re coming on his cock from the way his eyes gloss over as he keeps looking up at you. As he clings to your body—this big, tough man. 

This killer, this self loathing human, looking weak and all yours. 

You don’t let him catch his breath before you press your mouth against his and take it from him. A few puffs—the appetizer. 

Your eyes rolling back, hunger sedated, full, warm, fed.

When you pull your mouth back, his eyes are hooded. 

His fingers come up to your cheek, thumb pressing into the line of your jaw. “Thank you,” he murmurs before you press your fingers to his temple and make him slip back into sleep.

[boredzillenial]

Steven 🌒,Marc 🌓, Jake 🌑, all three 🌕

College AU Series 🌕

🌙 “Is That My Shirt?”

🌙 Coworkers

🌙 Biting

Sweater Weather

Strange yet Familiar

Western AU Series 🌓

🌙 Stargazing

One shots

🌒 F.A.F.O 🌑

🌙 Teasing Steven via text has consiquences

🌒 Stronger Than I Look 🌒

You and your coworker Steven are doing inventory late at night. Being a bigger girl you hadn’t worked up the courage to make a move. But an artifact hidden amongst the trinkets in stock changes things.

🌒 The Giftshoppest 🌒

📨 Steven helping you during an awkward moment in the museum and a bit of flirting ensues

🌓 Caught 🌓

📨 MoonKnight Marc walking in on the reader masturbating while house-sitting for him. She panics but he drags her to his bed where he makes her tell him what she was thinking about

🌒 Impact Play 🌑

🎃 You ask Steven for Impact Play at dinner, Jake steps in to show him how it’s done.

🌓 Slow & Soft 🌓

🎃 Marc had a rough night, you find him in the morning and give him what he needs.

🌒 Praise Kink 🌒

🎃 Steven accidentally discovers a new kink with you.

🌑 Wordless Apology 🌕

Jake takes Marc and Steven away during wedding planning, and you’re done.

Drabbles/ Headcanons

🌓 Sick-fic 🌓

Marc comes home to find you ill

🌓 Silly Comfort 🌓

Marc discovers a unique way to comfort you

📨 MoonKnight system X Miguel O’Hara headcanon

[jake-g-lockley]

KISS! KISS! KISS!

Hello love ❤️ could you do these prompts if you wanna do ... feel no pressure 😅😅

MOON BOIS PLEASE!!

Imsuchawhoreforthemforgivemeforihavesinnedactuallyidontregretanyofthese

7. Almost kissing but someone walks in 0_0

13. “would you acknowledge my feelings for you if i kissed you right now? you can’t seem to take a damn hint, [name]”

18. they’re teasing each other when one character goes “then kiss me” and is surprised that the other character actually does it.

19. ARGUING!!!!! then a heated “kiss me.” and suddenly their hands are all over each other

The Boss (Moon Boys x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be Tagged?

A/N: HI LOVELY! Thanks for the ask!! The idea I had for this was born out of very very very spicy noodles and I was crying on the inside hahaha. 

Word count: 2.3k

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Your hands were shaking. You could barely gesture around the exhibits to the group of people around you and you had caught yourself twisting the edge of your blazer one time too many. One lady in the group nodded sympathetically to you, connoting your nervousness to the fact that you were leading around a large crowd in a huge museum. Any other employee would have been scared. Scared that their employer would fire them for not doing their job right.

But your situation was something completely out of the ordinary.

It all started the night before, when you and your boss had been finishing up the day's work, making sure that everything was in order. Your boss, or bosses, were a peculiar bunch. For starters you had three, and all three of them resided in one body, or you could say, mind. There was Steven Grant; the nerdy, enthusiastic, sweet man, Marc Spector; the hard and efficient boss and Jake Lockley; the one who was barely there, preferring to work away from people.

You had taken a liking to all of them, accidentally finding out their situation when you caught Steven yelling at a mirror, only to realize that he had a strong American accent instead of his usual soft British drawl. You had picked up their differences fast, the way their posture was, the expressions on their face, all of the slight changes letting you know who you were addressing. As far as you were concerned, they were fine with your company too, and all of you chatted away happily as the piles of work got smaller and smaller.

Once the pile had about 30 minutes worth of work left, Marc got up and came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. You stared at the bottle he was holding, noticing that it was an old, expensive red wine that was gifted by one of the museum sponsors. You watched as Marc set down the glasses, pulling the cork off the bottle and pouring a generous fill for the both of you. This was slightly out of the blue and you never usually drank on the job, but Marc smiled sweetly and handed you your glass. You took a sip, savoring the rich aroma and matured taste of the aged wine as you watched Marc from over the rim of your glass. He was pulling off his jacket, draping it onto the chair before loosening his tie and unbuttoning his cuffs.

The one thing that smashed your brain up was how hot your bosses were. They were attractive, almost like they had their own glow from within them that radiated a confidence that you felt like you could never achieve. You try not to stare as he started to fold his sleeves until they were over his elbows and slightly strained at the biceps. He sat down and fully pulled at his tie until it unfurled from his neck and sat limp in his hands. He quickly balled it up and set it aside, reaching for his glass of wine.

“Do you like it?” he suddenly asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Huh?” uh oh, you felt like he had caught you staring and your face flushed.

“The wine, sweetheart.” he chuckled and suddenly you forgot to breathe.

The word of endearment sent sparks down your spine and you felt yourself getting dizzy but you nodded and went back to nursing your glass.

“You’ve done some good work here.” It was Steven now and he was looking at you with a smile. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“That’s alright Mr. Grant, happy to help.” you return his smile, happy at his genuineness.

“How many times have I told you to stop calling me that? You can call me Steven!” he laughs and takes another sip and you smile shyly.

After a couple of silent minutes, you heard a tapping against a seat, making you look up. It was Jake now, and he wore a relaxed look on his face, one that you had not seen before.

“Come, sit closer to us, we don't bite.” he says, sounding amused.

You found yourself obeying his simple request, getting up and taking a seat next to him. Jake reached for your glass and set it beside you. While Marc and Steven made you feel somewhat equal to them, Jake made you feel like you were prey and he was at the top of the food chain. He eluded so much swagger that you felt smaller than usual around his presence.

“The boys and I were talking,” he started, keeping his eyes on his glass as he watched the wine swirl, “we wanna do something for you.”

You turned to him, slightly surprised at the predicament before you. You nodded, urging him to go on. He leaned closer to you and you couldn’t help but breathe him in. He smelled expensive, leather and sandalwood radiating off him excessively. You found yourself looking at his eyes, watching his long beautiful eyelashes every time he blinked. You pleaded for your heart to still, fearing that he would hear from how painfully hard it was thumping in your chest.

“We want to give you a promotion, cielo.” he whispered it and your mouth dropped open.

He smiled at your reaction and leaned back on his seat to take in more of it.

“Why?” you managed to make yourself whisper.

“You’ve been so good for us, cielo, you’ll be a good asset to the management. But we won’t take you out of your tour guiding, we see how charismatic you are with the people. We just wanna treat our best employee a little better, you know?” he jabbered away, the slight Spanish accent feeling like a delightful tingle in your brain.

“Thank you.” you said, clinking your glass with his glass that he held out.

You took a sip and suddenly you felt a small gust of wind form the open window picking up a paper that was on the table, sending it tumbling away. You set your glasses aside and quickly get up to grab it, only to find that Jake was doing the same. The both of you grabbed the paper at the same time, the both of you kneeling on the ground.

You made the grave mistake of looking up at his face, suddenly realizing that you didn’t know who you were looking at. You couldn’t tell exactly who it was from the thundering in your ears. You stared into the deep brown orbs, almost like you were leaning into the edge of Tartarus, staring down at Kronos as time slowed around you. You watch as the man’s eyes drop to your lips and you know the both of you are tipping towards dangerous territory, the wine softening your hardened edges.

You felt yourself unconsciously crawl forward, setting your hands on top of the man’s thighs, watching something sharp form in his eyes. You let your eyes drop to his lips, studying its shape and resisting the urge to paint them with the lipstick on your own lips. You wondered if they had drugged you, your brain surged into overdrive as he leaned slightly towards you, tipping his head. His eyes were hooded now and so were yours and everything seemed so blurry.

The sound of the door brought the both of you out of the thick tension that had been brewing. While your head swerved towards the door, Marc was still looking at you, his head completely void at any thought but the feeling of your hands on his thighs. Your grip on your boss’ thigh deepened as your eyes widened at the sight of the security guard who was at the door. You were too frozen to move and you were silently pleading with one of the boys to say something.

Fortunately the security guard beat you to it.

“Oops, sorry sir, I’ll come for my rounds later.” he hurriedly said, shutting the door and scuttling away.

The loud bang of the door shutting made you pull away from your boss at lightspeed, as if he was on fire. You acted quickly, jumping to your feet and gathering your things, shoving them in your bag as fast as you possibly could.

“Wait, hey, sorry.” Marc’s voice? No Steven, might even be Jake

You couldn’t think and you didn’t let yourself look at them, eyes glossy and brain foggy, trying to make your legs move as fast as they possibly could to get you far away from them.

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Back at the present moment, you found yourself in a corporate meeting, surrounded by executives, discussing the transport of a new object to the museum for a special temporary exhibition. You bosses were nowhere to be seen and you sat taking notes, trying your best to put all of your attention to the project. The door of the meeting room slammed open, a little louder to you than anyone else sitting in the room and you could physically feel the atmosphere in the room change and you could hear the taps of your boss’ shoes on the tiled floor.

He pulled a chair beside you and took a seat, his clothed calf brushing your bare one. From your periphery, you saw him nod, acknowledging the executives. Your right hand shook slightly and you stopped taking notes, fighting hard to focus on the meeting. Suddenly, a large hand covered yours and pulled your notebook away, making you almost jump. You turned to watch your boss flipping through the meeting minutes that you had taken down.

You noticed very quickly that it was Steven and that he was wearing his glasses that were gradually sliding down his nose. You had to resist the urge to push them up his nose and comb back the stray curl that flopped onto his forehead. Instead you watched as his fingers traced your words on your notebook and his familiar scent that burned your senses.

“All of these plans are looking good. I will decide who will transport the item.” Steven’s voice brought you out of your hyperfocus.

He snapped your book shut and stood up, making you remember something.

“Actually, sir, I’d like to volunteer.” you piped up, standing up to meet his eyeline.

“That would not be necessary, Miss, I have made my decision.” Steven said, almost coldly.

“But I-”

Jake’s intimidating face was enough for you to stop in your tracks and take a deep breath.

“Alright, sir, sorry.” you said and the meeting was dismissed.

You turned to follow the stream of people walking out of the meeting room when a hand grabbed at your wrist. It pulled you into a hard chest and you gasped but played it off with a cough. You turned to stare at your boss as the door shut behind the last person who exited the room.

“Why can’t I take the project?” you whispered, noting how their eyes didn’t meet yours.

“Can't let you take that job, love, it's dangerous.” Steven said, wincing slightly at the word of endearment leaving his lips.

“It's just transporting, I don’t think it's that dangerous, stop tryna shield me. So all you said about me being an asset was just bullshit?” you raised your voice and wrenched your arm from his grasp.

“We’re not shielding you, we just have your best interest in mind. And we were not lying.” Marc said, an edge of desperation clinging to his words.

“Well, you are taking away what I want, Mr. Spector.” you counter, anger creeping up to poison your heart.

“Why can’t you get it through that stubborn beautiful head of yours that we’re tryna protect you.” Jake said tapping the side of your forehead.

“This is not protection. I don’t need protection, I want a little bit of freedom!” you spat.

Steven scrubs his face with his hand.

“Can’t you come to terms with the fact that we care?” Steven soothes you softly, holding onto your hand again.

“This is not care-” you stop as you watch Steven’s face contort in pain as Marc tries to push through.

“Fine then, fuck it, would you acknowledge our feelings for you if I kissed you right now? You can’t seem to take a damn hint through the fog that is your stupid stubbornness.” He breathed, moving closer and holding your forearm.

“What?” He said it so fast that you didn’t have time to process it and you were confused at the turn the conversation had taken.

“Kiss me and I’ll show you how much we really care.” he said carefully and your brain stopped working.

Something clicked and you grabbed onto his tie and pulled him, closing the gap as his lips touched yours. It was like they had set you on fire and all you could think of was them. Marc sighed into the kiss and pulled you closer till your body was flushed with his. Their glasses pressed into your skin and you pulled back slightly, searching their eyes, yanking them off and throwing the pair onto the table beside you before slamming your lips back onto their’s. You didn’t know who you were kissing but from the way they were, you knew that you could be given the chance to learn their patterns with more practice.

Your hands cupped their face, their light stubble scratching against the soft skin of your palms. Your nose found its sanctuary beside theirs as you kissed them breathless, moaning as they parted your lips with a hard lick to yours. Their hands couldn’t help but feel you up at their kisses alternated between soft sweet pecks to full passionate breathtaking ones.

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

[rancidpancakebatter]

Strawberries and Cream | [S.G.] [M.S.]

Pairings: Steven Grant x Black!Female!Reader, Marc Spector x Black!Female!Reader

Summary: It's valentine's day and your boys surprise you with breakfast in bed

Word Count: 3.4k words

Content Warnings: Swearing, established relationship, fluff, fluff, and more fluff

( Masterlist )

A/N: Wowowowow, this took so long! Apparently, I don't know how to write anything other than angst, so it took me like six stories until I had one with just fluff. I had a lot of fun writing this though. HAPPY BELATED VALENTINE'S DAY! (And Black History Month, that is why we're here)

You woke up on the fourteenth, thrumming with excitement. The sun’s gossamer rays crept into the room, and you basked in the honey glow, letting the warmth soak into your skin. You wrapped yourself tighter in your sheets to fight off the chill and realised you were alone.

Usually, you would wake up feeling a little clammy and pressed into the mattress by a snoring hunk of muscle who had rolled over onto you in the night. But this morning, the furnace you were accustomed to waking up under was nowhere to be seen. 

You slowly sit up and look around. There’s a different book on the nightstand. Which tells you they at least came home last night. Steven had just finished reading Don Quixote with you, and it seems your next bedtime story was Flowers for Algernon.

You heard something fall to the floor in the kitchen, then a string of curses. You would have panicked, maybe considered that your apartment had been broken into, but you recognised that voice…and the other.

“Steven cut it out. We only need one chef in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, well you forget I’ve had your food. And it’s not good mate.”

“Whatever, you don't even eat real food.”

“Cows are cute and I don’t want to eat them! But that’s beside the point. Crepes are tricky and you’ve already ruined the batter, just let me try and fix it, yeah?”

“I didn’t ruin anything. That extra egg was just- just good protein.”

“Well, now they’re gonna be too eggy! It’s gonna taste like an omelette!”

“Oh, shut up it’s fine. Everything is fine!”

Peering around the corner, watching them switch back and forth, you almost giggle. They're frantically whisking away, the mixing bowl tucked into their chest, pinned by their arm. Pinched between their fingers was the compact mirror you kept in your purse, but it seemed backseat driving was no longer sufficient.

They're covered in flour, and there's a bit of batter splattered on some of the cabinets, and across their cheekbone. Chaotic Domesticity. It was a good look on them. 

They don’t see you when you step out of the hallway, “I’m sure it will be delicious, my loves.”

Your voice startles them slightly, and they almost drop the bowl. You quickly try to discern whose fronting. His brows are high, and his jaw is slightly slack. You step around the island divider and wipe the spot you noticed earlier, hoping it might calm him down. 

“Steven, if they taste like omelettes, then I will be delighted to have omelettes. But crepes are great too. And so is that cafe down the street. Whatever works out, as long as you guys are there to eat them with me.”

He melts in your hold a little; his face tilting into your palm. But then he jerks it away very suddenly. You’re confused as he backs away. 

“Oy! This was supposed to be a surprise!” He’s upset but not with you, just in general. However, his expression falls into a frown that breaks your heart a little. “We had a whole plan.”

“It’s alright, dear. I won’t look at anything else,” You say as you throw your hands up to cover your eyes. “Just tell me what you need me to do.” 

He chuckles at your antics, and you feel a little brighter. He explains that they planned to bring you breakfast in bed today. You shuffled back to your room and closed the door that way they would feel like they would get a little more privacy.

You tidied up a bit, picking up some clothes from the floor and remaking the bed. You stepped into your ensuite, brushed your teeth, and washed your face, then you let your braids out of your bonnet and tended to them accordingly. With nothing else to do, you wandered to the bookshelf in search of a title to pass the time. 

Alice had just met the dodo and sacrificed her thimble when you heard a knock at the door. 

“Are ya decent?” You heard Marc’s gruff voice call out. 

You chuckle at the absurdity. You were currently wearing his shirt and his boxers in your shared bed in your shared apartment. He had seen you naked plenty of times. 

“Based on previous reviews, I’d say I’m more than decent,” you tease. 

You hear his laughter in the hall, and you inflate with a bit of pride. He cracks the door and loudly “whispers” through the gap.

“Steven wanted to wake you up with breakfast. Is there,” He sighs, embarrassed to ask, “Is there any way you could pretend to be asleep?” 

You chuckle, knowing Steven can hear everything Marc says right now. “Of course. Anything for my boys.”

He shuts the door again, and you feel like you’ve been transported to the days of your childhood. Those times your parents would come into your room to tell you goodnight and tuck you in. But then you would immediately hide in your impenetrable fortress made of cotton and down and stay up reading for just a little longer.

After a few chapters, you could hear your parents walking towards your door to ensure you were asleep. Your heart would pound in your chest as you fumble to turn off your flashlight and try to hide your book under your pillow so your parents wouldn’t know you had gotten lost in the Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane yet again. 

You feel a bit of adrenaline course through you as you scramble around. You're frantically searching for a bookmark and spot a receipt sticking out of a jeans pocket in the laundry. You shove it between your pages and toss the book under your pillow. Then you yank the blanket up, high above you and tuck the edge under your head. You watched the blanket cascade back down in a slow wave, like the rainbow parachute from elementary gym class. 

You scrunch your eyes closed, as tight as you can- when you hear a gentle rapping on the door. It slowly creaks open again, and your name is whispered into the air, but you don’t respond. You’re supposed to be asleep. You’re not fallin’ for that.

Your lips are folded into your mouth as you try desperately not to giggle, staying as still as possible. You can hear steps approaching their side of the bed. They set a few things down and let out a long dramatic sigh that you recognise as Steven’s. 

“I know you’re not asleep.”

You remain still. 

“Really?”

He sounds more amused than irritated, so you continue the bit. You know Marc is definitely getting a kick out of this. 

“Your food’s gonna get cold, and Marc and I worked too hard for you to let it go to waste. Now, come off it. Let’s see that beautiful face.”

Steven hears a muffled sound from the covers, but it’s indecipherable mumbling. 

“Didn’t quite catch that love.”

You huff and tug the blanket under your chin.

“I said, If you wanna wake me up, you know how. I expect a proper waking up.”

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you pull the blanket right back over your head. Steven grumbles but doesn’t complain. The sound of fabric ruffling and hitting the floor fills the room, and you can’t fight the grin spreading over your cheeks.

The rush of cold air on your back as the covers were pulled back was well worth knowing you had won. He slides in next to you and tucks himself in. Already your body seems closer to equilibrium, just having him near.

He pulls at your shoulder so you're laying on your back, and his arms immediately worm around your waist as his head rests on your chest. Your hands naturally come up to hold him closer, one draped over his back and the other tangled in his curly hair. You released a content sigh at the feeling of him snuggling into you as your nails pass through his curls. 

You almost forgot what brought you into this situation in the first place. You are so at peace, intertwined with your lovers. But then Steven starts trailing kisses across your shoulder and up your neck. They are sweet and tender, feather soft. Each one pressed into your skin with consideration and devotion.

He reaches your cheeks, and one of his hands cradles your jaw. The way his fingers drag across your skin makes you feel like a precious stone, and the way he looks into your eyes makes you feel like a star plucked from the heavens. 

He tugs gently at your chin, and your lips part as he ever so slowly leans in. You’re sure he can hear the way your heart is racing. The way it whispers his name every pump.

His nose bumps against yours, and you feel the faint sigh that leaves his lips against yours. You nudge your chin closer, trying to close the gap, but he manages to move just out of reach while staying just as close. 

“I’m waking you up, darling,” he reminds you with a small smirk. 

You whisper out a small okay that sounds pathetically desperate even to your ears, but you can’t find it in you to care. Because now his lips are brushing against yours. His slightly chapped lips set off every nerve ending in your own. His tongue darted out for just a moment to run against your bottom lip, and you gasped at the contact.

He dipped his nose under yours, and the torment began on the other side. He kissed your cheek, and you were about ready to snap. Had you been standing, you would have stomped your foot in frustration, and Steven would have laughed at your childish response. But he was teasing you relentlessly (which was already out of character for your sweet boy, who is always so eager to please), and it was getting harder to breathe under the covers. 

His head is tilted so that it is almost perpendicular to yours. He moves his hand to cradle your cheek, his big hand almost covering the whole expanse of your face. He smiles sweetly at you before finally diving in. 

Then it happened. His lips attached around your parted lips and created a seal. He blew a big puff of air into your mouth, and your brain reacted in the same way you think it would if you had been shot. Your eyes bugged out of your head, your arms instinctively failed out, and you made a sputtering, gagging noise. Your cheeks comically inflated for a second before all the foreign breath shot out of your nose. It was like a forced sneeze.

While you were effectively stunned, Steven was full-on chortling, completely cracking up. You’re not entirely sure what “guffawing” means, but you’re sure that’s what this is. You think he might actually damage something, bust his gut or something. It would serve him right, swift justice. You had recovered enough from your initial shock to finally respond. 

“STEVEN MICHEAL GRANT! I cannot believe you did that! You not only faked me out but you- you...I don’t even know what you did! But it was horrible!”

The man you are scolding does not seem to care as he lies on his back, clutching his stomach and kicking his feet like a little schoolgirl. You playful smacked his chest as you sat cross-legged beside him in protest. You were upset, not because it happened, but because it happened to you. You didn’t want to admit how funny the joke was. Nor that you wished you had thought of it first.

His rolling laughter is cut short when his body suddenly stiffens, and his neck straightens with his chin pointing to the ceiling. The face that meets your gaze is a little hardened, tougher. His jaw is almost always clenched, and his brows are millimetres from furrowed. Sometimes it blows your mind how these two men can come from the same brain- cohabitate in the same body- when they are also so different. When they look so different. 

This is the same face, the same hair, the same muscle and skeletal structure, biologically, the same man, and yet, they are entirely different. Their goals and aspirations are much more copasetic than they were before, but they are still different. They have different tastes in music and food. They have different favourite colours. They have different hobbies and skills. They know different languages. It’s wild. 

But also they are similar in a lot of ways too. They are both shit dancers. Absolutely no rhythm to be found. But plenty of enthusiasm. They both like the smell of citrus. Neither of them really believes in multivitamins. You tried to get them to take some vitamin D (they are mostly active at night! They need it!), but even Steven thinks they're silly.

He promised to drink more orange juice. You didn’t have it in you to tell him orange juice packed vitamin C and not D and instead thanked him for making an effort.

They also both loved you. Like a lot. And that was pretty crazy to wrap your mind around too. 

Marc’s eyes locked with yours and you watched as his lips danced around his face, chasing off a smile. You gave him a warning look, but it had the opposite effect. He burst into a fit of snickers. He at least had the courtesy to try to hide it behind his hand. He sat up and tried to cover his tittering with the most obviously fake cough you have ever heard. 

“Sorry, had a little tickle in my throat.”

You roll your eyes and lightly check his shoulder with yours, “I know you were the mastermind behind that. My sweet little Steenie Baby would never do that to me. You’ve corrupted him. Truly a terrible influence.”

Marc throws his head back in a laugh (possibly an evil one, you couldn’t tell). He kisses your cheek in an effort to win you over, and you hate to say it works. He pulls you into his lap, and you settle into his chest. His arms rest under yours as he links your fingers together.

You tilt your head to the side as Marc takes his turn to pepper you with kisses and remind you how much he loves you. When he’s satisfied that his message got across, he tucks his face into your neck. There he stays, pulling your arms across your waist so he can still hold your hands while he presses your body as closely into his as modern science will allow. 

You sway along to a song that isn’t playing. Or maybe it’s not playing through the air but rather through your hearts. Perhaps the shockwaves of each throb are travelling through your bodies, having a private conversation you’re not meant to hear. A secret serenade. 

After what seemed like both forever and not nearly long enough, Marc left his hovel with a huff. 

“Steven says if we don’t eat right now he’s going to go ‘absolutely mental.’”  

You giggle and offer an apology to Steven while Marc leans over and sets the tray in your lap. It's a cookie sheet that they folded a towel around, so it wasn’t as cold or ugly. You smile as you admire its contents. A single red rose beside your plate, which was covered by a large bowl flipped upside-down, behaving as a lid of sorts. You unveiled your dish and gasped at the beauty before you.

Where you expected (maybe edible) plain crepes, you were instead presented with a large stack of hearts dyed to look pink and layered with some sort of white cream and strawberry slices. The top layer was adorned with little tuffs of the cream on the outer rim, with whole strawberries in between. 

You looked at Marc in utter disbelief, and he beamed at you, pride pushing his chest forward. “Happy Valentines Day, Sheyfele.”

You grabbed him by the cheeks and crashed your lips into his. The kiss was quick but steady and sure. “Thank you, both of you. I love you so much.”

You’re sure they can see your eyes becoming glassier, but neither comment on it. You extend the favour. 

“We love you too…Now please try it. Steven really is losing his mind here.”

It’s delicious (the sweet cream hides the little bit of egginess well), and you share bites with Marc for a while. He goes to readjust; prop up the pillows behind him. Marc had been putting his body through the wringer since he walked out his front door all those years ago. While he is definitely still young, his body isn’t what it used to be. He fluffs his, then reaches to grab yours. 

“What’s this, baby?” He holds up a book with an amused smile.

You laugh at the memory, “Oh, I was reading that this morning, but then you asked me to pretend to sleep, so I just hopped under the covers as quickly as I could.”

He hummed in acknowledgement as he thumbed through the pages. A small slip of paper fell out, and as Marc examined it closer, he felt his heart in his throat.

“Hey (y/n), where did you find this?”

You glance at the paper and answer between bites. 

“It was stickin’ out of your pant pocket.” You point to the pair hanging out of the hamper, “I’m sorry, was it important? I didn’t mean to steal it.”

You worry for a second that you might have upset him. You try to make light of the situation. “Imma strong believer in the ‘anything is a bookmark’ philosophy. You guys know my rule: use the first thing you see.”

Marc nodded in agreement, “Yeah, yeah, I know. Did you uh- did you see anything else? When you found this, I mean.”

You shook your head no. “I don’t meddle in any of the crazy shit you bring home, baby. I am not interested in accidentally gettin’ some pharao curse or getting hunted down by some god.” 

Your answer gives him relief, and he laughs alongside you. 

He tucks the paper back into your book and kisses your shoulder to grab your attention. 

“Would you like Steven to read to you while you eat?” You excitedly nod your head, and moments later, you hear Steenie’s sweet voice. 

“Alright, Alice in Wonderland; a classic. Good choice, love.” He kisses your temple, and you feel the same swell of pride in your chest that you would get when your teacher rewarded you with a little gold star. “Now, where were you?”

As you tear into your breakfast (sharing, of course) and Steven reads to you, you get hit with a feeling of gratitude. You feel at home here- with them. You feel safe and cherished. You feel more than joy; something better than happy. You feel contentment, fulfilled.

You had never been one to believe in fate before, but you thanked whoever was out there, whoever had heard your desperate prayers on your lonely nights. You thanked them for delivering…and then some. 

Your boys were also feeling that gratitude. They couldn’t believe they had found someone so truly beautiful inside and out. A woman who was damn near fearless, with a kind heart, sharp intellect, and tremendous patience. You were a treasure to behold.

Every morning they wake up expecting to be back in the dusty old flat with only books and a fish for company. But then, when they open their eyes, there you are, and it feels like the most extraordinary gift they’ve ever been given. Your love is something deserving of its own fable or myth. Your story should be told in reverie. A story passed down for centuries, like that of Osiris and Isis. 

But they also feel a little scared. They have big plans today. Plans to spoil you and fill your heart with joy. Plans to woo. Plans to convince you that they are worth it- that they’re worth you. Plans to prove to you that you are all they will ever need- all they will ever want. Plans to get on one knee. Plans to beg you to give them this chance at a happy ending. Plans to promise you yours.

Plans to pull a ring box from the back pocket of those pants dangling dangerously out of the hamper. Plans to slip the dainty gold band with a honey-warm, citrine gem- that he got on a mission last week in Bolivia- onto your finger. Plans to admire how it glows against your skin, and how despite its magnificence, it could never outshine yours. Plans that would have been ruined if you could read the Spanish receipt in your book.

Taglist: @barbecuetiddy, @fanfics-instead-of-depression, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @purple-amaranthe, @jedisstark, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz,

If you want to be tagged in future Moon Knight fics but don't want to do the whole taglist thing again, just comment or reach out and I'll add you to it :))

another A/N because whatever: I will be doing a little /headcannon break down thing for this because I'm kinda throwing some in there with no real explanation, but feel free to send me asks about any confusion. I love answering those!

I'm also gonna start linking those to the original fics too, so you (and new readers) can find them

[lostalioth]

everything marked with ツ contains smut, my blog is 18+ only regardless of if something contains smut or not. please read all warnings before reading any of my fics. all series contain a mixture of fluff, smut and angst.

→ steven grant.

𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐬.

— desperate | kinktober 24’

 it was meant to be just a simple quick visit to your sweet boyfriend at work, a regular thing on your days off, something steven looked forward to. especially when the both of you snuck off to the bathroom. ツ

→ marc spector.

𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐬.

— bad memories

a bad memory sends you into a panic attack waking up your boyfriend.

— bite down | kinktober 24’

marc could get possessive, very possessive infact and when that happens he cant seem to hold back. ツ

[love-is-a-dagger]

Rain

Marc Spector x seer!reader/ slight Steven grant x seer!reader

Being stuck between the future, past snd present is hard work, thankfully you have the boys

Tw: mention of blood, an attempt at a horror?

I’m just really in love with heleana from house of the dragon and just got obsessed with moonknight again, this is my first fic in like a year and a bit and it’s all new again lol, this description sucks but I swear it gets better. I’m just in love with the boys being involved with seer reader but idk how to put it to works, hope you all enjoy 🫶🏻🫶🏻

Rain. You always loved the sound and the feeling and the smell of it, everything. The rain also made it hard to see, made everything blurry in your head, maybe it was the constant sound or maybe the cold, but whenever it rained, you’d be staring out the window for ages, just staring blankly.

Screaming, constant screaming, then a cold feeling in your stomach

Flashes of different places, old and new. It was hard to see where you where sometimes. But the second you felt a presence on your shoulder, you were back in your flat London.

“Love?”

You’ve been like it for a while, half an hour to be exact, sat in your shared bed, watching the rain fall from the window. He almost thought you where frozen had he not seen you blink.

He knew about your gift, or curse, it interested Steven. To be able to see into the future or past, he knew it haunted you sometimes, when loud noises or flashes scared you and you had to hide in his shoulder, it was cute but he knew it wasn’t always fun for you.

He watched as you slowly turned to face him, a blank face soon turned into a smile hard to hide. You always felt a little silly whenever one of the boys found you like that.

“I’m okay” you nodded to yourself, still in a slight trance. His hand travelled to your upper arm and his other hand joined the other. He sat on the bed next to you, rubbing gently into your arms, the feeling of his hands was nice, he saw how you always held onto things after being out, the feeling of something always helped being you to the present.

He has a handsome face, you realised after seeing him in your first vision of him when you were 16, it was a random day yet to come when you first met him, it was Steven you met first in your visions, you can’t remember all the details but he was cuddling you and talking about your recent visit to his old job at the museum.

You watched as he looked at you, trying to figure if it was a good vision or a bad one. This was a rare occurrence now days, but you still felt embarrassed whenever it happened. His eyes became too much and you looked down, looking at the loose piece of skin next to your nail.

Steven, let me

Steven looks over to the reflection of the glass to see marc watching, his brows scrunched together, concerned for you.

You felt his eyes on you, his hand left your arm and his fingers pushed your chin up to face him. His face hardened, and you knew it was no longer your bubbly boy.

“I know baby” gently, he pushed a bit of loose hair away from your eyes, his hand made home to your cheek. You matched him and your left hand met his face, his flushed cheeks finding you comfort.

You move your mouth to try and make sense of what you saw. You never had full moments, only flashes. Marc watched as your eyes searched his for the answer, his hands never leave their spot.

Blood everywhere, you couldn’t see where it was coming from, all you knew was that you wanted your boys. The copper smell burnt your nose, making your crinkle your nose trying to avoid it.

“I-I think Steven wants another fish”

Smiling, Marc’s lips met your forehead. He loved your gift, the nonsense, the drama, everything.

He felt the soft giggles that escaped, as his lips left your head, your eyes meet and your smiles match.

She’s so pretty

Marc couldn’t help but agree with Steven, you were breathtaking, with everything you did.

Suddenly, feeling the trapping tightness of the curse leave you mind, you jumped off the bed, slightly making your boyfriend jump.

You legs feel numb, so does the rest of your body. You found yourself walking to the window, still felling his eyes on you, you open the window. Taking a deep breath of the fresh air, you spin around.

Marc was already looking at you with love struck eyes, a slight smirk on his mouth as he leans on his arm, watching your every move.

“Get up” you demand, making marc tilt his head and rise his eyebrows, very amused. But doing as he’s told, he gets up, each step of his feet getting slightly louder as he approaches.

Flapping his hands, If asking what now. Watching as you make a sudden movement to grasp his hand, the other meets his shoulder.

Confused for all but a second as you start slightly swaying, dancing to the rain. The warmth of his body is nice, a nice contrast to the wet weather. He smells nice too, you notice, guessing by the smell, Jake woke up with the body today, a rich smelling fragrance meets your nose as you hide your face into his shoulder. His spare hand meets the back of your head, comforting you as you snuggle to his chest.

He watches you as you close your eyes and breath him in, never in a million years would he think he would end up here, the love of his life in his hands and two new brothers. He never knew, but you did. You knew everything.

[petertingle-yipyip]

SO LONG LONDON - STEVEN GRANT

Pairing: steven x reader (established) (and then marc shows up)

Word Count: 2,489

Summary: Dating Steven was always a bit of a gamble. So when a beautiful woman comes to town claiming your boyfriend as her husband, you find a whole new side to the man you love.

//honestly idk what happened here, just go with it//

It made no sense.

You two were scheduled together all the time. Donna claimed it was the only way to make sure Steven actually showed up to his shifts. And for the most part, it worked. Occasionally, you two would have a day or two different and he wouldn’t show or would be ridiculously late. But you were usually able to explain it away to your manager so Steven wouldn’t get in trouble.

But now, it has been three straight days of Steven pulling no-calls-no-shows. Even when you tried to call him, it went straight to voicemail. Like his phone wasn’t even on.

You were walking around the city that day after work. You picked up some lunch and were looking at your phone, contemplating whether or not you wanted to try calling out texting him again, but the sharp whizz of a woman on a moped cut you off.

You stopped so suddenly in your tracks that your phone fell from your hands as you scrambled to catch your food.

“I’m so sorry!” The woman said quickly, suddenly in front of you with your phone in hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” You shrugged it off and held a hand out for your phone. She went to pass it back to you but her eyes lingered on your screen where Steven’s contact photo was waiting.

“It was my fault for not looking.” You tried while she quietly stared at the screen. Your fingers hooked on your device and with a slight tug, you got it back.

“I’m Layla, by the way.” She said when you had moved to leave.

“Y/N.” You nodded. “Nice to meet you.” You tried to leave again but she spoke up.

“Boyfriend?”

“What?”

“The guy on your phone.” She gestured to your hand where your phone still sat. As subtle as possible, your thumb hit the lock button to hide the photo that was still waiting. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “He’s M.I.A. right now so I’m starting to worry. Normal girlfriend things, y’know? He’s a bit of a sleepwalker so…” You finished awkwardly.

“Would you…” She began and your brows raised. “Would you wanna get some coffee maybe? I think we should talk some more.”

“Oh, well.. Thank you but I should get home. I’m like three missed calls away from a missing persons report.” You tried to joke.

“It’s just that your boyfriend looks an awful lot like my husband.”

“What?” Your heart sunk.

“Yeah, uh..” She hurried to pull her phone from her bag. “My husband, Marc Spector. Maybe you’ve heard his name? He comes and goes for work but then I got a call and now I’m here trying to find him.”

“Oh!” You sighed in relief. “Okay, it’s probably a coincidence because my boyfriend’s name is.. Steven… Gra…”

Your sentence trailed off as Layla showed you her screen and a photo of her and someone who looked exactly like Steven faced you. His posture was different and you assumed his aura was as well. His hair was styled differently and he even wore different clothes than Steven would. Too similar to ignore but too different to convince you.

“Wow, um, that resemblance really is… Y’know what, maybe we should get some coffee.” You agreed.

After a while of you two talking, neither of you were convinced the other person was talking about the same person. Layla’s ‘Marc’ seemed to have a completely different personality than Steven. He seemed rougher, insufferable even. To be able to completely abandon your wife with no explanation was borderline appalling, and Steven would never. He hardly even went to run errands without giving you a full list of everywhere he intended to go.

As far as you could tell, the only similarity was their looks.

You offered to bring her to Steven’s apartment to show her that he was a different person with a different life. But when you knocked, your usual habit just in case he was home, he actually answered the door.

“Hello, Love.” He smiled at you, though the expression quickly faded when he saw yours. “Something wrong?”

“Steven, this is Layla. Layla, Steven.” You introduced before she had pushed past you both and into the apartment.

Steven looked at you in confusion but you smiled in apology with a small shrug. He stepped aside and gestured for you to come in so you did. Layla was investigating the small space and Steven was staying close to your side. You could feel his fingers tapping the back of your hand, his silent request to interlock your fingers together, but you put your hands in your jacket pocket instead.

“This is your flat, Marc?” She asked and you were thankful someone finally spoke to break the tension.

“I’m Steven, actually.” He answered.

“And you live here with her?” She gestured to you.

“No.” You answered for yourself. “I stay a few blocks over.”

“It’s my mum’s flat, actually.” Steven defended.

“You guys are talking again?” She asked as she found one of the poetry books on his shelves.

They exchanged remarks about the French poet and the hieroglyphics on Steven’s desk. You watched quietly and were finding nothing that could indicate Steven was Marc. But then again, the one French poet he knew just so happened to be Layla’s favorite. And his explanation of hieroglyphs was the same as hers.

Was it possible?

While the two turned to argue about divorce papers and Steven’s identity, you were distracted by the unusual gym bag on the table. You glanced and saw them take their conversation to another side of the room so you went over to the bag. You were thankful it was already unzipped so you pulled the sides apart and were dumbfounded by what you saw.

Stacks of money, a gun, a golden bug, and a passport.

You were drawn to the document so you pulled it out quietly and opened it, seeing a different name printed on the page.

“Marc Spector.” You read to yourself and your heart came to a screeching halt in your chest.

“Who’s Marc?” You asked suddenly, drawing attention to yourself. You held up the passport expectantly.

“Oh, jeez, uh…” Steven rushed over, crumbling the divorce papers under his arm as he reached for the passport.

“No.” You held it further away. “Who are you?”

“C’mon, love. You know me.” He tried, almost desperate for you to be on his side.

“I don’t think I do.” You said sadly. “Who’s Marc? Is he your twin brother or something?”

“I don’t know.” He answered quickly.

“He is Marc and he needs to tell me if we’re getting this divorce or not.” Layla spoke up and snatched the papers from under Steven’s arm.

“You seem lovely, Layla, truly. But I’m not Marc Spector.” He insisted and you so badly wanted to believe him. “I’m Steven Grant and I work at a gift shop. Well, I used to work at a gift shop. I just want my life back.”

“Doesn’t seem like you know which life that is, do you?” You slammed the passport against his chest.

“Y/N, please wait.” He reached for your hand but you backed away.

You nearly ran down the hall to the elevator. You needed to get away. From Layla. From Steven or Marc or whoever the hell he was.

It felt like you didn’t know him anymore. A different name you could live with. A secret job, sure, you could get over that. But a wife? An entirely opposite personality? That shook your entire world, the very foundation of your relationship. You could justify the rest but the idea of him loving someone else so wholly and being someone else so entirely, it had you questioning everything you knew.

About him. About life and love. Even about yourself.

It made you wonder if you could walk away from it all. Say so long to the quiet london boy that stole your heart.

You were back in your apartment before you knew it and you leaned against the closed door for a moment once you were inside. Your head was spinning with the new situation and you decided you didn’t want to think about it. You pushed yourself up and headed to your fridge, picking out one of the cans you usually reserved for after dinner or nights you had friends over for drinks and movies. You took it into your room and got changed before dropping onto your couch.

You put your can on the side table and picked up the remote, flipping through channels until a familiar movie played. You let it run as background noise while you read your book and slipped your drink. But despite your best efforts, Steven was still present in your mind. When you were picturing the main male character, all you could picture was your boyfriend. One of the female characters started to look like Layla. It drove you insane.

You threw the book to the coffee table and dropped to your back across the cushions. You didn’t know how long you had been staring at your ceiling when someone knocked on your door. The first time the noise came, you didn’t move. Surely whoever it was would leave. But after a few seconds the knocking came again, with more authority than the first time. so you hauled yourself up and shuffled over. 

Opening the door, you were greeted by the ghost of your boyfriend. For the most part, it was the same man. Same clothes and same facial features. But his dark curls were pushed out of his face. His posture stood taller and his shoulders pulled back.

It didn’t take long for you to recognize you weren’t looking at Steven.

You moved to close the door when his hand shot out to stop you. You tried leaning some of your body weight against the door but it hardly budged. You muttered a small complaint to yourself before stepping back and opening the door fully.

You stared at the imposter expectantly.

“Not gonna let me in?” He asked, gesturing slightly towards your apartment.

Even his voice was different. Missing the accent, deeper and fuller than Steven’s. Seeing the more mature sound come from your boyfriend’s face sent goosebumps across your skin.

“Why would I? I don’t know you.” You shrugged.

“C’mon, Y/N.” He groaned and ran a hand down his face. “You really wanna have this conversation in the hall?”

You sighed heavily and as if on cue, your nosy neighbor was leaving her apartment. You grabbed Marc’s jacket and pulled him in, giving the woman a quick wave and a tight smile. You heard her question who he was but you shut the door before having to answer. You stared at the door for a second to collect yourself before turning to face Marc, who had already made himself comfortable on your couch.

“Little early in the day for drinks, don’t you think?” He tried to joke and shook the empty can but you didn’t laugh.

“Well when I find out my boyfriend is married and absolutely not who I thought he was, I’m entitled to a spiked lemonade… Just be glad it isn’t the bottle of vodka in my freezer.” You countered, the words spilling faster than you could control them. “So who the hell are you this time?”

“My name’s Marc.” He began and you rolled your eyes. “Steven and I are…”

“Twins?” You tried your earlier guess. You just desperately wanted something simple for an explanation. A case of mistaken identity among twins was simple enough.

“No, not exactly.”

“But you are the one married to that girl, Layla, right?” You pressed.

“Yeah.” He nodded and a small smile crossed his lips. “Steven’s never met her till today.”

“Well…” You said awkwardly, coming a few steps closer. “She’s very pretty.”

He smiled a little wider for a second before he seemed to remember why he was there.

“Listen, I came here because I wanted to try and explain what I could to you.” He began carefully.

“Is Layla right then, Steven’s just an act?” You cut in sharply. “A fake name so you can lead a life away from her? Because it seems to me that that woman loves you. Why she would is baffling to me and why you would divorce her is even more ludacris.”

“He’s not an act and he’s not fake.” He seemed to flinch at the last word. “Maybe he’s not all that real, either. It’s…” He blew out a heavy sigh. “It’s complicated, Y/N/N.”

“Don’t you dare.” You said tightly, closing the distance to put yourself in front of Marc. “You’ve existed to me for all of ten minutes. You have no right to call me that.”

“You’re right.” His hands went up in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

“How do you know about that anyway?”

“I know pretty much everything about Steven’s life.” He shrugged innocently. “You, the gift shop, his really shitty boss. I know what bus he takes, that goddamn fish. Jesus, I even know what underwear brand he wears.”

“How? Why? I just-“ You groaned and pushed your hands into your hair. “What the hell is going on, Marc?”

“Sometimes…” He spoke carefully, as if he was treading around land mines. “There were a few nights when you would come to Steven’s, or walking back to his place after work, it wouldn’t be him… He wouldn’t take over in time and it would be me. Kinda got to know you through that.”

“Oh my god.” You said quietly, your hand covering your mouth as you sunk into the chair beside you. “When he would be super quiet and just nodding or making little humming noises…”

“Yeah…” He hesitantly agreed, clearly embarrassed. “I tried to kind of push him forward but- I don’t know how this shit works, Y/N. I’m just living with it at this point.”

“So… You’re Marc and he’s Steven, but you’re also the same?” You questioned as the information tried to sink in. “Like you two are-“ You interlocked your fingers together.

“Same body, different people.” He nodded. “I know it’s a lot but don’t.. Don’t leave him over this.”

“Leave him?” Your brows furrowed and you almost laughed. “I’m not gonna leave him over this.”

“Really?” His brows raised quizzically. “Cause it didn’t seem that way when you walked out.”

“I can handle personalities, I think. It’s the marriage that’s a problem.”

“To be fair, it’s my marriage.” He offered. “Like I said, he never knew her.”

“I just need a day or two to let it process.” You confessed. “And I think you need a day or two to figure out things with Layla.”

“Yeah, probably right.”

“And if you two work it out, me and Layla are gonna have to figure out an arrangement.”

[whoreish-behaviour]

Steven Grant + Marc Spector x Reader

Warnings >~< = Hair pulling, mild brat taming

Not proof read

Shutting your eyes, you attempted to breathe normally - anger radiating off you in waves as you sat criss cross on the sofa - gaming controller almost on the brink of breaking in your tight grip.

It's just a game, it's just a game, its-

Marc's scolding words repeating in you head as you (forcefully) dropped the controller on the floor, the satisfying sound of the plastic doing little to ease your frustration.

'Just a game.' You murmured, shutting your eyes momentarily so you didn't have to keep staring at the DEFEAT! on the tv screen.

However, as soon as you reopened them - the anger flew right back.

'Fucking assholes! Spamming the same controls doesn't make you a better player-.' You rambled, face flushing as you felt yourself getting worked up.

'And my stupid fucking team, like seriously-'

'Darlin’?'

You snapped your mouth shut at the sudden voice of Steven, turning your head to look at where he was stood by the front door. He was dressed in his usual oversized attire, brows pinched together.

'You okay there?' His voice was soft, head tilting in that adorable way when he was unsure.

You pursed your lips, one side of you knowing that you should just take your loss and move on. But, you couldn't shake it off, it was too fresh.

'I'm fine.' You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest and leaning back against the sofa as you looked back to the tv.

DEFEAT! PRESS 'X' TO CONTINUE

You heard Steven's footsteps as he migrated through his apartment, the sound of something heavy dropping on the counter before the tapping of his shoes made their way to you.

You felt slightly stupid for staring at the unmoving tv screen but made no move to change the channel or start a new game.

You felt him loom over you from behind, hand coming up to rub the top of your head lovingly.

'Aw darling, you know its-'

'I know Steven.' You yourself almost winced at the bite in your tone.

He didn't respond, a pregnant pause hanging in the air before he gently removed his hand from your head.

'Okay, well let me know if you-'

'Uh huh.' You cut him off, the rush of being an utter brat going straight to your head.

While Steven was sweet, you also knew that he loved to ring you back and put you in your place - problem was that it took a long time before that switch would set off inside him.

Giving you the perfect open window to let your frustration spew with no consequences.

Uncrossing your arms, you leaned forward and away from Steven to reach for the remote - lips set in a pout.

You weren't expecting the tight grip your hair was succumbed to, fist unforgiving as you were yanked back to your original position, back flat against the sofa.

'That any way to talk to Steven pretty girl?'

You swallowed thickly at the sound of Marc's unmissable American accent, throat bobbing at the sudden nerves racking your body.

'Hm?' He probed, hand pulling your hair even more taught as he leaned down into your space, running his nose over you jaw and then down to your neck.

Your body immediately shut down, Marc's intimidation and dominance usually having that effect on you.

'And now you're ignoring me, just digging yourself a deeper hole.' He reprimanded, using his hold on your hair to give himself more access to your neck.

'I'm sorry.' Your voice was quiet and meek, complete opposite to your earlier coldness.

Shutting your eyes, you accepted your fate when you felt him chuckle into you - lips brushing your skin and making you feel like an exposed nerve.

'No you’re not.' He pulled away, cold air cooling your warming skin.

You gasped, eyes shooting open when the hand in you hair somehow tightened, pulling your head back until it was rested over the edge of the sofa, Marc's displeased upside down face coming into view.

'But you will be sweet girl.'

[storiesforallfandoms]

how things are now ~ marc spector & steven grant;moon knight

word count: 2436

request?: yes!

“Hi hi hi sweetness!! I am here to humbly request a Marc Spector and Steven Grant x reader. The basis of it is kinda just what life is like after the finale. We saw how Marc was towards Stevens feelings for Layla and I kinda wanted that. The reader (Marc’s wife) starting a conversation with Marc about how things are now then going into how it works with Steven and all three of them talking about it. Fluffy asf please with maybe a steamy ending. Thank you so so very much🤍”

description: now that they’ve learned how to share the body, they must come to terms with the fact that they also have to share their wife

pairing: marc spector x female!reader x steven grant

warnings: swearing, a small sad moment but only small, the boys are fighting again

masterlist (one, two, three)

Meeting Steven Grant, the second personality that lived in your husband’s head, was one of the many surprises you learned about Marc after his time working for the God Khonshu. It was probably the better of all the other surprises, but still a surprise nonetheless. It was also a surprise that came with some complications in the marriage that you knew needed to be addressed.

See, Marc and Steven had figured out a way to evenly share “the body” and to get along with one another, until it came to wanting to spend time with you. Marc loved you to the moon and back and was relieved that everything with Khonshu had ended so that he could finally be with you without the fear of putting you in danger. However, Steven had also grown very fond of you. He was over the moon to find out that “both he and Marc had such a lovely wife” (his words). You’d be lying if you said you didn’t also love Steven as much as you loved Marc.

With that being said, this was where the complications lie: Steven kept trying to take hold of the body over Marc whenever you were with him. Despite having figured out a way to peacefully co-inhabit the body, Marc felt like he was back to struggling for control of himself because of how often Steven tried to take over so he could be with you.

You couldn’t fully blame Steven, though, as Marc had openly voiced his jealousy towards you and Steven, to a point where he wanted to deny Steven any time with you and wanted you all to himself.

You let this go on for a few weeks before you decided it was time to put an end to it. You were going to lay down the ground rules of this new way your marriage was going to work, and if the men didn’t like that, then that was too bad.

You arrived home from work to find Marc hunched over his laptop. You had come to learn which one of them had control of the body due to their body language: standing wise, Marc had the better posture and held himself with more confidence than Steven, but when they were sitting Marc tended to hunch or basically lay across wherever he was sitting.

He looked up at you and smiled.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know, same old same old,” you responded. “Dealt with shitty people who don’t know what manners are, restrained myself from slapping said stupid people because an assault charge really isn’t worth it.”

Marc chuckled and pulled you into his arms as you sat down next to him. He leaned down to kiss you. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, feeling the familiar warmth running through your body that Marc’s presence usually brought.

You pulled away from the kiss to look up into his eyes. You could see that it was still Marc in control, so you decided to just get to the point.

“I want to talk to you about something,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Depends on how you take what I’m gonna say.” You pulled away from his embrace and took his hands in yours. You smoothed down his calloused knuckles with your thumbs as your gaze stayed on your joined hands. “I want to talk about Steven.”

You could feel him tense up beside you. “Why?”

“Marc, we can’t just keep acting like everything is the same now,” you said. “Besides the obvious that my husband was the hitman for an Egyptian God and apparently is a superhero now, there’s also a new person that’s been introduced in our marriage.”

“He’s not involved in our marriage.”

You finally looked up at him so that you could give him a stern look. His face was twisted in annoyance.

“You can say that all you want, but the truth is, Steven is just as involved as you and me,” you said. “You love me, I love you. But we both know that Steven also loves me, and I love him, too. I love you both equally.”

“He’s a fucking parasite,” Marc growled, tugging his hands free from you so he could stand.

“Marc!” you scolded. “Don’t you dare say that. We both know that’s not how you feel.”

“It’s how I feel when that fucker is getting between me and my wife. You’ve been my wife for longer, (Y/N). It’s not fair for him to come along and think he can just wedge his way into something he was never involved in before just because he and I have finally figured out how to share the body.”

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. You were starting to realize this was probably a bad idea. There was obviously no getting through to Marc about the issue, and you were certain now that he wasn’t about to happily follow along with the ground rules you were trying to set. The last thing you wanted was to continue on like this in your marriage, but you really weren’t sure what else to do anymore.

“Is he upsetting you, love?”

You looked up to see Marc’s entire demeanor had changed. Anyone who didn’t know Marc well enough probably wouldn’t pick up on it, but you had come to learn the tells between Marc and Steven so well that even the slightest of change tipped you off as to who was in control. You knew your angry husband had been forced back into the body, replaced with the kindhearted Brit who also resided in Marc’s head.

“Steven, now really is not a good time for you to take over,” you said. “We’re kind of...discussing you.”

“Oh, I heard,” Steve said. “I also heard that he wasn’t listening and was just making you upset.”

“Steven, give me back the body right now. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“I believe this has everything to do with me, since it’s literally about me.”

“This is between me and my wife, Steven. Regardless of who we’re talking about, you’re not part of the conversation.”

“We share a body, Marc, she’s not just your wife anymore.”

“Will both of you shut the fuck up!”

He looked at you so startled that you weren’t sure which of them currently had control of the body. Not that you even really cared at that moment. You were tired of the fighting. You were finally taking this moment to say what was on your mind, which was what you had been trying to do since you had gotten home. They were going to listen, whether they liked it or not, and they were going to accept your terms.

You stood from the couch and approached whichever one of them had control. You took his hand and looked up into his eyes, searching to figure out which of the two personalities was there. He squeezed your hand a little as you recognized that Steven was the one still in control.

“Steven,” you started. He nodded, confirming what you already knew. “I need you to listen to me, okay? And once I’m done talking, I need you to give me Marc back for a little while?”

He nodded again. You brought him back to the couch and sat him down. Steven looked at you with wide, attentive eyes; the brown eyes that you had fallen in love with all those years ago when you first met Marc. That was one thing that you wished Marc could understand about the new dynamic of your marriage including Steven - the fact that you were basically getting to fall in love with your husband for the first time all over again.

“Marc, I know you’re listening,” you started. “But I need you to also control yourself so I can talk to Steven, okay?” You didn’t wait for a response you knew you weren’t going to get. “Steven, I love you.”

He couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at his lips. “I love you, too, (Y/N).”

“But you understand that I love Marc, too, right? He was my husband first, before I met you. He was my first real love. He’s special to me in a different way.”

Steven nodded. “I know. I understand that. I could never dream of you feeling any other way for him.”

“You say you understand, but you do tend to block Marc and I from spending time together. Case in point, you taking over just then in the middle of our conversation.”

“You were fighting - ”

“We weren’t fighting, we were talking. Even if we were fighting, though, that happens sometimes. Couples argue. It’s normal. You don’t always have to come to my rescue if Marc and I are fighting. And it’s not just when we’re fighting. You take control a lot when we’re trying to spend time together, on date nights especially. I understand that you love me, and that you want to get to spend time with me, too, but Marc did come first. You have to let him have his time with me, too. Okay?”

Steven nodded, looking down at his lap. You reached out to put a finger under his chin, lifting his head to look at you. You gave him a soft smile. “Don’t be upset. I do love the time we spend together.”

Steven smiled, shyly. You leaned forward to kiss him. He seemed shocked at first, which was when you realized it was the first time you had really kissed Steven. All the time you had spent together, all the date nights and lazy Sundays he had hijacked, and you had never truly kissed him before. It almost didn’t seem right for this to be the first time.

You could feel his hand twitch as you kissed. You kept a firm hold of it, knowing it was likely Marc trying to intervene, or trying to hit Steven for kissing you. When you pulled away, Steven pouted, which caused you to giggle.

“We had a deal,” you reminded him. “Can I speak to my husband please?”

Steven sighed, but didn’t put up a fight. You watched his demeanor change as Marc took control again. His pouty face turned to a scowl and he quickly pulled his hands away from you as he fully regained control. You rolled your eyes. Yep, there was your husband alright.

“That was kind of you,” his said. “To give him that speech and to kiss him like that. Wasn’t shitty at all to have to witness another man kissing my wife.”

“Marc,” you said in a warning voice. “We’re talking about this, too.”

“What else is there to talk about? You love Steven. I already knew that. Big fucking deal.”

“But I love you, too. Did you miss that part? The whole giant chunk of conversation where I told Steven that he has to understand that our relationship comes first to me?”

“I heard you tell him you love spending time with him, and that he has to share you. I’m not sharing you, (Y/N), so don’t even think about asking.”

“We don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, Marc. Whether you like it or not, you’re not the only one who has control of your body. You can’t just shove Steven down inside of you and never let him out again.”

“Worked for me once, didn’t it?”

You grabbed his face and forced him to look at you. You could see he was trying to seem angry, but there was something in his eyes that gave him away; sadness.

“Baby, you know heard what I said to Steven,” you said. “I love you. You. I love Steven, too, but you were in my heart first. You’re the man I married, not Steven. Why are you so worried about my feelings for him so much? I can love you both equally, and I do.”

Being forced to look at you and finally being asked the question he dreaded the most caused tears to start to form in Marc’s eyes. You don’t think you had ever seen him cry in years. The last time was probably when you both got married. You could remember his misty eyes as you walked down the aisle that day, but that was the only time you could remember seeing him cry. It took you by surprise to see him getting so emotional over this.

“What if you start to love him more than you love me?” he asked, his voice soft. “What if you realize he’s better than I am?”

“I won’t, because that’s not true.”

Marc laughed, humorlessly. “Isn’t it? I mean, he’s nicer for sure. A little annoying, but people like him. He’s not abrasive or aggressive like I am. He’s the type of guy a woman like you was supposed to end up with, not an asshole like me.”

You took his hand in yours and gave it a slight squeeze. “And yet you’re the one I fell in love with. You’re the one I married. And you’re the one I intend to spend the rest of my life with, whether Steven is in the picture or not. You can be a bit of an asshole, I’m not going to deny that - ” His chuckle had some humor behind it this time. “ - but I love that about you. I love that you are you. I’m not going to end our marriage because of a nice guy with a cute accent. I mean, I’m here trying to negotiate that the three of us have equal standing in this marriage, for God’s sake. Would I be doing that if I loved Steven more than I loved you?”

Marc shook his head. “I guess not.”

You leaned forward to kiss him, too. Just as much love and passion exploded from your kiss with Marc as it did with Steven. If you needed any further evidence that you loved them both equally, that was it.

You rested your forehead against his and looked into his eyes. Those eyes, you loved them more than you could’ve ever loved anything else.

“He doesn’t get to have the best part with you, though,” Marc said.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “The best part?”

You screamed in surprise as Marc suddenly lifted you off your feet and carried you off to the bedroom. “The part where we both get naked and I get to feel you all over. That’s not his, that part is mine.”

[melodygatesauthor]

Not a Doctor

Jake Lockley X f!Reader (Patient X Therapist)

*skin tone of model in banner does not represent skin tone of reader. Reader is not race-coded.

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake

AO3 LINK

Summary:

You're a therapist who works at a medium security mental facility. One of your patients, diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, has an undocumented alter that starts showing himself to you. When you learn what it is he wants, you find it difficult to resist.

Tags/Warnings:

NSFW, power imbalance, p in v creampie, cum eating, spit kink, obsession, Jake in lust, medical inaccuracies, I probably made mistakes about DID but I tried, no powers/no MK/no marvel, rough sex, inappropriate sex, semi-public sex, patient/doctor relationship, dacryphilia, mild blood, biting/marking, reader is kinda mean to Steven (I'm really sorry), mental manipulation, praise kink, refractory period? What refractory period, Marc and Steven make minor appearances. Jake-centric fic.

Word Count: 12.6k (*cough* don't look at me, I'm but a simple hor)

The first time you met Jake Lockley, he was sitting across your desk in a wheelchair. He was mildly sedated, pupils dilated, brows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t know it was Jake yet, you assumed the original, Marc, was fronting, as he normally was. The manila file rested in front of you untouched, reading Marc Spector on the label. You didn’t even need to open it anymore, unless you were adding notes, as you’d been working with him long enough by now to know the file inside and out.

You asked Marc the same thing you asked at the beginning of every session.

“How are you doing today, Marc?”

A smirk spread over his face, something wicked, a little cocky, and it sent a chill racing down your spine. He looked at you with a face you didn’t recognize.

“I’m not Marc.” He said firmly, dark eyes burning into yours.

You were surprised; the British accent that normally accompanied Marc’s only known alter, Steven Grant, wasn’t there. You opened the file quickly, scouring through, shuffling papers around and trying to stay calm, looking for any indication of a third alter. 

But you came up with nothing during your quick glance. 

You took a deep breath to steady your racing mind.

“You’re not Steven.” You said it as more of a statement than a question.

You crossed your legs and put your hands in your lap, trying to show this new and unpredictable person that you weren’t a threat. You let your facial expression soften. In cases like Marc’s, if there was an undocumented alter, there was no telling if they were friend or foe.

“You’re not a doctor.” He muttered, shaking his head slowly. He had a slight twang to his words.

You gulped uncomfortably. He wasn’t wrong, you didn’t, in fact, have your PhD. You were a licensed therapist, but that was irrelevant information, and there was no way he could really know that. You could see that he was very quickly becoming agitated by the way his breath was coming out faster and his hands were clenching the armrests of his wheelchair. You felt your own anxiety pooling in your chest.

There was training you had undergone specifically for these types of situations. You tried to recall your safety training, remembering the importance of diffusing a situation with your words first, with calling security being a final resort, reserved only for when a patient was beyond reasoning with. The man in front of you wasn’t quite there yet from what you could tell.

The two of you were at a stand still, his chest was heaving and his eyes stayed narrowed on you. After working with Marc and Steven all this time and having no documentation of this alter, you felt at a loss for words. He could be the kindest person you’d ever met, or he could be extremely violent, there really was no telling what he was capable of.

“That’s irrelevant,” you said. “I’m here to help you, Marc and Steven, that’s all that matters.” You paused to see if he would say anything else. When he didn’t, you asked, “What’s your name?” You decided to keep things simple for now.

He leaned forward. Your hand involuntarily reached for the alert button around your neck slowly.

“Don’t you push that fucking button, puta.” He warned, you watched his hand slide forward on the wheelchair arm menacingly.

Your fingers froze over the button, holding there while you determined if this was something you could handle yourself or not. The two of you were at another impasse. If you pushed that button, he was going to lunge, and if you didn’t push it in time in the event he was violent, he could really hurt you, or worse…

“I won’t push the button as long as you and I can have a civil conversation.” You spoke calmly despite the terror building within you.

The man appeared to consider this before he leaned back in his chair. You slowly dropped your arm to show compliance. If he was going to back off, then you could safely let down your guard. A thick silence split through the room, save for the ticking clock above the door.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I’m just here to help. You can call me…” You told him your name. You’d found in your time as a therapist it helped your patients immensely when they felt like you were a peer, not a superior figure. “Alright, do you want to tell me why you’re here?” You asked, trying to keep your shaking voice as light as possible.

“Well…” he let out a snicker, “hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but if I’m here, that’s a bad sign.”

You were supposed to correct patients when they called you names like that, even they were expected to act more respectfully, but you didn’t want to agitate him further. If the worst thing he did right now was call you sweetheart, you’d consider that a win.

He scoffed, “tell me something…why do you smell like nuestra madre, hm?” He was clenching his jaw as he spoke.

You inhaled sharply, realizing you’d made a huge mistake. Your birthday was yesterday, and a friend bought you a new perfume. During one of the many trainings you’d done for your position, you’d been cautioned that certain scents could trigger some patients. Marc’s mother, Wendy…she must’ve worn something with similar notes. That’s why this alter was here. He was protecting the other two from the emotional pain that he thought you might cause. He’d pegged you as a threat.

You furrowed your brow and picked your pen up off the desk. You clicked it and started writing what he said on your legal pad. 

“What are you writing? Huh? You taking little notes about how crazy I am? Telling everyone how fucked up Marc is that he’s got three psychos in the same skull?” This new alter was intense, ready for a fight at every turn. You made a mental note never to wear that perfume again, and started scribbling more about the agitated man in front of you.

“I’m just taking simple notes. All the therapists do it. We have to.” You thought of something that might help him feel safer, “would you like to see them? We don’t typically show patients their notes, but if you ask for them I’m obligated to show them to you.”

It turned out that Jake Lockley did not, in fact, want to see the notes. 

The visit ended shortly after with security intervention. His smile turned manic as he got up from his chair and grabbed a pyramid shaped paperweight from your desk. He turned it around in his hand, the pointed edge facing you and you quickly pressed your emergency button with a look of terror in your eyes. Marc had never done anything like that, especially not to you. He knew you were there to help. This alter clearly didn’t trust you, and it was going to be a struggle to get him to come around.

Security sedated and removed him from your office. You couldn’t stop thinking about him after that interaction. The way his eyes looked, so dark and different, eyebrows scrunched together in nothing but disdain. He looked feral, like a wild animal. As if given the opportunity, he might devour you whole. You’d decided to avoid making any official documentation about him. Marc was so close to moving to a less restrictive program, you didn’t want to ruin that for them until you knew more.

----

The second time you met Jake Lockley was a week later. You were in the middle of a conversation with Steven. Marc would sometimes dissociate when the conversation got too difficult, and you’d just finished talking about Marc’s time in the military. You were trying to figure out more about this other alter. You had a suspicion that he had been around for a while, and that last week wasn’t the first appearance he’d ever made.

You weren’t even sure if Marc knew about him. You cared for Marc and Steven. They’d made so much progress since first coming in, and you didn’t want to see them end up back in a maximum security mental facility. According to their chart, it took months before they finally stopped going on about the Egyptian moon god and being his ‘Moon Knight’. Not that Steven believed in it anyway, that was mostly Marc’s delusion. By the time they’d become your patient, those days were long behind them.

The purpose of Marc being there with you, in that facility, wasn’t to get rid of his dissociative identity disorder. In fact, he’d made it very clear that wasn’t something he intended to do. “Steven’s a part of me, we’re a package deal,” he’d said. He needed to learn to live with it, and function in society in order to be discharged, and that was his goal here. It was just within reach, too. If there was a third alter though, that would be a major setback for them. There was just no telling what kind of man he was.

You supposed that was why you’d broken protocol and kept the new alter out of your chart notes. It was completely unethical to do that, but you wanted to know if this was something worth keeping them in there for any longer. You saw no sense in extending his stay if this alter was just reacting violently to you out of fear.

“Steven, can you tell me something?” You asked, leaning back in your chair and grabbing your coffee between your hands.

“Sure, yeah.”

He always seemed happy to talk to you. You wondered if you were the only one there that treated him like he actually existed, and not like he was some imaginary friend of a mentally ill man. People could be so cruel, even in your field.

“I’ve been looking through your chart more recently, and one very typical symptom of DID is loss of time. Marc said he experienced it quite a bit when you would front, and you mentioned it happening during the last few weeks of you having your job while Marc had control of the body. You know…before the bathroom incident in London.” You strummed your fingers against the cup nervously, unsure if this line of questioning might help or hurt them further. “Have you or Marc…lost any time recently?”

Steven furrowed his brow, his mouth went a little slack while he tried to recall. He shook his head slowly. You could see him trying to think, to a point that his face dropped and he looked almost disappointed. A smirk curled at the side of his lip. Your blood went cold; it was him. The switch happened so fast.

“Hola, puta.” He said, looking up at you through his lashes.

You reached for the button quickly, but hesitated again. It was as if his eyes darkened, and his entire body changed. He wiped some spit from his bottom lip and tousled his hair a bit, straightening his posture.

“Marc must be sick of not having hair gel.” The unknown man commented.

You nodded, “he’s mentioned it once or twice.” You took a deep breath, “do I need this thing? Or are we going to talk like civilized human beings?”

He shrugged and crossed his arms, “that’s up to you. Last time I had a conversation with someone, they weren’t making cute little notes to share with their friends later.”

“Why do the notes bother you?” You asked softly, lowering your arm to the desk.

He looked at the floor for a moment, allowing an awkward silence to hang in the air. When he looked at you again, his eyes were nearly black, pupils dilated. His lips were pressed together tightly and he leaned forward. You shifted uncomfortably, but kept your hands from pressing the panic button.

“I don’t think those notes are particularly honest. Do you?” He tilted his head to the side. “What did you write about me after our little incident last week, huh?”

You were surprised at his ability to recall the time. You began to wonder if he’d been hiding in plain sight and if anyone else had noticed the changes in Marc’s behavior. What you still weren’t sure about, was what seemed to trigger this new alter. You’d been sure not to wear that perfume again. How long has this alter been around? 

“I didn’t write about your incident. The psychiatrist was surprised to hear that Marc had an unusual outburst during our session.” You laced your fingers over your knee. “I’d like to know more about you before I condemn Marc and Steven to more time here.”

You watched his entire body relax at that sentence. His purpose, as it would seem, was to protect the system. When things got scary, physically or otherwise, he would come out. He was in no danger now though, so why he was there now was a mystery to you.

“No notes.” He said firmly, stating his conditions.

“Fine.” You said, pushing the notepad to the other end of the desk. “Let’s just chat then.”

The sound of the clock ticking was deafening. A smirk played over his face again as he grunted and stood from his wheelchair. Your fingers twitched, but you were going to do everything you could not to touch that damn button. Ever since they’d been transferred to this facility, you wanted to help Marc and Steven so badly, and you still meant to do that. He walked up to the desk and held his hand out to you.

Despite your attempt at bravery, your body was trembling as you went to shake his hand. His handshake was firm, and surprisingly his skin was soft. Neither Steven nor Marc had ever touched you before, they just sat in the wheelchair like patients were supposed to. Something told you that this one didn’t care much for the rules or protocol. He turned and went back to his seat.

That was when you learned his name was Jake Lockley.

“Now, what was it you wanted to know, sweetheart?” 

His New York accent was much clearer now. He wasn’t unhinged by nature, in fact, he was quite calmly mannered, however he seemed easy to trigger. It was also hard to tell when he was upset. He seemed to mask his feelings behind a sly grin, brushing off any and every word with a sense of grit. It was like the man you’d met the week before, the one who looked like he might stab you, wasn’t the same one you were talking to now.

Steven had taken a while to sort out, getting him to understand and step into his role in Marc’s life. Steven would come out when Marc was experiencing something triggering, or generally upsetting. If the topic turned to their mother, Marc could talk for a little while before Steven would take his place. Steven had also struggled with understanding his existence. What did it mean to be an alter for a man with DID? The existential questions were still a struggle for even you to comprehend.

“Jake, tell me about what you think is going on here?” You were trying to be friendly, but you could tell he was a no bullshit kind of guy. If you could match his energy, you might be able to get some answers out of him.

“Why don’t you tell me more about you, and then I’ll tell you more about me.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow against his knee.

You interlinked your fingers over the desk and sighed. It was against protocol to tell patients about your personal life. It could create a dangerous situation for you, and potentially trigger a patient. You wanted to get Jake to talk though, so you decided to play along.

“Fine…” you felt tense. No one had made you feel this way during your entire career as a therapist. “You start.”

He seemed amused. His face was cocky, as if he’d won a prize at the end of a game, and perhaps to him this was a game. You leaned back and tapped the arm of your chair anxiously, trying to keep yourself calm despite the weight crushing your chest.

“You married? No, I don’t see a ring.”

So he’s observant, you noted.

“Got a boyfriend then?” He asked, still looking smug.

“No.” You answered bluntly. The important thing with difficult patients like him was to hold your ground, and don’t give them any information they can use against you later.

“Okay, Jake, when Marc was in the Lennox maximum security facility he started some trouble with other patients. It’s also reported that he had no recollection of said events. I guess they should’ve spotted you then.” You looked at him, feeling a little cocky yourself after having done your research since your last session with Marc.

“That sounds more like a statement than a question.”

“Was that you?”

“Si.”

Another pause. Jake rested his chin on his fist. His eyes narrowed, but his brows seemed to soften. He was relaxing, easing into the space. This was good, maybe you could get him to talk more freely.

“Do you wear pretty red lipstick for all of your patients or just for me?”

The heat rose to your cheeks. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but it sounded ragged and shallow despite your best efforts to stay calm. He was being so bold. None of your patients had ever spoken to you like that, so flirtatiously. It still surprised you how different he was from Marc and Steven, despite sharing a body with them.

“That’s inappropriate.” You cleared your throat stiffly.

“Answer the question, bebita.” He demanded coldly. “Answer…or I guess we’re done here.”

“No, I wear this color often.” You answered in an equally cool tone.

“Looks good.” His eyelids lowered seductively. The heat in your cheeks was still burning.

“Uh…thanks.” Your nerves were breaking through the barrier you normally had in place with patients.

“Your turn.”

It was hard to think of another question. He’d rendered you speechless, which you supposed was probably his goal. He was sly, this one, crafty with how he played the game. Suddenly you felt like this was his office, and you were the one under the magnifying glass.

“When did you come about, at what point in Marc’s life?”

You really needed to take these notes, but you decided that it would get you nowhere with him.

“Some time when he was in the service. I don’t remember the exact year.” He cleared his throat now, he seemed to get uncomfortable at the mention of the traumatic event that led to his creation.

“You don’t like to think about that, do you?”

“You already asked your question.” His tone was no longer amused, and you sensed the game was over.

“I know you care about Marc, I do too. If you don’t cooperate with me then he’s never going to leave here.” You tried to play to his weakness, Marc, the only reason he existed. “I want to help him. Please.”

“I think we’re done here sweetheart, but I’ll see you again next time. Maybe wear something nice and we’ll see if I feel more talkative.”

You spent the rest of the day thinking about your appearance. When you got home you stood in front of your full length mirror, turning from side to side. You’d worn what you always wore to work: your white coat, with a solid colored shirt underneath, today you’d worn the blue one, and black slacks. Jewelry was something you were instructed to keep to a minimum given the nature of your profession.

What’s wrong with my outfit? I thought I looked nice enough, you thought.

You caught your own eye in the reflection and chuckled, suddenly feeling foolish. Why did you care what your patient thought of your outfit? Your appearance had nothing to do with your ability to do your job. In a frustrated huff you fell into your evening routine, showering, brushing your teeth, changing into sweats and a comfy shirt before crawling into bed.

For the following week you hardly slept. This alter, this…Jake Lockley…he had a hold on you that you couldn’t explain. You started mulling over Marc’s notes in between patients, questioning all the incident reports that appeared exceptionally violent. There weren’t many, otherwise he would’ve remained in maximum security, but there were a few notable incidents.

When you saw Marc again, he had a broken nose. You’d received word earlier that morning that he’d had an incident overnight.

Patient Name: Marc Spector

DOB: 03/09/1987

Date of incident: ———

Date of report: ———

Incident Details: Patient exhibited hostility toward staff. Staff observed as patient seemed to become severely agitated by the sound of gunshots in a movie playing in the common area.

Patient began yelling nonsensically. Staff observed patient grab a pen and attempt to use it as a weapon to stab another patient. Staff intervened and sedated patient. Patient has no recollection of the incident.

No patients or staff sustained physical injury. Patient will be kept under sedation until further evaluation. It’s recommended that patient be evaluated for potential transfer back to the Lennox Facility.

You looked up from the paper and gave Marc a kind smile. He looked a little afraid, confused, and most of all he looked tired. That’s what got him here in the first place. The DID was minor, he had that handled all on his own, well before he was institutionalized. The insomnia is what caused Steven’s hallucinations, and that’s what caused his mental break that put him in front of you.

“Marc, the sheet here says–”

“I know what the sheet says.” He was embarrassed, that much was evident by his lack of eye contact and the way his lips were pressed together.

“Can you tell me what happened?” You spoke hardly above a whisper.

“Oh, yeah sure, I’d love to talk about it.” He said sarcastically. “Problem is, I don’t remember anything, but you should already know that, right? You read the papers.”

“You know that I care a lot about you and Steven, right? I need you to work with me. I want you out of here too. You’re not…insane like some of the other people I’ve seen.” You were speaking low. You weren’t supposed to talk like that about your patients, no matter how true it may be.

“I know…I know.” Marc’s eyes started glistening. “I think there’s another one… a third.”

You gulped, unsure if you should tell him about this new alter he knew nothing about. Marc was smart, smarter than you sometimes gave him credit for. He knew without you saying anything that there was something you were hiding.

“Doc.” Marc always called you that, no matter how many times you told him to call you by your first name. “What’s going on, what do you know?”

“I need you to stay calm, okay?”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve…I’ve met another one, and I’m still figuring him out. I was waiting to learn more before I told you…or anyone else.” You realized you were squeezing your pen in your fist.

“What do you mean?” Marc was panicking, you could see his bottom lip quivering in his frustration. “There’s another one? How? When?”

He started to stand, his legs shook. You’d never seen Marc so upset before. He walked closer and pressed both hands on your desk, leaning forward.

“Who is he? Tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Marc, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want…”

The shift in expression was subtle, but you could see it plain as day. The anger seemed to dissipate and was replaced with a suave smirk and furrowed brows.

“Hi sweetheart, nice outfit.” He said, tone much calmer than Marc’s was seconds ago.

“Jake.”

“Si, bebita.” His eyes crawled over you slowly, he even bit his bottom lip.

“Sit down.” You said firmly, pulling your white coat over your chest.

He shook his head, “no, I don’t think I will. Been a while since I’ve really been able to stretch my legs.”

He started to pace, stopping to look at some of the artwork and photos in your office. You remained silent, unsure of his next move, and not wanting to give him any fuel to add to the fire. He stopped in front of one photo. They were all generic, stock images that meant nothing, just random and placed there for decorative purposes. The photo he pointed to was of an old cab in a silver frame on the top shelf of your bookcase.

“You know I used to drive a cab. Years ago in New York.” He chuckled like he recalled something funny, “did you always do this…” he gestured around the room, “this therapy thing? Or did you have a different job before?”

“Jake, you know we need to talk about the incident, right? From yesterday?” You were trying to speak gently, hoping he would return the favor, but he was so unpredictable.

“I thought we had a deal, bebita. I ask, then you get to ask.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, letting a stray clump of curls fall over his forehead. He brushed his broken nose with his hand and winced.

“Fuck.” He touched the wound with his fingertip before looking at you, eyes cold.

“Jake, I know you care about them too, why are you hiding yourself from them?”

“No no no, I go first.”

He walked over to the wheelchair, released the brake, brought it closer to your desk, and then set it once again. You watched as he walked over and plopped down in front of you.

“You wore a nicer shirt than the last time I saw you. Did you dress up for me? I like that little skirt too.” 

A big smile spread over his face. Meanwhile, you were fidgeting with the hem of your skirt to pull it down as far as you could. Your cheeks burned, of course you didn’t wear that outfit for him…right? 

You recalled your morning. There were butterflies in your gut at the realization that it was Marc’s therapy day. That wasn’t the most unusual thing, you looked forward to working with some of the patients that you enjoyed talking to, and Marc was one of them.

What was different though, was the conscious effort to make sure your red lipstick was perfect, not one bit smeared or out of place. You’d worn a blouse that showed a tasteful bit of cleavage and in a color that complimented your skin tone. You even broke the rules a little and wore some earrings that dangled just a tiny bit…but of course you weren’t dressing up for the alter of a mentally ill man. That would be…crazy.

“I didn’t dress up for you.”

“Oh? So are you dressing up for Marc then? Does he know you–”

“My turn.” You saw his lip twitch. He seemed to like you snapping back at him. “Why are you hiding yourself from Marc and Steven?”

“They wouldn’t like me very much, sweetheart, I’m not a nice guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My turn.” He leaned back, spreading his legs out.

That’s when you noticed…the unmistakable shadow of arousal in his cloth pants. You gulped, eyes widening as you brought your gaze back to his quickly, trying to act like you weren’t just looking between his legs. He noticed though, without a doubt, Jake Lockley noticed you staring at his erection.

“See something you like?” His eyes were half hooded, a cocky smile spread over his soft lips.

“No.”

You crossed your arms and leaned back, angling yourself so the desk was covering his bottom half from your line of sight.

“What did you do before you were…whatever you are?” He asked.

“My turn.” You said.

It was your coy way of reminding him that he had already asked you a question in an attempt to draw the attention to what was between his legs. He was amused with this game, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were too. If this was the only way to get information out of him, then you were happy to oblige.

“You said you’re not a nice guy. What are you then?” You narrowed your eyes at him. In anticipation of his quick witted remark you added, “and don’t give me a sarcastic answer. Honest answers only.”

He waved a finger at you, “I’ll start being honest the moment you do the same, sweetheart.”

“I am being honest with you.”

“No, no you’re not.”

Jake was gone after that, leaving you with a rambling British man who, ‘didn’t know how he got there’.” Steven cried when you told him that you were going to start seeing them twice a week. It was understandable, since he and Marc had been so close to moving down to a less strict facility just a couple of weeks ago. You didn’t have the heart to bring up Jake to Steven. Your obligation wasn’t to Steven anyway, it was to Marc.

You saw him again. Marc, that is, two days later. He scowled at you for a good five minutes before he finally started speaking.

“I don’t want to hear a word out of your mouth unless it’s about what’s going on in my head, doc.” Marc was mildly sedated again. 

His nose was healing, but it still looked raw and painful. You needed to help him. You needed to keep your interest in his alter at bay in order to assist Marc through this. That was your job. It was hard to understand what it was that made you nearly forget that. You were a therapist, your job was to help Marc Spector rehabilitate into society, and you were failing him by not being honest.

“Last time I tried to talk about him with you, he made an appearance.” You clicked your pen over and over anxiously, unsure how the rest of this could possibly go.

Marc was clearly agitated, and you couldn’t say you blamed him. You often tried to put yourself in the shoes of your patients and thought about how you would feel if you’d just heard someone was taking over your body to do as they wished without your knowledge. Especially if it seemed like that person was doing nothing but harm to you.

“I think he cares about you, that much I can tell.” You tried to give him some sense of comfort with that one thing you had figured out about Jake. “Typically in cases of DID, the alters play a role in protecting the mind of the original in some way. Typically.”

“How is starting fights and nearly getting us sent back to max supposed to help? Huh?” You could see his chest heaving the more upset he got.

“You need to stay calm, you becoming agitated seems to be a trigger for him.” You warned, holding up your hand and lowering it slowly, as though that was supposed to help Marc in any way. “Remember? We talked about this. Deep breaths.”

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. Then again.

“There you go.”

“C-can you, can you help me with this damn…” Marc reached behind his back, “my tag is just…it’s itching and…”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed, standing up and walking over to him.

You leaned over him, reaching behind his neck and gently tucking in his tag. Marc, being one of the more hygienic patients you worked with, smelled nice, like fresh linen. You caught yourself with your face a little too close to his dark curls before you broke yourself from your trance. By the time you leaned back, you weren’t looking at Marc anymore. Jake.

For your own safety, you should’ve run back to your desk immediately, but you didn’t. He reached out quickly, grabbing the badge and security button around your neck. Jake tugged quickly. The straps had safety-release buckles on them, in case a patient tried to choke you, and the lanyard was pulled from your neck. He tossed it to the side carelessly.

“Jake, be careful, if you hurt me-”

“Bebita, I don’t want to hurt you.” Jake said, grabbing your jacket collar.

He pulled you close, leaning up to kiss your crimson painted lips. For a split second, you rested there, enjoying the feeling of his exceptionally soft lips against yours, but only for a split second. You pushed him back and gasped.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hissed through gritted teeth. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

You were flustered, scrambling to go grab the items Jake had thrown, but you made the grave mistake of turning your back to a patient. Another thing you’d seemed to forget about your safety training in your flustered state. He was behind you faster than you could think, right hand snaking down to pull up your skirt and feel around for your cunt, the other was wrapped around your throat, pulling you against him tightly. You stiffened, but you were ashamed to say that you didn’t struggle very hard.

“Got you right where I want you, sweetheart.” He said between heavy breaths.

“L-let me go.” You said, feeling terror, mixed with excitement, trickling down your spine. “If you do something stupid, you’re only going to hurt Marc and you know that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you until you want me…and you will want me.”

His middle finger grazed over your pussy lips through your cloth panties. You were wet, you could feel it when he pressed them against your skin further. You gulped against his thick fingers, still wrapped around your throat, before wriggling against his chest, a feeble attempt to get away.

“You sure you don’t want me already?” He kissed your neck softly, and a single damned moan escaped from you before you could stop it. He chuckled, “course you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

Jake dropped his hand out from under your skirt. A sigh of relief left you, but he kept his other hand firmly against your throat. He reached into his pocket and held out on his fingertips a single paper flower. You furrowed your brow in confusion. Finally he released you, to which you reached your own hand up to rub where he’d held pressure over your neck. You turned to him, but you never took your eyes off the little flower. 

“What is this?” You asked.

“Can’t exactly run out to the store and buy you flowers now, can I?”

Now you looked at him, face full of surprise and uncertainty. Was he…was he seriously trying to court you? Your breath caught in your throat. He had looked at you with clear attraction on several occasions. Him acting this way shouldn’t be overly surprising, and yet you were left speechless.

“You…I don’t understand.” You were scrambling to find the words to say.

“I think you do, you’re a smart girl.” He flicked the flower. You watched as it landed perfectly on the corner of your desk. “When you’ve changed your mind…you just say the word. I know how to keep a secret, bet you can too.”

He was close to you again. This time you didn’t even try to stop him when he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Were you leaning in or was he? You were close, ready to taste him again.

“Erm, what the…”

Steven. Oh shit, STEVEN.

“Steven!” You jumped back in a panic, feeling your cheeks light on fire.

“Sorry! I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to put my hands on you. I’m still gettin’ used to this whole thing of me not being…well…me all the time. I still lose time and I don’t know what’s happenin’. Oh god, was it Marc? Did Marc touch you?” Steven was panicking, his eyes were blown wide and his hands were balled into nervous fists at his sides.

“No, Steven, it’s alright, I’m fine. I just…I dropped something and…um…today’s session is over you can go.” You started walking over to grab the lanyard Jake had thrown earlier from your neck.

“Are you sure? It’s only half past I don’t want to-”

“Go!” You yelled, leaning over to grab the lanyard from the floor.

----

By the time you saw Marc again, you felt like you were the one that needed to be mildly sedated and institutionalized. You couldn’t get Jake out of your head. Was it the kiss? You could still feel his phantom lips on yours. Was it the way he brushed his fingers against your soaking panties? The moment Steven left after your meeting with them last week, you plunged your fingers two knuckles deep into your drenched cunt until you achieved release.

You still didn’t even know who the fuck he was.

Your license was on the line. The responsible thing to do would be to insist that Marc start seeing a new therapist for his condition. You clearly were unfit to help him at that point, far too affected by his alter’s presence. The thought upset you though, that you might never see this mystery man again. You had to at least try to get through one more session, to prove to yourself that you could handle it…to prove that you were a good therapist.

Marc was wheeled in and put in front of you by security. He looked upset, like he had last week when you finally told him the truth about the gaps in his and Steven’s memories. You supposed you owed him some sort of explanation now. You only hoped you could get through it this time without interruption. If you could get through this one last appointment with Marc, you’d follow through with getting him to another therapist.

“I expect that you and Steven understand why I had to keep him from you…right?” You asked softly.

Looking at him was difficult. When you looked into his eyes, you had a hard time not thinking about Jake, and the way he made you feel. It didn’t make sense how he captivated you that way. He was interesting, mysterious, and dangerous. Was that it? Was he a reprieve from your otherwise boring and mundane life? Was it the way he clearly wanted you? He was so cocky, so confident. He quite literally took your breath away.

“Yeah, I know.” Marc said finally. You watched his shoulders slump. “I don’t know what to do.”

He was crying. Marc didn’t cry often, and usually when he did, Steven would take over immediately, but the alter didn’t seem like he was working his way out. You wondered if Steven was still upset at you for yelling at him the other day.

“I can help you, but…we need to keep this a secret.” You were speaking in a hushed tone. “If your psychiatrist finds out about him…you’ll never get out of…”

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence. A dark thought crossed your mind.

“Doc?”

You froze in thought. A smirk crept over your lips. If Marc’s psychiatrist thought he had another alter…then they’d be there…well…forever. There was no reason you couldn’t get yourself transferred to maximum and do your work there if worst came to worst, but you suspected Jake was crafty enough to keep them right here. He could keep them insane enough to still need your care, but too sane for a place like Lennox.

If you managed to keep them there, you and Jake could see each other whenever you decided Marc needed an extra session. It would be so easy for you to make sure Jake could take you whenever he wanted, fucking you until you screamed his name while he filled you over and over. It was too much, the need overcoming you with every second that ticked by.

“I’m ready.” You looked deep into Marc’s eyes. “Jake.”

Marc’s brow furrowed, he shook his head in confusion, “what the hell is wrong with you? Is that his name? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You caught your reflection in the desk, you looked fucking crazed. Your eyes were widened, hungry, and full of need. Who was this woman staring back at you? You hardly recognized her. You touched your cheek, feeling the heat at your fingertips. When you shifted in your seat you could feel the slick permeating your panties.

Clammy sweat stuck to your fingers, and your mouth felt dry. You were breathing heavily. Was it hot in there? Taking off your jacket didn’t help. Marc was talking to you, checking in on you so kindly, but you didn’t care. You felt feral, like you were reverting back several steps in evolution and you only wanted one thing, to fu–

“Doc?!” He yelled, breaking you free from your plaguing thoughts.

Your insanity riddled eyes shot up to look at him. He looked afraid. Not afraid of you, but for you. You gulped and took in a deep breath before finding the words to say.

“I-I’m sorry Marc, I haven’t been feeling like myself.” You took another deep breath, trying to shake the crazed thoughts out of your mind. “I think I’m going to be sick, we have to reschedule.”

----

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for a new therapist. You know you have that right.” You sighed, “I’m also surprised you didn’t report me for keeping things from you.”

It had been two weeks since you saw Marc last. After your episode, you canceled all appointments for the next couple of weeks so you could reset. It had taken the first couple days of your break for you to recenter yourself and feel more like…you. After that you’d started to feel better, but you needed to keep yourself separated from them for just a little while longer.

“You stuck your neck out for Steven and myself more times than I can count. Figured I could do the same for you.” He gave you a comforting smirk. “I know you want to help…but I can tell that this…Jake guy…he’s got you riled up.”

You breathed deeply, “yeah, he really…really got into my head. He seems to be triggered by things like certain smells, colors, and sounds. He says his first memories come from your time in the marines.”

Marc clenched his jaw and looked down. You wondered how hard that must’ve been for him, being discharged from the marines and never really knowing why until now, many years later. He looked back up at you. He really was handsome, despite your best efforts not to look at them that way, but he would never compare to Jake, even if they shared the same face.

“Tell me more about him.” Marc demanded.

“He’s…” you thought for a moment, “he’s harsh, rough around the edges, you know? Doesn’t like your hair gel.” You had to stop yourself from smiling like a fool at the thought. “He knows how to make origami flowers.”

You gestured to the flower that still sat on your desk, right where you’d left it before your break. Marc leaned forward on his elbows.

“What else? Steven said he was very…very close to you when he started fronting a couple of weeks ago.” Marc was pressing.

“He…he kissed me.” You hadn’t wanted to admit that to anyone, especially not Marc. “I think he was going to kiss me again but then Steven came in.”

He stood and walked over to your desk. He was looking at you with such intensity. His brows were turned up and drawn in together. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“What else did he do?” Marc’s voice was low, and that was when you realized that something was off.

You were being played with.

Your lips parted, and you stood up suddenly. It was like the entire mental health break you took meant nothing the moment you saw that face. You had a one track mind around him. You could only think about one thing. You took your lanyard off slowly and placed it on the desk softly. Your heels clacked as you stepped around the corner and stopped at the edge, keeping a respectable distance between you and your patient. Every nerve ending in your body was coming alive.

“He touched me.” You said just over a whisper.

Jake stepped closer to you, just one step.

“Where?” You both stepped closer to each other. “Show me.”

You paused, feeling that weight on your chest once again. You were shaking with anticipation. He was terrible, taunting you like this, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeding into it. Despite taking the time off to reset, and move on from this mental dilemma, the second you realized you were talking to him, and not Marc, you were excited beyond words. He had such a strong hold on you, and you were quickly realizing that there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You reached out and grabbed Jake’s wrist. His skin was so soft. You lifted your skirt up over your hips, never letting your eyes leave his, and then you pulled his hand to your already soaked panties. Jake’s face finally broke, a smirk lifted the corner of his lips. He lowered his lids to gaze at you.

“Why didn’t you come to me when I told you I was ready?” You looked between his eyes rapidly. “I thought, maybe I’d made you up or…that you’d forgotten about me.”

Jake grabbed the back of your neck quickly and pulled you in tight. His fingers slid under the waistband of your panties and slipped over your clit. When you gasped at the sensation, Jake closed his mouth on yours. There wasn’t a single thought other than Jake occupying every bit of your mind while he melted himself into you and started swirling his finger around your swollen nub.

“I couldn’t forget you, sweetheart, not when watching you get all flustered over me has been so entertaining.”

“I’m not…not flustered.” You sounded like you had no air left in your lungs. Your hips slid forward over his fingers involuntarily.

“You’re not?” He leaned closer, lips brushing yours just barely.

Something inside you broke through the fog of your arousal, reminding you how wrong this was. As if you’d been awoken from a deep trance, your eyes shot open, glaring at his.

“No…no!” You pulled back, the waistband of your underwear snapped against your skin as you stepped away from him. “I could lose my license…I could go to prison.”

Jake kept his eyes on you while he stuck the two fingers he’d slipped into your panties into his mouth, sucking on them.

“Tan buena, bebita.”

You ran your hands down your face while looking him over. There was a prominent peak formed in his pants, testing the strength of the seam. You felt your core flutter at the sight. You’d never struggled with shortness of breath, but he had you pressing a hand to your chest, desperate for more oxygen.

“Thought you said you were ready.” Jake still held a sly smirk on his face. “That’s alright, I can be patient, you’ll change your mind eventually.”

“No, I won’t, no. Stop doing this to me.” You walked back around and sat at your desk, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you get that wet for all your patients?”

You picked a spot on the white-washed wall and stared at it. Your jaw was clenched, and you started tapping your finger against your arm nervously. You couldn’t ignore him, he wasn’t just going to leave, and you still needed to find a way to help Marc and Steven.

“Do you at least want to know what I think about when I’m fronting at night when Steven and Marc think we’re asleep?” You saw him shift in his seat out of your peripheral, but you kept your eyes on the wall.

“No.”

He chuckled. Jake certainly loved to toy with you. He also didn’t seem interested in the fact that you declined to hear his thoughts.

“I think about how good those delicious red lips will look when I stretch them out. I don’t even know if you could fit all of this in your mouth, what do you think?” He adjusted the waist of his pants, pulling them down under his balls.

Your eyes shifted, for only a second, and you found yourself staring wide. He had his cock caged in his fingers. It was big, bigger than any you’d seen before. You gulped. This was the point that you were instructed by your training to call for security to get him out of there, but instead you just kept your arms crossed firmly and watched.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” He repeated a question he’d asked you once before.

“Stop this.” You said with little conviction.

“You’ll have to call security if you want me to do that.” He dragged his fist upward over his length, “so if you want Marc to get in even more hot water, go for it.”

He exhaled slowly, looking down while he worked on himself and biting his bottom lip with another firm stroke. He looked up at you, smiling when his eyes locked on to yours. You averted your gaze to your spot on the wall once again. 

“Thought a lot about how wet you get, bebita.” He groaned while he stroked. “How wet you are right now.”

You clenched your thighs together tightly to ease the ache between your legs. All you could feel was the wet slick of your panties sliding around. You wanted him, you wanted him so bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to openly admit it, or to act on it. Your career, and perhaps your life, would be over. 

“Could be our little secret.”

You looked at him again. He moaned, letting his jaw go slack. His head fell back and his eyes fluttered closed. You watched, shamefully, entranced by the way his hand would glide lazily over his thick cock. His free hand grabbed the arm of the wheelchair tightly, knuckles turning white. You were shocked to feel a trickle of drool crawling down your chin. You quickly wiped it away.

What’s happening to me, you thought, you’re his therapist, this is unethical, you should call security right-

“You know sweetheart…” Jake dropped his gaze back on you, and you stared back, “my favorite thing to think about is how good that tight little pussy will look around me, swallowing me whole.”

The lightest exhale left your mouth, and of course he heard it.

“I’m only tolerating this for Marc’s sake.” You reminded him.

“Is that what you’re going to say when I’ve got you bent over that desk?”

He stood and walked over to the desk, dropping his cock with a thud on the smooth white surface. You looked away quickly, but through your peripheral you could see him place his palm firmly over his length and start rutting against the desk.

“Just think about…fuck….how hard I’m gonna fuck you.” The desk scraped over the floor with the thrust of his hips. You braced your hands against it and looked up at him again. “Still not too late, I can take you right now. Just come around here and bend over for me. Lift up that pretty little skirt. It’ll be quick.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head slowly. This was against everything you thought you knew. No patient ever had this effect on you. Why him? Sure, Marc was attractive, but you’d never felt like this. You were staring again, looking up at the harsh faced man and then tracing your eyes down to his cock while he fucked his palm against the desk.

“There you go, bebita, you thinking about how good it’s gonna feel too?”

You were thinking about how good it would feel, to have him bending you over the desk. You hoped he could fuck you so hard your hips bruised. He was so big, he was sure to stretch you beyond your limit. He’d fill you so full his cum would be dripping out of you for days. The thought alone was enough to make the arousal pool in your core.

You looked away from him again, focusing on the wall, but that didn’t stop the breathy and hardly audible moan that left you. This was out of control, you were out of control. He groaned again, forcing your gaze to return to him. He started moving faster. You noticed precum leaking from the head, glistening over the desk.

“M’bout to come, you sure you don’t want this load? Worked it up just-for-you.” He grunted with each thrust. “Fuck.”

He stopped moving, but his cock throbbed, gushing ropes of cum all over the surface of your desk. A small glob dropped right in front of you. Your jaw dropped, and you rolled back in your chair, staring down at the mess he’d made. He tucked his cock back into his pants once he was sufficiently spent. When you looked up at him you noticed the proud expression on his face.

“Better clean that up before anyone sees it and thinks Marc’s gone insane, jerking off in front of his therapist.” You scowled at him before grabbing some tissues out of the box on your desk and starting to clean up the mess with a clear air of aggravation around you.

“You’re disgusting.” You muttered.

Your body was betraying you though. No matter how disgusting you insisted he was, you wanted him more than you ever recalled wanting anything before. It made no sense. You cleaned up the mess, trying to keep your fingers from touching the sticky cum spread all over. You felt the heat in your cheeks burning you alive, knowing he was watching you. When you finally cleaned up the last bit, under his watchful gaze, you looked back up at him, tossing the last tissue in the waste bin.

He leaned forward slowly, bringing his face close to yours. You thought he might try and kiss you, his lips were right there. You even saw his eyes dip to look at your mouth before going back up to look at you. You leaned in a little too.

“That’s a good girl.”

----

You were a mess.

He’d left your mind in complete disarray and he hadn’t even really touched you. After telling you that you were a good girl, he vanished, leaving Steven standing there in a state of confusion. You craved those words again…

Good girl.

I’m a good girl, you told yourself in the mirror before you left on the day you’d be seeing Marc again. You were wearing everything Jake ever said he liked on you. The striking red lipstick, the shirt that had a little cleavage, and a short skirt. The panties were unnecessary, and would only serve to get in the way. You were ready for him…truly ready this time.

You tried to give all of your patients the attention they deserved leading up to your appointment with Marc, but you didn’t care to hear anything they had to say. When you finally saw Marc again, you weren’t sure how you would react. Normally only Jake made you feel like you wanted to crawl out of your clothes and spread yourself on the desk like a buffet for his pleasure, but the line between him, Marc and Steven was getting blurrier by the minute. Even when it was sweet and innocent Steven fronting, you were struggling to keep yourself from soaking through your skirt.

“Are you alright? You seem a bit…out of sorts.” Steven mentioned, looking at you with a concerned and furrowed brow.

“M-me?” You gave him a reassuring grin, “yes Steven, I’m fine. This isn’t about me, it’s about you. You were saying you and Marc have been feeling down lately?”

Steven shrugged, “yeah, been trying to figure out what’s going on. Marc says there’s another one…he’s like me but scarier. He’s mean.”

You nodded gently, “he’s terrible, yeah…” You had to catch yourself before you bit your lip. “You know he came up during Marc’s time in the marines?”

You stood up and started pacing, noticing the slick way your thighs slid against each other with each step. Nothing could be heard except for the clicking of your heels across the floor as you got closer to Steven. Normally a filter would stop you from antagonizing Steven and trying to mentally cripple him so the protective alter would come out, but your care for their safety had left with Jake the last time you saw him.

“I think I remember Marc mentioning that, yeah.” Steven looked nervous as you got closer to him. “S’not like you to get up and start roaming about, you feelin’ alright today?”

“I feel fine.”

You walked to Steven’s right, touching his shoulder and looking down at him. His eyes peered into yours. He still looked too soft and sweet to be the man you craved. You needed to push a little harder. You needed to scare Jake out, because it was clear that he wasn’t coming out on his own.

“It was probably scary, wasn’t it? Finding out that you were responsible for killing so many people?” Your voice was low while you spoke. “I’m sure you don’t remember a lot of it, but just think about it.”

“What are you–”

“Come on Steven, that’s gotta be scary, right? Thinking about how scared those people must’ve been?”

“That wasn’t me though, that was Marc, I didn’t do that I didn–”

“But you did.” You were smiling like you were enjoying this. You weren’t, but you were excited for Jake, you needed him. “What about your mother? Hm? Remember how sad you were when you realized you were talking to no one for months?”

“Why are you saying these things? What’s gotten into you?” There were the tears you wanted, starting to glisten in Steven’s eyes.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, peering deep into his eyes. If Jake was there, he’d see you. Surely, he’d come out. You wondered why he was still hiding from you.

“Jake, I’m ready, please, I mean it this time.” You felt your own eyes starting to water with desperation. “Don’t make me fucking beg.”

Steven looked at you, confusion splayed over his face, “have you gone completely mad?”

“Shut up, Steven.” You shook him, “bring out Jake, now!”

Steven grabbed your arms, “what are you doing?”

You shocked yourself when you pulled your hand back and struck him across the cheek. There was silence after that, Steven just stared at you incredulously. Something so out of character for you should’ve snapped you from your Jake induced trance but it didn’t. You were in too deep. Mentally torturing and striking a patient was grounds for, at a minimum, being fired.

When his eyes darkened and his lips curled up into a confident smirk, you knew you’d succeeded. There was no time to waste, you couldn’t risk him leaving you again. You grabbed his face on either side and desperately pressed your lips to his. Jake moaned into you, standing up and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled you in close and entangled his tongue with yours. He tasted so delicious you could hardly stand it.

“You sure you’re ready, bebita?” He said while you both separated for a second to catch your breath.

“Yeah, yes please, can’t get you out of my head.” You tasted something salty when you went back in for more kisses. You were crying, tears of a needy desperation you thought you were above…until you’d met Jake.

“Good, gonna give you exactly what you need sweetheart, bend over for me.”

You looked at him. He was so fucking handsome, looking back at you with those inexplicably dilated eyes that were akin to the hungry eyes of a predator looking at his prey.

“Anything for you, Jake, I’ll do anything. I need you so bad.” An audibly shameful sob left your throat.

“I know, cause you’re a good girl, si?” He had that cocky smirk splayed over his face.

Your mind stopped working when he said that. A slow nod of affirmation was all you could afford him in response. Jake spun you around and placed a firm hand over your back to slam you onto the desk. He teased you first, trekking a single finger up your skirt and gently tugging it up over your bare ass. You heard a dark snicker leave his lips.

“You are ready, aren’t you sweetheart? Look at that.” His finger touched between your pussy lips, rubbing over your folds and brushing against your clit.

“Oh fuck, been ready for a long time, please don’t tease me, fuck me please.” You begged. Any bit of dignity you had left went out the window when Jake had taken Steven’s place.

“Not yet…” He groaned as he continued to play with you.

Everything seemed to be a game to Jake, even this incessant teasing that drove you closer and closer to insanity. You shifted your hips, desperate for him to touch that burning bundle of nerves that he somehow managed to keep ignoring. It was right there. Maybe he didn’t know where it was.

“Right there!” You shouted when he brushed over it again.

“I know exactly where it is, sweetheart, but I need you to be a good girl for me and let me have my fun, okay? Been waiting a long time. Can you be good for me?” He asked in that suave tone that you couldn’t resist.

“Yes, yes I can be good for you.” You grabbed the other side of the desk and held on tight. When you squeezed your eyes shut you felt even more tears falling down your cheeks. You were such a pathetic mess for him.

“You’re so wet, been thinking about me all day?”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I met you.” You admitted, pressing your lips together tightly to ease the ache in your cunt. Your body was so hot, all you needed was a release that only he could give you.

“Been a while since I’ve felt a nice warm cunt, but I’ve never seen someone so needy like you before.” His voice was gravelly.

You heard him fumbling with the waist of his pants followed by the prodding of his warm cock against your slick thighs. His finger was still toying with your crevices, teasing you to tears. You didn’t dare beg again, you didn’t want to make the torture last longer just for the sake of his own amusement. Jake slipped his finger inside of you. An aroused exhale left his lips at the feeling of your soft walls fluttering around his digit.

“You’re tight, sweetheart, not sure you can handle what I’ve got for you.” He churned his hip forward, brushing his cock against the back of your leg.

“I can, I promise I can handle it.” Your voice was shaking, you were so distressed. “Please, I can do it.”

“Might hurt a little, I don’t know…” His tone was still teasing.

“I’ll do anything for it, please, Jake.”

He took out his finger, leaving you empty. The air was cool against the slick of your cunt. You felt as he grabbed his cock in his fist and dragged the fat tip between your pussy lips. You gasped, so close to getting the thing you’d been begging him for all this time. It was right fucking there.

“P-please.” You sobbed. Your knuckles ached from how hard you gripped the other side of the desk in anticipation.

Jake thrust forward suddenly, and you were full, stretched out over his cock beyond your threshold. You gasped followed by an agonizing whine. Jake moaned loudly behind you while he started thrusting slowly, resizing your walls to fit his wide girth. Both of his hands landed on your hips in a bruising grip.

“This what you wanted, bebita? Fuck, it’s good…tell me. Tell me how good it is.”

“It’s good, Jake, better than…mmmJake-”

You couldn’t speak properly, even to tell him that the way his cock felt splitting you open was better than any of the daydreams you’d had over the last several weeks. Jake’s hand was heavily pressing against your back, pushing you harder into the desk. Your cries grew until they were filling the office. You were thankful for the white-noise machine outside of the door that muffled them.

“Tell-me-how-good,” he demanded between thrusts.

“Best…best I’ve ever–Jake I can’t.”

“Come on, I know you can do it. You’re a good girl, right?”

“It feels so good,” you said in a primal growl. Drool slipped out of your mouth and onto the desk. “It’s so…so good I can’t…fuck…I can’t stand it!”

Jake pulled out of you, and for a moment you felt disappointed. You turned around to see why he’d do that, but he just looked at you, scanning your body with his lust ridden eyes.

“Get that shirt off, take it all off.” He demanded.

You were too quick to comply, moving so fast that under normal circumstances it would’ve been embarrassing. This wasn’t normal though. The way you felt wasn’t normal. Jake watched you every step of the way while you undressed, ripping off your clothes like they’d wronged you and throwing them aside quickly. 

He pulled you in once you were done and told you, once again, that you were such a good girl. Your body tingled with his words. He lifted you, setting your bare ass on the cold surface of your desk. He used a firm hand to force you onto your back. Jake put one leg up on either shoulder while he lined himself up with you.

He thrust into you again, and immediately both of your hands gripped the edge of the desk for stability. One of Jake’s hands, the one that wasn’t squeezing your hip for leverage, reached around your leg and he started rubbing the pad of his thumb against your clit. Your cunt squeezed around him in response and you tossed your head back.

“Open your eyes and look at me, sweetheart, love seeing the way you look at me.” He urged, smirking at you when your eyes met with his once more.

You bit your lip so tight you thought it might bleed. Tears ran down your cheeks in streams that you weren’t even trying to control anymore.

“So pretty when you cry.” He commented.

Jake continued to circle his thumb over your clit while he fucked you faster. You felt your body trembling with your impending orgasm. You were so close to feeling that sweet release you craved at his hands. You’d been so good trying to resist him all this time, you deserved this moment. At least that’s the delusion that had overcome you.

“No holding back now, gonna fill you up sweetheart. Is that what you wanted? Me to fuck you full of my cum?”

You nodded eagerly, eyes glistening while you gripped the desk with all your strength. His thumb kept rotating over you, drawing whining gasps from your lips with every pass. You felt your cunt flutter around him as you got closer. Your mind started to go white, no thoughts other than Jake’s cock fucking you relentlessly.

“Fuck…hope you’re on the pill, sweetheart, cause I’m gonna…gonna-fill-you-right-up…ahhh!”

Jake’s cock gushed inside of you, stretching you further with every strong throb. You lost it, becoming a drooling and crying mess while your thoughts ceased. You came in crushing waves over his length, draining him of every last drop you could. He noisily kept fucking you through your orgasm until his pace slowed to a stop. The room became quiet again, except for your heavy breathing and the clock ticking.

“I need…tissues.” You could hardly speak but you managed to get that out.

“Oh, we’re not done yet.” Jake pulled out of you and quickly dropped to his knees.

You gasped when his mouth closed over your cunt. He was slurping, collecting both your juices and his own in his mouth. When he stood back up, you didn’t know what he had planned. He hadn’t swallowed yet. He leaned over, dropping the mess on your chest. You thought he was done, but he knelt back down for more. Your clit was swollen and sensitive, but he went in again. You felt his finger slip into your hole, hooking and dragging along your walls to bring anything in there into his mouth. Again, he stood up and deposited the mixture onto your breasts.

“Ready for more, bebita?” He pressed a hand to your chest, smearing the combined liquids over your skin.

You stared at him wide-eyed as you nodded slowly. It would seem he had an unusually short refractory period. Jake was pressing his cock against your hole once again. He thrust himself into you, stretching you out once more. It felt just as good, if not better, the second time.

“Gonna cover you in my cum, sweetheart, make you all mine.” He said hungrily, spreading the mixture over your tits one at a time.

He gave extra attention to your nipples, brushing them with his thumb. He continued fucking you while he did, commenting on your sweet whines and how much he adored them. Jake never stopped surprising you with the way his mind worked. Your entire torso was coated in his cum, your cum, and copious amounts of spit. He never slowed his pace, but he leaned forward and dragged his tongue from as low down on your stomach as he could reach, all the way up to your mouth.

The combination tasted sweet, salty, and like something that only you and Jake could make. His tongue tangled with yours in desperate sloppy kisses. When the taste was gone, you craved more, you begged for it.

“More Jake…give-me-more,” you said between breaths.

He gave you a borderline evil smirk when he looked down at you.

“Anything for you, bebita.”

Jake went back down to your side with his tongue, dragging it up your torso and stopping over your cum coated nipple. He got stuck there, sucking deeply and moaning. Drool trickled down the side of your breast. You arched into his mouth, biting your bottom lip to stifle the loud scream that nearly left you. You looked down, Jake peered at you from under his lashes while he slammed into you harder.

“Feed me, Jake.” You begged, wanting to feel his lips on you again. “Give me more.” Your eyes were still watering.

He complied, bringing what was left in his mouth to yours in a flurry of passionate kisses. That sweet taste was there again, making your mind go blank with a feeling of ecstasy and comfort all blended into one. You felt like you belonged to him, like he was your everything, and the connection had been sealed in your combined body fluids and a kiss.

“Jake.” You said softly as he pulled back from you, “bite me. I want everyone to know that I’m yours. I want Marc and Steven to know that I’m yours.”

“That’s twisted, bebita. You want to scare them that bad?” He kissed down your jawline, working his way to your neck.

“I can’t let you go anywhere now, I can’t let them leave.” You explained, letting go of the desk to entangle your fingers in his dark locks.

“Wouldn’t leave you, even if they took me away.”

A sharp pain seared through your shoulder as you felt Jake’s teeth break through your skin. You winced and hissed, trying not to let your body shy away involuntarily. Even if your body did try to move against your will, Jake kept you close. You were still amazed at his ability to keep his hips rolling into you no matter what the top half of his body was doing.

You whined at the agonizing burn of his bite while he continued clamping his teeth into you harder. When he finally stopped, you looked at his face. His lips were glossy with spit and blood. You leaned up, kissing him, letting him make a mess of you even further. All you could taste was Jake and the metallic taste of iron. He pressed his forehead against yours and increased the pace of his hips.

“Gonna fill you up again. I don’t want you to be able to walk right.”

With a firm hand against your chest, he pushed you back onto the desk with a thud. You gasped as he fucked you harder than before. He reached his fingers up to your mouth, sticking two of them in there.

“Suck.”

You made Jake whine when your tongue started dancing over his digits. He tossed his head back for a second before looking back into your eyes with a dark and hooded gaze. His brow furrowed and his moaning changed to something more animalistic, less controlled. You looked up at him from under your lashes while making your muffled moans over his fingers.

“Hold-on-tight,” he said with each thrust.

You grabbed the edge of the desk with everything you could, feeling the white hot ropes filling you again with every throb of his thick cock inside of you. Once again, your eyes were rolling back, obscuring your vision while your body trembled from your orgasm over him. Your screams were still loud, though stifled by his fingers against your tongue. You were both a mess of heavy breathing while his thrusting slowed to a halt.

When he pulled himself out of you this time, you felt empty. You peered at the clock, it was nearly the end of Marc’s session. Jake stepped back, holding out a hand to you. He helped you off the desk before leaning his face into yours. He kissed you softly and then looked at you with a gentle expression.

“Will you come back?” You asked, feeling suddenly terrified that you may never see him again. You were sure you’d rather die than live in that reality.

“You keep me a secret and out of your little notes, and I’ll keep the boys crazy enough to stick around.” He winked at you, “I’ll be back in a couple days, try not to miss me too much.”

You were dressed before Steven was fronting again. He was sitting in the chair and grabbed his head the moment Jake went to the headspace. The last thing he must’ve remembered was you grabbing his shirt and slapping him. You’d fixed yourself up in the mirror as best as you could. You wiped the smeared makeup from your face, and what was left of Jake’s cum from your torso.

Steven touched his cheek, “you…you hit me.”

“Steven, bring Marc out. Things are going to be changing around here, and we need to have a chat.”

----

Moon Knight Masterlist

Jake Lockley Masterlist

Taglist (Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!):

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @ryebreadsworld, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @bloodredwolfsbane, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @romanarose, @360iris, @grumpyahjumma, @ninebluehearts, @burnincrown

[bluehourbucky]

Team Work

pairing: Steven Grant x f!reader; Marc Spector x reader; Jake Lockley x reader

summary: your boys help take care of you when you get sick

italics are the moon boys talking to each other

a/n: first time writing for moon boys please be nice. Also would appreciate any tips of how to write for moon knight and the boys <3 if you have any please comment or send them in my asks :)

---------------------------------------------------

Oh no, you thought when you woke up with a runny nose and a sneeze. You turned around to see if you had woken up your boyfriend. Luckily, you didn't. He has a day off so he can sleep a little longer. You're not even sure when they arrived last night, so you were careful to get out of the bed as quietly as possible.

As you were getting ready for work, you felt a little dizzy. Maybe it's nothing, you lied to yourself. You really didn't need a cold or something right now, you were saving your free days to go on a vacation with your boys.

"Love?"

"Shit" you whisper, Steven is going to notice immediately that you're not feeling well, not that Marc or Jake wouldn't it's just harder to convince Steven not to worry.

"Love, you alright?" you hear him coming to the bathroom. He comes in and hugs you from behind, puts his head on your shoulder and kisses your neck.

"I'm fine! Just didn't sleep well last night, you should go back to bed!" Steven looks in the mirror, probably talking to Marc or Jake.

"She's hiding something. Ask her again." Marc scolds Steven, and Steven rolls his eyes.

"Darling, are you sure? What's going on?" Steven stops you, one hand on your arm, and the other is lifting your chin, so you look at him.

Right as you were about to answer, you sneeze into your elbow, which then turns into a coughing fit. Steven caresses your back softly, waiting for you to stop.

"I'm okay." You sniff, looking for toilet paper to blow your nose.

"Marc says you're not, and that you're staying home today, and Jake agrees. And I agree with that, my love, I bet you're burning up."

You knew they were right, so you didn't put up a fight when Steven made you change back into your pajamas and call in sick at work.

"Stay." Steven, tucks you in and orders you to stay in bed, you have a tendency to get up and follow him when you're sick.

"Steven let me switch with you, I wanna take care of my baby."

"Not a chance, I want to do it"

Steven pushes Marc away, set on a mission to make you a hot cup of tea and a soup. He makes you take your temperature, and you in fact do have a fever.

"Steven. Now." Marc is becoming impatient he wants to help but Steven is being stubborn as always.

"I want to help too."

Great, now Jake also wants to help, so Steven has to fight them both for control. He hates to admit it, but you being sick sometimes can be the best time to be with you. You become so cuddly and clingy, and Steven relishes in those moments when you need him. Unfortunately, he's not the only one.

"Here you go, love." Steven helps you sit up and feeds you the soup, then he gives you some medication for your very high fever. He can't believe you almost went to work.

"Thank you." You sniff, and your boyfriend gives you a sympathetic look. You know you probably shouldn't have pulled Steven into bed with you and then laid on his chest, but it's the best spot for sleeping.

"I love you." Stevens heart skips a beat whenever you tell him that. He holds you tighter and then he starts playing with your hair which makes you relax completely.

"This is not fair! You took care of her last time! You can't do this." Marc knows it's stupid to be jealous yet he is but so is Jake.

"Marc's right! Should be my turn by now!"

"You're giving me a headache!" Steven accidentally yells out, which makes you jump.

"Sorry, darling, didn't mean to say that out loud."

"What are you guys fighting about now?" you ask, its easy to tell when they're in a disagreement. They all show it differently, but you know. Right now, Steven is pouting.

"You're not fighting about taking care of me again? Are you? We talked about this."

"Uhh Marc has something to say."

Seriously!???

"Hi babe." Marc is cursing Steven in his head for leaving him to make an excuse.

"We just want to take care of you, and well, I think we all enjoy your attention a little too much when you're like this. And also last time you were sick, Steven did everything and didnt let us help. Don't want you thinking that I don't want to take care of you. "

Doing a great job Marc now she'll think we like it when she's sick!

"Marc, you don't have to worry about that. I know that you're all there for me whenever I need you. I love you. And also you work best as a team."

She's right.

Of course she is. Okay let's do this as a team.

And they do. Steven makes you tea, Marc cuddles you to sleep, Jake wakes you up to give you medicine and so on. You're back in full health in no time.

A week later, Steven comes from the museum with a fever. No surprise, of course, he spent most of the time with you in bed.

[The End]

hope you enjoyed <3

likes reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

[jake-g-lockley]

The Anonymous Annotator (Steven Grant x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be tagged?

Prompt: ARGUING!! then a heated "kiss me." and suddenly their hands are all over each other

Warning: MDNI, dom!Steven, sub!reader, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v, fingering, dry humping, cockwarming (if you squint), nipple play 

A/N: Ok so I was watching MK again, as one does and I realized I want more of the Steven who talked back to Marc before he and Layla went to explore the tomb, so here is Steven being a little shit, cuz that's hot. Forget everything you know about sweetie Steven, k bye. 

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You sat in your dorm listening to music when you heard a knock on your door. You jumped up and opened the door, only to find a mysterious package on your doormat. It was wrapped in brown paper and had your name scrawled on it with messy handwriting. You rushed to your bed and pulled the string, tearing open the paper, revealing one of your spicier books that you hid under your bed, making your eyes widen. 

You frantically threw yourself off the bed to check under the bed and to your absolute horror, the book wasn't there. You spread your legs in front of you and pulled the book from the top of your bed and flipped to the front page, where the same handwriting blossomed. 

“To the one who’s eyes make the stars feel shy.” 

You flipped through the pages and found every bit of white space was covered in intricately detailed annotations. Your face heated up and you spent the next few hours reading how the mysterious annotator would alter the events of the books to make it more suitable for you. You gulped at the small smiley faces that would mark the end of the most crude sentences that you had ever laid your eyes on. 

“Where would you like my hands, sweet angel? Around your wrists, while I watch your tits bounce around while I thrust myself into you? Around your thighs, when I pin you down as you squirm against my face when my tongue carves my name out in your wetness? Around your neck, to see whether you’d be able to resist the urge to cum around my cock without me even moving a single muscle? :)”

It was seductive, and you were absolutely tantalised by the idea that you had a secret admirer. Suddenly, you can’t think about anything else but sex. 

“I wonder if I could fold you over like this, cover you with my spend after I’ve fucked you like a pathetic toy, leaning all of my body weight against you to whisper more things that could cause your pussy to clench around nothing.”

Every word, every phrase that was etched into the pages of the book in pencil burned coarsely against your skin and mind. 

“I think the protagonist could totally do better here. I’d love to hear your pretty noises as I devour you whole, to watch you come apart from my touch would be a blessing like no other.” 

You feel a warm pulsing somewhere below as you try taking deep breaths, trying to control the urges that rushed through your body. You rub your thighs together and you are suddenly hyper aware of your body’s changes, your skin feeling prickly, your breasts feeling uncomfortably trapped under your bra.

“Hah, rearranging her guts? I’d rearrange your brain chemistry just with my fingers in your sweet tight cunt.”

The warm tingling pulsation of your clit and increasing wetness and builds up from there, to the point of frustration where you have trouble thinking about anything other than your complete desire to be filled by the person who had taken the time to write all of their unrefined and vulgar thoughts on paper. 

“I’d let you sit and warm my cock for hours with you reading this over and over, till your eyes get tired and your cunt puls-”

Suddenly, your phone rang and you snapped out of whatever trance you were in, realising that it was your alarm for your class. You shook your head and slammed the book shut, throwing it into your bag, leaping up to leave your dorm.  

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You chewed your inner cheek as you tried to listen to the lecturer, nervously tapping the table to calm your mind. 

“Quit the tapping, dumbass, I can’t focus.” hissed the person beside you.

You rolled your eyes and turned to glare at Steven Grant, third year Egyptology student and your No.1 academic rival. Pity the fact that he was such a pretty boy because he was sometimes just a sarcastic cunt. You couldn’t help but let your eyes linger a little longer at the silhouette of his side profile, your sight grazing down the beautiful curve of his nose and settling on the plump of his lips.

Steven knew you were staring but didn’t say a word. His eyes were trained on the lecturer before him and he was quite positive that the lecturer was going to call you out any second now.

“Is there something more interesting about Mr. Grant’s face?” you heard the lecturer call out to you and you tore your gaze away from Steven and looked horrifyingly at her.

Steven bit his bottom lip and tried not to smirk as you slowly stood up from your seat. 

“Uh, no Ms. he, umm,” you tried to speak but your mind was jumbling at the thought of being caught and called out all in one second.

“Sit down! And eyes on the board, young lady, I want your focus here as your grades have been steadily declining.” the lecturer said before turning back to the board.

Your face was flushed and your hands were shaking. You could literally feel the smugness radiating off Steven and you gritted your teeth and stared forward, determined to keep your eyes on the board. For the past few weeks, you had been plagued with the mysterious book annotator and your focus had been slipping. You found yourself searching far and wide for the person’s likeness but you never seemed to catch the person anywhere near you. 

Finally the class was dismissed and you quickly gathered all your things and practically sprinted for the exit when you heard your lecturer call your name. You turned to see Steven speaking to your lecturer and sweat beaded at your palms, knowing you were in deep shit today.

“Mr. Grant here has agreed to tutor you, with the promise that you would make proper grades this semester.” your lecturer said and you glared at Steven who had a sweet, innocent smile on his face. 

“Your tutoring sessions are whenever Mr. Grant is free and you are to focus, alright?” you hated the way the lecturer was speaking to you but you purse your lips and nodded. 

“My place, 8 pm today.” Steven whispered and you grimaced but nodded.

Steven eyed the book that poked out of your bag as you quickly walked away and smirked to himself. 

“If she doesn’t have the brains to figure it out herself…”

☾ .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“No look, that happened before this, you’re getting the timelines mixed up!”

“I’m getting the timelines mixed up? What about you? Did you write this goddamn book, Steven?” 

You knew how this was going to go down, you and Steven arguing away about the stupidest misunderstanding. Your pride made it hard to back down as Steven tried teaching you, and you could tell that he was genuinely trying from the way he pulled out his own flashcards to help you. You couldn’t admit defeat, not to Steven Grant. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, pushing your knuckles into your eyes and counting from one to ten before looking up at Steven again. 

“Come on, it's not that hard.” Steven tried justifying as he flipped through the cards again.

“It’s fucking difficult Steven, stop sounding so fucking smart.” you groan.

“You’re not that fucking stupid either, I just need you to focus.” Steven chastised you, slightly more gently this time.

“I’d probably focus better if you didn’t make such a hot fucking teacher.” you hissed under your breath as you flipped the page angrily.

“What?” Steven whispered.

“You heard me.” you snapped, glaring at him. “You know, you’d probably teach me better if you stopped giving me those big ‘fuck me’ eyes either. Like what? You want me to kiss you or something?” 

You were definitely losing your shit as Steven inhaled a sharp breath of air. Suddenly, everything happened so quickly that you didn’t have the time to register the book being ripped out of your hands and soft plump lips settling against your own. It was a soft kiss at first, testing, unsure, but when you began to move your lips against his, it became more passionate as he pulled you onto his lap without a second thought. 

It took you long enough to push past your primal urges to realise that you were kissing Steven Grant. You snapped out of it and pushed him away, only to see his flushed face, swollen lips and half lidded eyes. It switched on something in you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close once again as your lips began another dance with his. His hands were on your hips as he pushed your clothed core against him, groaning into your mouth. 

“Fuck, Steven, what’s happening?” you whisper against his forehead as he trailed kisses along your cheek and jaw, making your muscles buzz with anticipation. 

“Let it happen, love.” he moaned against your neck as you pressed yourself onto his hardening member again. 

Your hands found his soft hair and you pulled him closer as he began to suck softly at the soft skin of your neck. One of his huge hands palmed at your tits through your tank top, twisting at your hardening sensitive bud and you arched your back, whining and leaning towards your source of pleasure. 

“Love your pretty noises. Don’t stop.” Steven softly encouraged you as he continued to play with your nipple, your mind racing into overdrive.

There was a familiar throb that bloomed inside of you at Steven’s words as something finally clicked. Steven must have sensed the shift too as he smirked darkly against your neck, instantly biting down so that he could drag you away from saying what you needed to say.

“Bloody hell, unngh, it was you.” you managed to say as Steven pushed you against his hardening erection.

“Mhm.” Steven moaned as he licked a long strip up your neck to your ear, kissing the shell of your ear softly.

Every part of you felt sensitive, all tuned towards Steven. You had the sudden urge to be filled and you rutted yourself over and over against him, as if begging him to know what you actually needed. 

“Is it okay if I touch you like this?" His question was spoken lowly, as if he didn’t want to break the fragile veil that was forming over the both of you. 

“Yes, please, mngh, why didn’t you tell me sooner…” you whimpered as his hand grabbed your ass, kneading it softly as his fingers dug through your shorts, trying to feel your skin. 

“Wanna taste you so bad.” he murmured as his lips met yours again.

You were lost for words as the pages and pages of vulgarity blinded your eyes, making you squeeze them shut as you suddenly feel Steven pick you up. You were now lying on a bed, his bed, staring up at the mysterious annotator who had been plaguing your mind with absolute filth and filling your dreams with sweet wet melodies that cursed you throughout your waking life. 

“I bet you know the things I’d like to do to you, my sweet angel.” He said, trailing both of his hands down from your shoulders to the top of your tank top. 

“But you’re supposed to be-”

“Sweet Steven Grant who only cares about his studies? Oh please, darling, let me catch a break.” He ripped your tank top with surprising strength, leaving you bare for him. 

His darkened iris dragged themselves down your body, painting you with their own poetry that could not be described using words in the English dictionary. He pulled his sweater off himself and you gulped at how defined he looked. This shouldn’t be attractive. You shouldn’t be attracted to your rival. You shouldn’t be attracted to the guy who stole one of your private possessions and spilled all of his blasphemous thoughts on it before slyly returning it.

“Wanted to do this since the first day I laid my eyes on you. Didn’t know you were such a dirty girl until I got ahold of one of your books, love.” He said into your chest and you gasped at his confession, your brain still trying to comprehend everything.

Steven had your head out of your books for weeks and now he had his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard as you cried his name and pushed his head against you. You desperately needed him to quiet your mind with his tongue and you wanted it so bad that you were already shaking under him. His fingers hooked at your waistband and your hands join him there and the both of you slowly pull your shorts off you.

Steven felt up your thighs, telling you how soft you are, how nice and warm your thighs are and how they’re so pretty, whilst burying his her head in your shoulder and neck, lightly panting and nuzzling you. His hand slowly slid to your mound as he started peppering small kisses along your collarbone. His fingers grazed your hardening nub between your legs as you clench your legs together and turned your head to the side. One of his legs wrenched yours open and pinned you down, sliding his fingers through your wet swollen folds, groaning against you.

“Inside Steven” He obeys, pushing one finger inside and pumping it slowly, bringing his face up to watch your expressions contort beautifully on your face.

You throbbed and twitched around him, your cunt responding beautifully to his touch as his thumb rubs soft circles around your clit. Steven adjusted himself and now had been grinding down his erection on your thigh, throwing his head back at the feeling of your warm wet cunt. Quick breathy moans filled the air as they mingled together and you could barely differentiate yours and Steven’s from the heavy ringing in your ears. 

“You’re more beautiful than I ever imagined you to be.” he whispers and you sigh.

Suddenly his hands are off you and you whine at the loss of touch but it quickly morphed into a moan as Steven’s tongue flicked at your clit. He was so worked up that he pushed his entire face into your already wet cunt and breathed in deeply, causing you to clamp your thighs around his head. He started fucking you with his tongue, thrusting the flexible muscle in and out of you with accurate precision that had you writhing around. He pushed two fingers into you easily and started pushing them in and out as he latched himself onto your clit. Your cries were getting louder and more uncontrollable now as you found yourself heading towards your first clift of the night

“Shut the fuck up and listen, Listen to how fucking wet you are, how fucking wet you are for me.” Steven says, going shallow at first so that you could hear all the sloppy, vulgar noises that your cunt was making.

Your face was heating up and you tried to hide behind your hands but Steven wrenched your hands away, gripping them in a lock as he now pushed in deeper, deeper, going knuckle deep, finding the spots that make you shake, make you quiver.

“Come on baby, I can feel you close, you’ve already made such a huge mess around my face and hands, go ahead and cum.” with that Steven’s mouth was back on you as you hurtle past your pleasure, pussy tightly clenching around his fingers as Steven lapped up all of your spend before it could wet the bed beneath you. 

He slowly massaged your tit as you came down from your high, twitching slightly as he brought his fingers up to his mouth and started to suck them clean, moaning at the taste of you and giving you a show that you didn’t know you needed. 

You look up at Steven when he was done, your eyes big and wide as a question sits on your tongue. Steven nodded and your eyes dropped to the tent between his legs. 

"Can I touch?" you ask softly, keeping yourself from palming him through his sweats. 

"Touch what, darling?" Steven asked, making your face heat up again.

“Your cock, Steven, please.” you decided to say please anyway, before he had any forethought to tease you any longer. 

Steven flops down beside you and gestures at his crotch and you take it as a sign to undress him. You tug his sweats down along with his boxers and his cock pops out slapping against his abdomen. You lick your lips and grab ahold of him, feeling him in your hands. You kneel next to him and spit on your hand, taking his cock and starting to pump him up and down as his head lolled back onto the pillow. 

You take the tip in your mouth, just sucking on it gently. You let your tongue drag over it, smearing pre cum all over the tip as your hand continues to slowly pump him up and down. Suddenly your mouth is around him and you start sucking, driven by the noises that Steven started making. His hand was soon in your hair as he involuntarily started pushing you to take more and more of him and you obliged, swallowing around him as his tip grazed the back of your throat. 

“Gods, I didn’t know your mouth could work like this. If I knew earlier, I could use my cock to shut you up whenever I please.” Steven moans and you rolled your eyes and licked the underside of his shaft, making his cock twitch. 

Soon, you had him properly squirming against you as you bounced your head up and down his shaft. His hands were suddenly at the back of your head as he pulled you off him, spit trailing from your mouth to his dick as you took big gulps of air. 

“Need to be inside you.” he mumbles as he gently takes your arms and pulls you towards him for a bruising kiss. 

You straddled him, settling your pussy against his spit soaked cock, making him moan against your lips. You pulled away to watch his facial expression as he moved his cock to prod at your entrance. You sunk down slowly and Steven watched as your cunt swallowed him up whole, tipping his head back again as the both of you hissed from the fullness. You folded your legs behind Steven and he nestled his head against your bare breasts, inhaling your scent. He pushed himself slightly forward so that he would have enough space to fuck up into your cunt. 

And that's what he did. 

With small shallow strokes, Steven began to thrust up into your warm cunt, moaning at your tightness and feeling overwhelmed by the feeling of you around him. It was true, he’d wanted you ever since he laid eyes on you. He thought you were the most fascinating human beings he had ever met and loved the passion that flowed through you. But you were one smart cookie, beating him in every test, acing everything that made you triumphantly yell at his face. 

Sure, he wanted you to fall back a little bit and he taught himself how to gain control over you. One day, that control came upon him in the form of one of your books. He wasn’t surprised that you would read something like this, his mouth forming into a grin as the evil thoughts began to fill his mind. He jotted them down in your book and one morning, decided that it would be a good idea to deliver the book to you, setting it down at your front door and walking away quickly. 

How you didn’t notice his handwriting for weeks absolutely baffled him. He knew you were smarter than that and suddenly he realised that he’d indirectly gotten you in a chokehold. You were frantic, searching around, trying to find the person who had an iron grip around you when the person was right beside you. Part of him felt guilty when your grades started dropping and he really was going to teach you today, but your mind was clearly elsewhere. 

He snapped his hips against your ass a little harder, your face buried in his curls, moaning into his scalp. He tilted his own head up and kissed a soft spot at the bottom of your chin, making you giggle slightly. It was incredibly intimate, being in this position with Steven, but you couldn’t help but wonder whether he was doing this for his own benefit. Steven could feel your breathing change and he stopped, bringing himself to your eye level as the both of you panting softly, breathing in each other’s air from the close proximity. 

“Love?” 

“Do you really want me, Steven, or are you just doing this to have a one up on me?”  you say, trying to find a comfortable position as Steven was buried in you up to the hilt. 

Guilt began to pour over Steven’s head and he sighed, pushing your hair away from your face and taking a good look at you.

“I really want you, darling. I know my methods are questionable, but oh, I wanted you and still want you so bad.”  he said, cupping your face in his hands. 

“I’m still mad at you Steven, for making my grades drop .” you stay sternly, combing your hands through his unruly locks and dragging them to his face, tracing all of its sharp edges as his eyes flutter close. 

You couldn’t help but smile at the man before you and his words truly did turn you on. They were etched deep into your mind as you read them over and over whilst your hand was between your legs, trying hard to picture the person who had spilled all of their sins onto the pages of the books. Now you had your picture in front of you and the picture was beautiful. 

“But I can’t help but want you too.” you whispered and his worried face morphed to one of pure bliss as he relaxed, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“So, you’re going to have to make it up to me by fucking me like you promised in your writings. Okay?” you whisper against his soft breaths and he chuckled as his cock throbbed impatiently inside of you, causing you to moan. 

Steven immediately flipped you over and claimed your lips with his again, drawing his hips back and slamming into you with so much force that your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He began to thrust in and out with his own rhythm picking up speed. A calm, deep growl, and soft grunt filled your ears with each increasingly deep thrust inside you as Steven quite literally started railing you into the bed. 

Your cunt spasmed around his length and a primal craving snapped inside of Steven as his thrust became more and more powerful. He took in deep breaths, becoming high on your pheromones as you moaned his name over and over, until it started to sound like garbled garbage. He loved the way his cock stretched you out and he loved the way you were taking all of him, your whimpers spurring him on as he watched your tits jiggle. 

He grabbed your legs and folded you over, the new angle making you sob at how intense the pleasure was. Steven pushed himself against you and the sting you felt throughout your body as well as the constant thrust of Steven’s cock pushed you over the edge again with the help of his thumb at your clit. You came, squeezing Steven as tight as you possibly could. Steven felt himself collapse against you as he could only roll his hips and grind against you, your pussy sucking him in and keeping him there as he tried to help you ride out your high. 

Steven finally let himself relax as he used you for his own release, fighting against the muscles of your pussy as his cock twitched intensely. He pulled out of you and slammed into you a few more times, before releasing his own pent up spend into you, painting your walls with his seed as he rode out his own high. 

Steven let go of your legs and slumped against you, his whole body going absolutely limp from fucking you like a mad man. You pressed a small kiss on his temple and whispered a thank you into his ear as he floated back down to earth, his head pounding from the intensity of his release. 

“I’ve got more books, if you want to ruin them with your filth.” you said softly, earning a chuckle from Steven.

“Only if you focus and let me teach you, love.”

“Yada yada, fine, Professor Grant.” you say jokingly, but gulped when you felt Steven hardening inside you again.

“Hmm, looks like someone wants round two.” 

You were definitely done for now. 

Reblogs are appreciated~~~

Tagging: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @in-between-the-cafes @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @jbearre85 @whatsliferightnow @excitedcurtain864 @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @autismsupermusicalassassin @alexxavicry @flordelalunas @marygraceee @lia275 @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @celiaswife @violet-19999 @melodygatesauthor @romanarose

[mlqueen89]

Pairing: Steven Grant/Marc Spector/Jake Lockley x OFC 

Word Count: 5,042 

Tags & Warnings: violence & mentions of violence (blame Jake) but relatively PG-13. 

Genre: Fluff, hurt/comfort, touch her and die, one-shot. 

Summary: In which Steven’s crush becomes a mutual moon boy crush. 

A/N: So this thing started out as a random thought I had about Steven “pebbling” when he likes someone. It turned into this.  

Sorry, not sorry. I’ll turn my mind back to the things I promised I’d do after this brief, but cool thing I did. Look, it’s shiny.  

Be kiiiiind, I’ve watched Moon Knight exactly two times, once when I told my partner that I wouldn’t watch it without him but did anyway and then the next time when I had to pretend to be surprised by the episodes when he inevitably wanted to watch it. If anyone gets the Latte Macchiato reference in relation to the moon boys, you’ll be my best friend forever.

Steven Grant felt more like Steven Grant than he had in a very very long time.  

That was, if he didn’t count actively thinking about himself in the third person and that there was no way he could hide the fact he walked three blocks out of his way to go to this coffee shop every morning for almost a month.  

Especially not from them. 

The bell over the front door was tinkling before Marc, ever present, ever watchful, ever knowing, chimed in, Steven catching his reflection in the glass of the door. You know we know what you're thinking, right? 

Steven smiled nervously, more to himself, and less to anyone in particular, as he tucked in at the end of the line three people long.  

“Not now. I'm getting coffee,” Steven rasped, thankful the din of the small shop masked his whispers. 

You sure about that?  

Steven hated how smug Marc sounded.  

He never let Steven be when it came to women. Especially beautiful women. Wasn’t it enough that Steven was painfully awkward on his own? He didn’t need Marc’s help messing it up, he was perfectly capable of doing that on his own. 

Three weeks. It had taken Steven three weeks to work up the courage to order a coffee here, from her.   

Three weeks of walking to the front door, apologizing for being in the way as people tried to get in and out while Marc told him this was a dumb idea.  

Three weeks of talking to himself in the shower, creating a conversation that never existed because he couldn’t bring himself to walk through the door.  

Three weeks of almosts and maybes and Marc telling him to get it together. So here he was, now, finally getting coffee.  

Steven stepped up to the counter his eyes focused on the petite brunette behind the till, the green apron she wore hiding a vintage AC/DC shirt just underneath, the ink of hidden tattoos peeking out from under her sleeves.  

“Hi, hiya-” Steven cleared his throat, his eyes searching for a name tag quickly, “… uhm?” 

“Ami - like Amy, but Ah-mee,” Ami smiled a smile that reached her eyes, pushed them up in the corners, accentuating the almond shape of them. Ami smiled like she hadn’t spent her whole life explaining her name instead of choosing one that would have been pronounced properly—Beth or Milly or Emma. “Hi, Steven.”  

Steven started, “I —uh.” She knew his name? How could she know his name? 

Ami quietly tapped the front of her own name tag and Steven’s eyes drew down to the one clipped to his shirt, peeking out from under his own jacket. Right. Of course.  

“What can I get for you?” Ami said, the sound of her smile in her voice. 

“I uhm—a coffee?”  

Marc snort-chuckled in his mind and Steven wished he could bring his eyes to meet the vision of Marc hanging around in the reflective surface of the shiny coffee machine. Three weeks of shower auditions and you didn’t think this far ahead? Order a black coffee, get out of her hair, it’s her job to smile at you.  

“I don’t want a black coffee.” 

“No black coffee. Got it.” Ami’s voice was light, cheerful and it had Steven’s imagination chugging along at speed as she chewed the inside of her cheek in thought, her eyes studying him, analyzing.  

Was she always this cheerful in the morning? If she looked hard enough, could she see Marc, sarcastic and perpetually perturbed and Jake, dark and dangerous, sitting behind his eyes? Steven wondered.  

“How about I surprise you then?” 

Steven nodded and shifted his weight. “I like surprises.” Steven didn’t like surprises named Marc or Jake, didn’t like surprises that shared his body and moved him around like a puppet, an unseen hand wiggling around his insides. 

Ami drummed her fingers on the register for a moment, her eyes moving to search the ether for a moment longer before she made a small noise that sounded like a eureka moment. “I’ve got it. You seem like a latte macchiato kind of guy.” 

Steven smiled, a shaky kind of smile that he felt would look encouraging. Latte macchiato sounded nice. 

Ami moved to the machine with too many handles and buttons, sweeping around behind the counter as she made the drink. Steven moved with her on the other side of the counter, watched her curiously as she concentrated on making the drink. 

“The Eye of Horus,” Ami’s eyes didn’t lift from the stirring and pouring she was busy doing. It wasn’t a question, more of an observation, but her casual tone caught Steven off-guard. 

Your geek pin, genius. Marc chimed in as Steven faltered, his eyes searching the speckled countertop. 

“Oh,” Steven reached up to the small triangle pin stuck to the breast pocket of his coat and touched it, reminding himself that it was there, tapping it twice. “Yes, right. Yeah. Protection and health. Can’t ever get enough of those, am I right?” His laugh was only a bit dry, but nervous. 

Steven bit his tongue before he launched into a deeper explanation. Marc had told him that the yammering on about ancient Egyptian deities, minor and/or major, was off-putting. People didn’t like it.  

Part of Steven wondered if Marc only said that because Layla had liked it.  

Reflection Marc flipped him off.  

Ami’s voice shook him from the scowl he fixed at the shiny surface of the steaming machine. “I loved Egyptology when I was a kid. Even took an elective in first year Uni.” Ami smiled up at him then, grabbing a lid for his coffee and pressing it on top. “Almost liked it more than my journalism course.” 

Steven smiled in response as Ami pushed the cup across the counter at him. “Here you go, latte macchiato Steven.”

Could we— Steven’s small voice itched at Marc’s right temple, scratched only in the way that it was annoying, in a way that wore a person down, a spoon digging a prison escape over the course of months. Just to say hi? 

It had been three days since the last time Steven had shuffled his way into Ami’s coffee shop and ordered another latte macchiato. Three days since Ami waved enthusiastically when she saw him walk through the door. Steven had worn the Bastet pin, backed by a colourful lotus flower and an ankh, the one from the gift shop, the one he’d asked Marion to bring in because cats sold well.  

Everyone likes cats, Marion. Steven had reasoned, pointing it out on the order form as he slid it across Marion the Merch Manager’s desk. Steven smiled in his Steven way, sparing a small, awkward, aww as he pointed to the framed photo on Marion’s desk—her miniature pinscher, Rufus Sewell, dressed as Rick O’Connell from that movie Steven had grimaced through, but secretly liked.  

Had there been an ulterior motive to approach unapproachable Marion with his disarming awkwardness? Of course—Ami liked cats; Steven had noticed the small cat tattoo curled on her skin near her elbow. 

When Ami pinned the enamel Bastet to her apron, her small squeal of surprise and the resulting radiating smile were well worth the trouble he’d gone through with Marion, immediately justifying any continued false interest in min pin Rufus Sewell’s ridiculous costumes. Steven’s heart soared; the feeling astronomical. 

“Not today, pal,” Marc muttered, his hands stuffed into his pockets and the baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes as he threw a glance over his shoulder for any sign of the tail he had managed to shake, careful not to look up into the coffee shop as he passed. 

What about that pin from the new exhibit? Jake’s voice was more pronounced, unmistakable in the attention it demanded. Marc likened Jake to the feeling of an oncoming migraine, one that caused his ears to ring, punch drunk. The bird -. 

Thoth, Steven gently corralled Jake toward the correct answer, represents wisdom and writing – very gentle. His wife, Sesh - 

Marc rolled his eyes. Hard. 

“You’ve gotta be kidding me, you too?”  

Marc wasn’t surprised that Steven had tripped over his dick on the coffee shop girl. What was surprising, was that Jake “cold as fucking ice, shoot you in the face to say ‘howdy’” Lockley, was, apparently, following suit. 

Ami, Steven corrected, curtly. The vision of Ami moving carefully behind the counter in the coffee shop, hair that escaped her messy bun floating around her face, bloomed in Marc’s mind. She has a name. 

Que linda, Jake murmured in agreement, his voice husky, marveling in a way that had Marc conjuring his own visions of Ami—her skin bare and soft under his touch, the granite countertop in his apartment under her as he stood between her legs, his mouth roaming, tasting her tattoos. 

“Can we focus, please?” Marc shook his head to dissipate the vision, loosening the cloud from his mind, willing the feeling that stirred within him to dissolve just as quickly. It was a miracle he was able to get anything done with Steven and Jake knocking around in there, waxing poetic about a girl.  

Call him Marc the “Last Bastion of Fucking Sanity” (hitherto referred as “LBFS”) Spector, but Marc wouldn’t fall for the cute coffee shop girl with the dimples and the tattoos. He was digging his heels in hard – he’d pull them all back from the edge before he let them drag him over the cliff with them. 

See, you’ve noticed too. Steven’s itchy voice was gleefully smug.  

Marc hated it—hated that he was right. Hated that when he looked up and through the plate glass window as he passed the store front, he could see Ami laughing with a colleague. Hated that when she looked up and caught his eye and waved, smile wide and genuine and her dimples… dimpling, he could feel himself smiling back. Above all, Marc hated that he didn’t hate it all that much. 

Marc’s stomach flopped as Jake growled something inappropriate, he didn’t quite catch, and his eyes quickly drew back to the sidewalk. 

It was the next Thursday in September before Steven found his way through the door of the coffee shop again; the Thoth enamel pin wrapped in the palm of his clammy hand. 

Just give her the pin, get your coffee and ask her out. Marc coached with a huff.  

Steven nodded, quite literally to himself, as he stood in the line three people deep, shifting nervously. 

“Pin. Coffee. Ask.” Steven counted the steps on his fingers carefully as Marc groaned, a sound that would have come with a face palm. 

Marc had argued in the mirror the night before that he should have been the one fronting when they approached Ami.  

“Out of all of us,” Marc gestured dramatically, shuffling about, sniffing shirts and tossing them aside when they didn’t pass the test, “I’m the only one who’s been married.” 

Marc picked up a cigar cutter from a small table beside the couch, dried cigar clippings stuck to the blades and littering the floor beneath. “Are you smoking this shit again?” 

Jake chuckled dryly, pointedly ignoring Marc’s question, his dark eyes following Marc’s rushed pick up of the space below the brim of the newsboy hat. You’re also the only one of us who’s been divorced, hermano. 

Steven sat quietly in the reflection of the apartment, but his bottom lip jutted out and his head titled to the side as if Jake’s point couldn’t be argued. 

I mean, Steven shrugged, he does have a fair point. Reflection Steven absently picked lint off the leg of his trousers, seemingly uninterested in the conversation at hand. 

“How many times do I have to say it—that was a mutual separation!” Marc huffed, throwing his hands up before he stalked off to wash a plate in the kitchen sink for the third time, Steven hanging around over the reflection of Marc’s shoulder.  

“Don’t make that face at me.” 

What face? Steven asked, making the face. This – this is just my face. 

“That -” Marc jabbed in the direction of Steven’s reflection with a soapy finger, eyebrow cocked, “that face.” 

When Steven woke in the morning, in control, he knew Marc had agreed—at least partially. Steven would front. 

“Pin. Coffee. As—” Steven was going through the list again, touching the tip of each finger with his thumb, his eyes on the heels of the person in line in front of him, when the shouting began. 

“Listen, bitch.” A man in a pressed suit was immediately aggressive, his stubby fingers reaching across the counter to flick the name tag pinned to her apron, “Ay-mee. I’m missing my 9 o’clock meeting for this shit.” 

Puta madre.  

Steven could feel Jake bristle somewhere in the back of his mind, the tingling feeling of brain freeze, as he jostled for dominance, willed Steven to step in.  

Jake always felt like an attack dog on a short leash. Today, that leash felt especially short and the post stuck in the ground meant to keep Jake Lockley on a leash, behind the nice white fence that was Steven’s barely held together control, wobbled in the metaphorical dirt. 

“I don’t take fucking oat milk.”  

Pressed Suit slid the drink across the counter at Ami so hard that it wobbled and tipped, the plastic lid popping off and spilling hot oat milk coffee toward Ami.  

“How many times I gotta tell you and my stupid air-headed fucking assistant? Do it again and don’t fuck it up.” 

He’s gonna take something else is a hot fucking minute. Marc leaned on the fence of Steven’s control, the old man with the shotgun stepping off the porch. Give me the body, Steven. Let me have a chat with this piece of shit. 

“No.” Steven whispered, his fist tightening around the pin in his hand until its sharp edges stung, a reminder that he was in control. “No. I can—I can handle this.” Steven squared his shoulders as he stepped out of his place in line, inflating himself with a false sense of bravado.  

What Would Marc Do? Steven thought, what would Marc do?  

Steven sized the man up, eyes scanning the too-tight tailored suit and height. Taller than him by at least a head; his arms suggested he saw the inside of a gym more than two times every four years, on purpose and not because he had to use the bathroom before he made it to work.  

Steven. Listen to me. You don’t got this, pal. Marc was shaking the metaphorical bars as Jake seethed, ready to break his bonds and stage a coup d’etat. If Marc were Steven, Steven would give the body to Marc. 

“Steven’s got this.” Steven muttered under his breath, walking past Marc’s reflection in the shiny coffee machine, “Steven’s handling—” 

“What the fuck do you want?”  

The man with the stubby fingers and the throbbing neck vein and the Bluetooth bud sticking out of his ear spat as Steven approached with a tentative, awkward wave.  

“You here to trouble-shoot this moron, man purse?”  

His eyes touched on Steven’s satchel before he motioned at Ami behind the counter as she wiped up the spilled coffee as her co-worker scuttled behind the counter, remaking the drink. 

Ami didn’t look up at him, but Steven could see the redness in her ears, the way her fingers trembled as they gripped the coffee-soaked rag. “Ami?” 

Ami’s eyes darted up, catching Steven’s careful ones and he could see then that there were tears welling up and threatening to spill. She offered him a small smile, one that moved her lips, but didn’t reach her eyes. Steven’s heart broke in two and ignited a fire, three-alarmed and white hot in his mind.  

“Oh, Ami—” he hummed, his eyes softening. 

“Talk to me, I’m talking to you.” The man pressed two fingers into Steven’s chest, pushing him back so that he stumbled over his own feet, bumping into the person standing next in line. The Thoth pin he’d been holding dropped to the floor and skittered under a nearby table as his hands searched for something to brace himself against.   

“Bollocks—” Steven made a move to pick it up, leaned forward to chase it where it had fallen under the table closest to the counter. 

Eyes up, this is an eyes up situation, Steven. Marc warned in the back of Steven’s mind.  

He could tell how badly Marc wanted to front, the way Steven’s fists flexed at his sides told him as much. 

To be fair, Marc was more experienced in this area of life—Steven didn’t have Mercenary on his CV, he barely had Fist of Khonshu under the “Summary of Qualifications” header. As he tipped forward, Steven’s eyes focused on the shine of the Thoth pin under the table, he’d have to get it later.  

“Just thought that you might, I dunno—” Steven hated how small his voice sounded now as he straightened up, how appeasing he was trying to be.  

He’d once heard on an online instructional self-defense video how, when faced with a situation wherein you had the disadvantage, being reasonable was the best way to navigate.  

“—Maybe just get coffee somewhere else? Just if —you know —” 

The man chuckled and half-turned away and for a moment, Steven thought he’d handled the situation with grace, channeling the instructional video’s vibe. He’d have to leave a nice comment on the video after work. 

Steven!  

Marc’s voice rang out in his head and Steven flinched only slightly at the sound before he noticed the man had turned back to him, his balled fist aimed straight at Steven’s jaw. When it connected, bone on bone, Steven didn’t feel the pain, didn’t feel the way the momentum knocked him back.  

In that moment the dam within him broke. Steven could sense it. The lightness just before a fainting spell, the tinny whine skewing the sounds of the coffee shop, the airy feeling just before he lost control of his own body, another hand taking over the marionette, pulling the strings— his conciousness was being usurped. 

Whether it was Marc or Jake who had finally broken free, he couldn’t know.  

For Pressed Suit’s sake, he hoped it was Marc.  

Steven fell back, back and back until his head met the edge of the counter, a dull thud and then the sway of his vision before he sunk into blackness.

Marc had broken through first despite Jake’s efforts after Steven had lost consciousness.  

When Marc came to, on the floor of the coffee shop, his head cradled on Ami’s folded legs, Jake had retreated to a far corner of Marc’s mind. Quietly, he seethed, plotted. Waited until Marc stumbled into their apartment and fell asleep, icepack wedged between his pillow and the back of his skull. 

From there, Jake wasted no time. 

Pressed Suit Man had been easy to find.  

It almost came as a bit of a disappointment to Jake as he watched the man hop skip down the steps of his brownstone, briefly look both ways as he crossed the street and slipped into the back of Jake’s yellow cab. Jake felt his grip tighten on the wheel, the cap pulled low over his eyes as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across his face. 

“I’ve got a dinner meeting at Capaldi’s on 7th.”  

Pressed Suit grunted as he shifted in the back seat, his eyes focused on the phone gripped in his beefy hands, his pinky ring catching a bit of light that shone in through the back seat in the twilight. “Get me there in 10 and I’ll make sure you get a nice tip.” 

Jake nodded without a word and without looking back, pulling the brim of his hat further down over his bruised face, Steven’s bruised face. Quietly, he pulled away from the curb and entered the throng of traffic. 

By the time his passenger had noticed that something was amiss, Jake had already pulled off the turnpike, the tires dropping off the road onto the gravel under the overpass. 

“Hey asshole,” Pressed Suit was hammering on the plexiglass divider, his fat fingers wedging between the sliding piece of the separation as Jake calmly shifted the cab into park. “Does this look like fucking 7th to you, dipshit?” 

The man fumed as Jake popped open his driver door and stepped out, taking a few steps back so that he was a good distance back from the yellow cab. 

In the back seat, Pressed Suit shifted with some difficulty, rattling the handle on the inside of the car, his face growing redder and redder with each passing moment.  

Jake huffed, impatiently, shaking his arm so that the sleeve of his jacket fell back, exposing the face of his watch. 

There was a low crack and muffled cursing, and Jake looked up to see the man with the door handle, broken off in his hand, using it to hit the glass.  

Above them, cars whizzed past on the freeway—the isolation of this place nearly absolute. 

“Cerdo impaciente,” Jake murmured before he took a deep breath and shrugged. Stepping toward the door to the backseat, just as the man inside began to throw his weight against it. The car rocked with his efforts and Jake wrenched open the door just as the man threw another shoulder at it. 

With his own momentum, the man tumbled out, landing in a puddle just outside the door, his large frame sopping wet as he struggled to push himself out of the stagnant, dirty water. 

Jake didn’t wait for his passenger to compose himself. Fisting the back of his dress shirt, Jake threw the man forward onto the dry gravel, where he landed with a grunt. 

“What the fu—,” the man peered up at Jake in the dim light, the glow of the cab’s headlights the only source of light under the overpass. 

Jake moved smoothly to the man’s side, reaching into his coat pocket and producing the butterfly knife he’d tucked there before leaving the apartment. With a flourish, he opened the knife, burying it in the back of the man’s beefy calf, just above the ankle. A quick slice and the muted sound of a ‘snap’ like a rubber band told him he’d hit his target. The Achilles tendon, severed. 

The scream that followed satisfied Jake, the sound of it clawing at a deep itch that had begged to be scratched for so long. 

He deserved it, Jake told himself. He deserved much more than what he had planned for him, this sad excuse for a man.  

The man’s screams turned hoarse as Jake folded the knife carefully, slowly and reached into his inner breast pocket to trade it for something else. 

The man scrambled, his one good leg pushing his large frame against the body of the cab until he was sitting upright, cowering.  

“Wait—wait, I—” he outstretched his hand, a pitiful attempt to shield himself. “I’ll give you money, you want money, right? The tip I told you about before? I’ll give it to you, a hundred-fold, I just—” 

Quietly, as the man bargained, Jake pulled out a cigar from his inner breast pocket, rolling it between his fingers. He paused for another moment before he reached into the pocket at his hop and pulled out the small cigar trimmer. 

“On the contrary. I have a ‘nice tip’ for you, cobarde,” Jake murmured, carefully snipping the end off as he spoke. “When you speak to a lady, show some respect.” 

“What?” The man sounded almost surprised, and Jake looked up from under the brim of the hat he’d tucked down over his eyes. 

“Respect.” Jake repeated the word, slowly, carefully, his voice just on the edge of warning. 

“Who sent you, was it—it was my assistant, wasn’t it?” The man had lowered his hand slightly now, unsure of what would come next. “I swear to fucking Christ, she’s fucking dead.” 

“Cuidadoso...” Jake warned again, his tone still even as the man continued to curse about his assistant. “Respect.” 

“Her whole fucking family —I’m going to have them deported for this.” The man was seething now, his situation momentarily forgotten in the misplaced anger he held for his poor assistant. “I’ll destroy her and then when she begs me not to —” 

Jake didn’t wait for the man to finish, didn’t provide him with another warning. Swiftly, he reached forward, hand snapping out, fingers closing around the man’s wrist and tugging forward. With a sharp twist of the man’s arm, Jake slotted Pressed Suit’s pinky finger into the cigar trimmer, just past the first knuckle. Without hesitation, Jake squeezed, the blades pressing down into flesh until the resistance was gone, a report of the satisfying snip at the end of the cut. 

The man’s scream was drowned out by an eighteen-wheeler thumping over the roadway overhead. As he writhed, Jake pulled out a white handkerchief from the lapel pocket of his long duster jacket, crouching to gather the dismembered digit, folding it away in the pocket of his coat. 

Patiently, Jake waited for the man to compose himself, the ebb of blood running down his wrist darkening the man’s dress shirt. 

“If you ever think about harming another woman,” Jake started, his voice even, calm, eyes locked on the man’s as he whimpered. “I will know, and I will come back for another.”  

Jake Lockley’s eyes drew down pointedly to Pressed Suit’s large belt buckle.

“A latte macchiato is one part espresso, one part cream, and one part milk dollop,” Marc murmured, scrolling through his phone and reading aloud from the mommy blog recipe page he’d found. 

When Marc had woken up the next morning, his body aching, head pounding, eye still swollen and his lip split, he noticed the small speck of blood on his neck that couldn’t have been his.  

When he’d stripped off another layer of clothing to get into the shower, he’d been able to connect more tiny flecks of blood spatter just under his chin with his eyes as though they were constellations. 

“What did you do?” he muttered, eyes hard, hands grasping the edge of the porcelain sink as he stood in front of the chipped mirror in the tiny bathroom, his grey sweatpants slung low on his hips. 

Took care of the problem. Jake’s response was casual, as if it was natural and fine, as though the information was on a need-to-know basis. 

“Fuck.”  

Marc’s head rolled forward, chin to chest. It made his eye throb as the blood rushed forward, his eyes staring at the pristine white of the porcelain, focusing on where the hard water had dripped from the tap and stained the otherwise perfect white with a teardrop shape of yellow. “Are we going to have to move again?” 

Move? I don’t think we need to get too hasty— Steven’s voice was two tones too high. We just moved here—I like this place. 

No need to move. I was careful. There is no evidence to connect us with— Jake began, his words slow, drawn out. 

Marc’s eyes drifted to his hands, a stain of soot on the webbing between his thumb and index finger drawing his attention. It took a beat for the pieces to come together and when they did, Marc rushed to the decorative fireplace in the living room and fell to his knees in front of it. 

Quickly, his hands moved aside the false logs stacked there and came away soot stained black.  

They’d have to fucking move.  

Blood spatter and now this: evidence that something had been burned here. 

Relax, amigo. Jake’s voice rolled up in the back of Marc’s head, smooth like the slither of a snake. There’s nothing left to find. I didn’t kill him. I wanted to kill him. I could have killed him, but I didn’t. 

“Am I supposed to say, ‘thank you’?” Marc’s chest was heaving, his sooty hands running through his hair and smearing the ash down his face when his hands passed over his eyes and down his cheeks. 

Might be considerate. Jake replied after a beat of silence. 

Marc kicked himself for teaching Jake about how to be considerate, because it meant that Jake could easily turn it back on Marc. Which he did—more often than Marc cared for. Marc was swearing off self-help books on co-existence with “difficult” personalities. Marc didn’t think the authors of the books he was reading meant “personalities” in the actual sense which Marc co-existed with them. 

Once he was showered and dressed, Marc turned his mind to recreating the latte macchiato. He wouldn’t be going back to that coffee place for at least a month, maybe two. 

The machine hissed, emitting a puff of steam that sounded like the squeal of a beast that protested being tamed. Marc jumped back; his arms pulled in. 

I think we can probably go back to the coffee place now? Steven chanced, his tone hopeful in a way that only Steven could be in a situation like this. Ami texted us twice about meeting up— 

“I just think we should lay low for a bit,” Marc interrupted Steven as he moved to the fridge to grab the cream, his phone in hand as he opened the door and reached in without looking. 

What his hand hit in the space where the cream usually sat, was decidedly not the cream carton. 

When Marc looked in, the small plastic baggy in the middle of the otherwise bare fridge caught his attention. It hadn’t been there before and Marc sure as hell didn’t have the extra cash lying around to buy Ziploc bags. Cautiously, he reached in, seeing the red smear in the bag as he inched closer. When he picked it up, he wasn’t sure how to process what he was seeing. 

“Is that a fucking finger?” Marc’s voice was cartoonishly high as Steven gagged in the stainless-steel reflection of the fridge door. 

He wanted to give me a tip, Jake shrugged. It would have been rude not to take it, no? 

A/N: Feedback is always appreciated. Might do more like this in the future.

[sweetercalypso]

Mercenary || Marc Spector

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: while on an undercover mission, Marc suspects he’s been recognized. In hopes of protecting his disguise, he’s forced to get creative.

Notes: no major warnings; kissing, cursing, and vague mentions of alcohol. Canon? Don’t know her. Pre-Moon-Knight Marc with no mentions of Khonshu or alters. No reader pronouns.

“Darling, there you are!”

You turn at the sound of a nearby voice, surprised to see a man standing just out of reach with his attention and his arms outstretched in your direction.

The touch of his hand against your shoulder sends chills down your spine as you look over the stranger with mannered scrutiny. The evening had been overwhelmed with small talk and cordial chatter, yet the dark eyes staring back at you were an unfamiliar sight.

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” Your soft reply is barely audible over the melodic string music traveling through the busy ballroom.

The man furrows his brow slightly before wiping the uncertainty from his features. His broad shoulders pull back and he gives a small grin. His charcoal grey suit and black oxfords don’t offer much significance amongst the sea of champagne socialites in attendance, but his mused hair and the yellowing bruise over his jaw are enough to tell you that he’s a character out of place.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he laughs airily. His hand drops slowly from your shoulder, travelling down your arm before he waves over a nearby waiter and grabs two glasses from the tray of tawny bubbling spirits.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” you say, accepting the drink with a gracious smile.

“No,” he clinks his glass against yours. “I would’ve remembered meeting you.”

Raising the glass to your painted lips, you take a moment to study the man in front of you. He doesn’t seem impressed by the room’s ornate décor, nor is he drawn to the sea of lively barons and their engrossed coterie.

Instead, he seems to count the expanse of windows across every wall, eyes jumping over each exit like he’s planning an escape. His presence draws no attention, and he doesn’t acknowledge partygoers as they waltz by. It seems, in fact, that this man is a stranger to more than just your company.

“So,” you drawl, startling the stillness that had settled around the two of you. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m having a lovely evening with a beautiful stranger.”

“Right.” You nod curtly, not missing the glint of mischief in his eye. “But what, exactly, brings you here this evening?”

You lean in closely, eyes locking onto his to gauge his reaction. “You look like a man on a mission.”

His face morphs into a look of surprise. He mulls over your words for a minute, surely weighing his options in his mind. Finally, he sighs, a sly grin creeping over his features.

“You caught me.”

Your eyes widen at his unexpected response, realizing that you were right about this rogue stranger. Thoughts of peril and unknown dangers flash in your mind like a silent alarm, but a small voice insists that he’s no threat to you.

“I’m here on business,” he begins, eyes flickering over the oblivious crowd gathered just out of earshot. “I got close to my mark earlier, but the guards got suspicious. I just need to blend in until the party’s over.”

You nod absently, giving thought to what he’d said. “So, you’re here to kill someone?”

“Not today,” he quips with a click of his tongue. “Too much of a mess.”

Nervous laughter spills from your lips. You fight to contain your sudden reaction, but it’s too much to keep from overflowing. This stranger – charming and entertaining as he may be – is dangerous, and his presence is surely no laughing matter.

Taking a moment to quiet your composure, you miss the way the man’s eyes flicker once – twice – over your shoulder when he notices a group of tall, serious-looking men moving steadily in your direction. His jaw tightens and he quickly ducks his head, deflating the humor from your lungs in an instant.

“Is everything alright?” You ask, tilting your head to meet his downcast gaze.

The man shakes his head stiffly and takes another survey of the room, searching for a way to make an escape. He spots the thicket of slow dancers in front of the orchestra and he’s quick in forming a plan.

“Dance with me.”

“What?” You blink at him with wide eyes, not sure what to think of his sudden request.

“I think I’ve been spotted and I need to hide my face. Dance with me. Please.”

A short nod is enough of an answer for the raven-haired man. He slips the half-empty champagne flute from your grasp, abandoning your drinks on a nearby table in favor of leading you towards the dance floor across the room. The two of you weave wordlessly through the throng of duos until the rest of the room is lost beyond the intimate sway of the masses.

He stops once he’s sure he’s out of sight, jaw tensing like he’s deep in thought. His hand guides yours to rest softly on his shoulder while his other palms aptly at your hip.

“M’not much of a dancer,” he says quietly, almost apologetic in the way his feet immediately begin to stumble into yours.

The corners of your mouth tick upwards as you fight back a grin. With each ungainly step he takes in creating a clumsy waltz, you begin to see more of the humble man behind the disguise.

“That’s alright,” you assure him with a smile. “I’ll lead.”

You plant your feet as confidently as you can manage and use your hold on his shoulder to push and pull him along with your strides.

One foot leads the other and the two of you fall into a fluid, measured step. Before long, you’re moving in a comfortable sway like familiar friends or devoted partners.

“Are they looking for me?” He asks lowly once you’re turned in the right direction to see the party over his shoulder.

Two gruff men in plain black suits roam through the crowd on either side of the room, slowly taking count of each person in attendance.

You suck in a deep breath as one glances in your direction, almost as if he knows he’s being watched.

“Yeah,” you reply in a whisper, nodding your head as subtly as you can. “I see at least four, and they’re heading this way.”

“Shit,” he curses under his breath. “I was trying to avoid making a scene.”

The situation calls for action, but you’re unable to think of any way to help the man beyond what you’ve done thus far. You’re not a spy, or anything else of importance that might’ve granted you the skills to aid in this affair.

Just as one of the guards begins to part through the dancing couples, a wave of panic washes over you. In an act of instinct, rather than tactic, you lean in and press your lips to his, placing a hand on the stranger’s cheek in order to hide his face.

He’s still for a moment before he reacts and wraps his arm around you in a tight embrace. His mouth moves against yours skillfully, eagerly, like this impromptu kiss was planned all along.

The guard is long gone by the time you pull away, breathless and wide-eyed at the realization of what you’d done.

“I’m so sorry-” you drop your hands from his face, taking a step back to put a respectable distance between the two of you. “I don’t know what came over me. I saw the guard coming and-”

“Thank you,” he interrupts your nervous apology with a grateful smile.

“I have to go while they’re still busy looking for me, but really, you’ve been a great help.”

He’s turning to leave before you can think to stop him, disappearing into the crowd without so much as a hint as to who he is or where he’s going next. The mystery of the evening remains unsolved, much to your displeasure.

“Wait.”

You’re pushing through the crowd to follow after him, careless of the odd glances you receive from demure guests in your wake.

When you’re close enough to touch him, you call out another “wait!”, grabbing his wrist to keep from losing him in the crowd.

You’re almost upset with him for leaving so feebly, although you’d never admit it out loud. The thrill of the evening had sparked something inside of you, and the spontaneous kiss had only left you wanting more. But now that the adventure is dying down, you’re beginning to lose your confidence.

When you realize he’s waiting for you to speak, you’re suddenly at a loss for words. The need for excitement has grown cold, fizzling out until you’re left with a dreadful pit in the bottom of your stomach.

“I, uh- I didn’t get your name.”

It’s an anticlimactic end to your meeting, but it’s all you can think to say in the moment.

He flashes a smile that reminds you of when you’d first met. No longer faced with the threat of guards closing in, the man’s cool composure has been restored. With a familiar sly expression, he offers only a fleeting response before he’s whisked away:

“Don’t worry – I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

[moonknightyws]

so fineee

(I'm officially back!)

[layla4567]

~MASTERLIST~

i opened requests btw (sorry if it took me a while to answer them)

🔥: spicy/smut ❤️: fluff 😢: angst (just a little)

Marvel

Peter maximoff:

Imagine with quicksilver ❤️

One shot/ Peter maximoff ❤️

Imagine: a relaxing shower 🔥

You know what I mean ❤️

I'm not doing it 🔥❤️

Nursing day ❤️

Loki:

Headcanons of Loki ❤️

Imagine with Loki 🔥

Headcanon: Loki as a dad ❤️

Nightmare ❤️

Headcanon: Loki notices that you are on you period ❤️

Celtic ballad ❤️

In the meadows 🔥

The waterfall 🔥

SFW alphabet ❤️​

NSFW alphabet 🔥

I don't trust you 🔥

Plushie ❤️​

Dance for me 🔥

You're being mean ❤️​

Awful things to you 🔥

Shoot ❤️​

The stars are closer ❤️​

A merry christmas (lokius) ❤️​

Mobius meet your child with loki (uncle mobius) ❤️​

LOKI SERIES (OTHERS CHARACTERS)

Too close (Brad wolfe/Hunter X-5) ❤️​

Scars (Brad Wolfe) ❤️​

Steven Grant/Marc Spector/Jake Lockley:

Little imagine with Steven Grant ❤️​

I'm just a librarian (canceled) ❤️​

headcanon: the boys with pets ❤️​

Bucky:

Headcanons of Bucky ❤️​

Adam Warlock:

Would you help me? ❤️

Adam Warlock headcanons ❤️🔥😢

Drabble (wandavision AU) ❤️

Teach me ❤️

Namor:

A lullaby, a lotus flower and a cardinal ❤️

Evan Peters

Colin Zabel:

Magic night 😢🔥(it's just suggestive)

Vaccines are good ❤️

Evan:

Lingerie ❤️​🔥​

Birthday girl ❤️​🔥​

The bear

Luca:

Working together ❤️​

Will Poulter:

Behave well 🔥​

Gotham

Jeremiah:

That's how the money works 🔥​(suggestive)

Lewd pollen🔥​

Bruce Wayne

Let me take care of you ❤️​

Star Wars

Cal Kestis:

May the force be with you ❤️​

I'm right here 😢​❤️​

Are you afraid of the dark?

Mr. Tophat:

My Ballerina 😢​❤️​🔥​

Are you lost? 😢​

The hunger games

Coriolanus Snow:

Until the birds stop singing 😢​❤️​

One Piece Live Action

Opla boys with a short reader headcanon ❤

Time for hugs (Luffy sfw drabble) ❤

Sanji with a mechanic reader headcanon ❤

The straw hats hearing your laugh for the first time ❤

Sanji with a fem reader with long hair (headcanon) ❤

The medical (sanji) ❤

Me gustas tu (Luffy) ❤

Until we meet again (Mihawk) ❤🔥

Sweet as peaches (Sanji fluff drabble) ❤

Until we meet again pt2 (Mihawk) ❤

A whole new world (Shanks) ❤

A whole new world pt2 (Shanks) ❤

The straw hat with a spanish speaker ❤

Wild west au/ monster trio 🔥

Opla men with a spanish speaker pt2 (mihawk, buggy and shanks) ❤

Sanji with a reader who loves to collect trinkets (headcanons) ❤

Morning routine with Sanji ❤

Take off the sails

Monster trio buying sanitary pads ❤

Valentine's day is for fools ❤

Until we meet again (final part) ❤🔥

Old men with a short reader (buggy, shanks and mihawk) ❤

Halloween costumes with the straw hats ❤

Strawhats with a tall reader ❤

A new adventure (shanks fic) ❤️😭🔥

REQUESTS

Hot cocoa (Hunter D90-Loki series) ❤

I'm right here (Cal Kestis-Star wars)

Dance for me (Loki-MCU)

My silly little man (Mobius-Loki series) ❤

Visitors (Mobius) ❤

Sanji with a rapunzel fem reader

Are you lost? (mr.tophat)

A little bit of mischief (D90 loki series) ❤

OTHER

Ken (Barbie 2023) with a reader who wears glasses ❤

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