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paucubarsisimp · 3 months ago

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juno

pairings: pedri x reader, pablo gavi x reader, ferran torres x reader, pau cubarsi x reader, hector fort x reader, alejandro balde x reader, lamine yamal x reader, marc bernal x reader

summary: in which you prank your boyfriend by doing the juno tiktok trend

warnings: suggestive stuff!

୨ৎ pedri

it was a lazy afternoon, and pedri was lounging on the couch, glued to his phone. you were scrolling through tiktok, laughing at random videos. one caught your eye—it was sabrina carpenter’s juno pose from her 2025 tour. you couldn’t help but laugh at how bold it was, and an idea instantly popped into your head.

you glanced at pedri, a playful glint in your eyes. “hey pedri, i think i’m gonna do something.��

he barely looked up from his phone, distracted. “uh-huh, sure.”

you set your phone to record, stood up, and walked to the center of the room. without hesitation, you dropped into the doggy pose—hands on the floor, back arched, head tilted, just like you had seen. it felt ridiculous, but you had to admit, it was kind of fun. you held the pose, looking at pedri to see if he noticed.

pedri’s head snapped up the moment he saw you, his eyes widening. he froze, blinking a few times as his jaw dropped. his face turned bright red as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not prepared for this.

“madre mía…” he muttered, voice shaky. “you really did it.”

you stood up, brushing off your knees casually, as if nothing was out of the ordinary. “what? i thought it would be funny,” you said with a teasing grin. “you know i can pull it off.”

pedri ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at you. “yeah, but you really know how to get my attention,” he said, trying and failing to act casual. “i’ve seen you do this before, but…” he trailed off, still flustered. “this time was different.”

you leaned over the couch to him, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “what, you didn’t think i could do it again?” you teased, giving him a playful wink.

pedri’s face was now a deep shade of red, his eyes darting between you and the floor. “it’s not that… it’s just, i didn’t expect you to do it like that again,” he said, his voice low and a little breathless. “you know i can’t handle this.”

you slowly moved toward him, your hips swaying just enough to keep his attention. “i know,” you teased, leaning closer. “i love that i can leave you speechless.”

pedri swallowed hard, his body tensing as you leaned in even closer, your lips brushing the side of his face. “y/n, stop… you’re making it impossible to think right now,” he muttered, clearly struggling to stay composed.

without giving him a chance to process, you slid into his lap, straddling him with ease. pedri immediately froze, his hands instinctively resting on your waist, as if unsure what to do next. he looked up at you, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

“what are you—” pedri’s words were cut off as you leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear.

“i thought you could use a distraction,” you whispered, your voice playful, but with just enough teasing to make him shiver.

pedri’s breath hitched, and his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you closer. “god,” he muttered, clearly trying to maintain control. “you’re killing me.”

you grinned, placing a soft kiss on his neck, just under his jaw. pedri immediately tensed, a soft groan escaping his lips. his entire body was on fire, his breath quickening as you moved your lips along his neck, placing another light kiss.

you pulled back slightly, your eyes locking with his. “see? i knew you liked it.”

pedri’s face was bright red now, his lips parted as he tried to find the right words. “you… you know i can’t resist when you do this,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “i’m not going to make it through the rest of the day like this.”

you smirked, brushing your hand over his chest. “good thing we’ve got some time to kill.”

pedri let out a deep sigh, still trying to regain his composure. “madre mía, you’re going to be the end of me.”

you laughed softly, leaning in for one last teasing kiss on his cheek before pulling away with a playful wink. “you’re not complaining.”

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୨ৎ pablo gavi

it was one of those lazy afternoons when you and pablo were lounging at home. pablo was on the couch, staring at his phone, while you were scrolling through tiktok. that’s when you saw it—a video of sabrina carpenter’s juno pose from her short n' sweet tour. the idea hit you instantly.

you glanced at pablo, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. “hey, pablo,” you said, already knowing what was about to happen. “watch this.”

pablo barely looked up. “yeah, yeah,” he muttered, distracted by his phone.

you set your phone to record, then stood up and strutted into the middle of the room. with a teasing grin, you dropped into the missionary pose—laying flat on your back, head tilted dramatically, legs spread just enough, arching your body for effect. you held it for a moment, knowing exactly what kind of reaction it would get from him.

the second pablo noticed, his eyes shot up from his phone, his jaw dropping in shock. his phone slipped from his hands, but he didn’t even seem to notice. “joder,” he muttered, eyes wide as his face turned bright red. “you’re really doing this?”

you casually straightened up, brushing off your pants like it was nothing, but secretly enjoying how flustered he was. “what? you didn’t think I could pull it off?” you teased, strutting toward him with a smirk.

pablo was still processing what he’d just witnessed. “no way,” he said, his voice slightly shaky. “you just did that… in front of me.”

you shrugged nonchalantly, acting like it was no big deal. “it’s just a pose,” you said with a playful wink. “you know I can do it.”

pablo rubbed the back of his neck, looking utterly flustered. “y/n,” he laughed nervously, “that was… something else.”

you leaned over the back of the couch, close to him, enjoying every second of his shock. “don’t tell me you’re embarrassed,” you teased, your voice light but laced with mischief.

he shook his head, his hands going to his hair, trying to regain some control. “embarrassed? y/n, you’re making me lose my mind,” he stammered. “seriously, you can’t post that.”

you grinned, walking toward your phone, ready to hit the post button. “oh? you don’t want the world to see how cute you look when you’re flustered?” you teased. “thought you’d be more confident than that.”

pablo’s face turned a deeper shade of red, and he jumped to his feet. “y/n,” he said urgently, his voice laced with a hint of panic. “you can’t post that. you’re all for me, remember?”

you raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “all for you, huh?” you teased, walking closer to him. “are you sure? looks like I’m causing a little chaos here.”

he looked at you with a mixture of protectiveness and affection, still clearly embarrassed. “y/n,” he repeated, taking a step toward you, “please, don’t post that.”

you stepped into his space, leaning in for a soft kiss on his cheek. “don’t worry, pablo,” you whispered in his ear. “I’m all yours.”

he smiled, but his cheeks were still burning. “you’re impossible,” he muttered, then suddenly—without warning—he swept you up into his arms.

“hey! what are you—” you squealed, startled and laughing as he effortlessly picked you up, cradling you in his arms.

“you’ve been teasing me enough,” he said, grinning mischievously. “now you’re going to be all mine in private.”

before you could even process what was happening, he was carrying you toward the bedroom. you let out another surprised squeal as he practically sprinted down the hallway, clearly having no intention of letting you escape.

“pablo! wait—what are you doing?!” you laughed, still caught off guard by his sudden burst of energy.

he grinned, his face glowing with a mixture of excitement and playful possessiveness. “you can’t post that,” he teased, as if to justify his actions, though the true reason was clear—you were his, and he wasn’t letting you go anywhere anytime soon.

you giggled, enjoying the unexpected turn of events. “you’re crazy, you know that?” you said, resting your head on his chest as he carried you to the bedroom.

“and you love it,” he replied, flashing a cheeky grin as he gently kicked the bedroom door open, still holding you close.

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୨ৎ ferran torres

the day had been slow — cozy and warm, the kind of afternoon where ferran was stretched out on the couch like he had nowhere else to be (because he didn’t), one hand absentmindedly scrolling his phone, the other draped behind you.

you were curled up beside him, silently giggling at your feed until one particular tiktok stopped you cold.

the juno pose - specifically the cowgirl one from her concert in houston.

you tilted your head. blinked. looked at your phone. then looked at ferran. then back to your phone.

“don’t do anything weird,” ferran mumbled without looking, clearly sensing your energy.

“me? never,” you said sweetly, already standing up.

he glanced at you, immediately suspicious. “qué vas a hacer…”

“just a little… challenge,” you replied, setting your phone against a stack of books and hitting record.

you turned back toward him, making sure he was watching, then dropped smoothly into the pose—on your knees, straddling the floor, arch in your back, hands resting lightly on your thighs, eyes soft and teasing. slow, confident, knowing exactly what kind of effect it would have.

his reaction was immediate.

“joder.” ferran blinked like he’d just seen a ghost. “¿me estás tomando el pelo?”

you tried to stay serious, but the smirk broke through. “what? you’ve literally seen me do this—”

“not in front of your phone, dios mío.” he stood up, eyes wide, running a hand through his hair. “tú no puedes subir eso. absolutely not.”

you tilted your head, teasing. “why not?”

he looked at you like you’d just suggested skydiving without a parachute. “because you’re all mine,” he said, voice low, a little too real. “and you look like that? no chance.”

“hmm.” you pretended to consider. “but the lighting was so good—”

he didn’t even let you finish.

in two steps, ferran was in front of you. you barely had time to react before his hands were on your waist, lifting you clean off the ground like you weighed nothing.

“ferran!” you squealed, laughing as he held you close, arms firm around your body.

“no more showing the world what’s mine,” he muttered, already turning down the hall.

“where are we going?!”

“somewhere far away from your phone,” he said, voice smug but still flustered, cheeks a bit pink. “somewhere i can remind you exactly why you can’t post that.”

you laughed against his shoulder, still breathless. “you’re crazy.”

“crazy for you,” he replied easily, nudging open the bedroom door.

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୨ৎ pau cubarsi

pau had been in his own world for most of the afternoon — stretched out across your bed, one hand tucked behind his head, hoodie riding up just enough to tease a peek of warm skin, eyes lazily glued to his phone. you were scrolling on the floor, bored out of your mind, until that tiktok came up again.

the juno pose. dramatic. a little ridiculous. and way too fun not to try.

you didn’t warn him. just propped up your phone, lowered yourself to the floor, and shifted into position — one leg stretched flat, the other raised high and straight, your back supported on your elbows, eyes half-lidded, breathing slow. you looked into the lens like you weren’t doing anything unusual at all.

pau didn’t notice at first.

but when he did—

“joder,” he muttered under his breath, his phone forgotten. his voice was soft and stunned, like he wasn’t sure whether to look away or stare harder. “what are you doing?”

you stayed there, still in the pose. “a trend.”

his brows rose, eyes trailing down your leg, then quickly darting away like he wasn’t supposed to look. “you’re gonna post that?”

“i was thinking about it,” you teased, lowering your leg slowly as you sat up.

pau just stared, jaw a little slack. “you… shouldn’t.”

you crawled onto the bed, slow and casual, like it didn’t mean anything. like his eyes weren’t locked on every little movement.

“you’ve seen me do that before,” you said, settling into his lap without hesitation, arms loose around his neck. “so what’s the big deal?”

he swallowed hard, his hands finding your hips without thinking. “i’ve seen it, yeah… but never in daylight.”

you laughed softly, brushing your lips over his jaw. “you liked it, though.”

his breath hitched as you kissed just below his ear. “still do.”

you smiled against his skin. “so what if i post it?”

pau’s voice dropped, low and a little breathless. “then i’m locking your phone and hiding it somewhere you’ll never find it.”

“mm, dramatic,” you hummed, pressing your chest to his, your fingers lightly tugging at the collar of his hoodie. “you’d really go that far?”

his grip on your waist tightened, and he leaned in so his lips brushed your ear.

“you don’t want to know how far i’d go,” he whispered.

you shivered — not from the chill, but from the way his voice felt against your skin.

you kissed him slow, lips lingering just a little too long, and felt him melt under you — warm and needy and flustered in the best way.

his hands slid up your back, pulling you closer like he didn’t want any space left between you.

“you’re trouble,” he whispered against your mouth.

you smiled, pulling him back into another kiss, deeper this time.

“you like it.”

pau didn’t say anything.

he just kissed you again — slower, firmer — and let his hoodie fall to the floor.

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୨ৎ hector fort

the soft sunlight filtered through the room as you scrolled through tiktok, laughing at the latest trends. you came across the juno pose—the one where you lie back with your legs up in the air. it was too good to pass up, especially with héctor lounging on the bed nearby. you'd done the pose with him before, but today you felt like teasing him a little.

you set your phone up, dropped back onto the floor, and lifted your legs straight up into the air, locking your knees and arching your back slightly. you kept your arms behind you for support, staring into the camera as if you were modeling.

héctor glanced up from his phone, noticing you immediately. his eyes widened when he saw what you were doing.

“wait… really?” he asked, a mix of disbelief and amusement in his voice.

you didn’t break the pose, keeping your face neutral. “what? just a trend. nothing to see here.”

héctor raised an eyebrow and shook his head, pushing himself off the bed. “i’ve seen you do this before, but never like this.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the grin that tugged at your lips. “it’s just for fun, héctor. don’t act like you’re not used to it.”

he moved closer, still looking at you with a playful smile. “used to it? i don’t know… you’ve definitely got me curious this time, princesa.”

you smirked, holding the pose. “what, don’t think you can handle it?”

“oh, i can handle it,” he replied with a teasing grin, bending down just enough that his lips brushed your ear. “but you’re definitely making it harder than it needs to be.”

you raised your head slightly to look at him. “what, are you jealous now?”

héctor chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing. “jealous? no. just… surprised. you’ve done this pose with me before, but never like this. you’re trying to mess with me, aren’t you?”

you bit your lip and held his gaze, your legs still locked up in the air. “maybe. maybe i’m trying to see how much you can handle.”

he shook his head with a small laugh. “you really know how to test my patience, don’t you?”

without another word, héctor moved swiftly, pulling you off the floor and into his arms. your body was now in his grasp as he lifted you gently onto the bed, your back landing softly on the sheets with him hovering over you.

his face was so close to yours, and the warmth from his body radiated against yours. his hands moved to your waist, guiding your hips slightly, and he smirked down at you. “alright, princesa, i think you’ve had your fun.”

you blinked up at him, catching your breath from the teasing. “what do you mean?”

he leaned down a little more, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “i think it’s time for me to take control now.”

you couldn’t help but laugh softly, trying to wriggle away, but before you could, he gently pulled you closer, making you squeal in surprise. he smiled, clearly enjoying the way he’d caught you off guard.

“next time, princesa,” he said, his voice full of affection, “don’t make it so easy for me to get distracted.”

you smiled up at him, feeling a rush of warmth in your chest. “maybe next time,” you whispered, resting your head on his chest, as he kissed your forehead and pulled you into his arms.

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୨ৎ alejandro balde

it was another lazy afternoon as you sat on the couch, scrolling through tiktok. your finger paused on the ballet dancer juno pose — the one where you balance on one leg, the other bent in the air, holding a graceful, yet playful position. you had done this pose with alejandro countless times before, but today, you felt like having a little fun.

without hesitation, you set your phone up to record. with a sly grin on your face, you got into position. one leg straight in the air, the other bent, your posture elegant yet playful. you held it with ease, a soft smile dancing on your lips as you stared into the camera, your leg up just like you had so many times before.

alejandro, who had been lounging nearby, looked up from his phone when he noticed the sudden stillness in the room. he raised an eyebrow, his gaze falling on you. “no way, you’re doing that again?” he asked, half-laughing, half-shocked. “you know you’ve got me wrapped around your finger every time you do this.”

you didn’t break the pose, keeping it steady and graceful. “what? i’m just practicing,” you teased, though the playful glint in your eyes was hard to miss.

alejandro shook his head, clearly distracted, but trying to hide his amusement. “you’ve done this with me so many times, but every time, you find a way to make it… different,” he said, his voice a mix of admiration and laughter.

“maybe i’m just getting better,” you replied, holding the position even longer as you tilted your head at him.

he chuckled softly, stepping closer. “mi reina, you’re always making me lose focus with this.” he paused, his eyes scanning you with that familiar warmth. “how is it that you make something so simple look like it’s something out of a dance show?”

you smirked, finally lowering your leg. “maybe it’s because you’ve seen it done so many times, but you still can’t get enough of it.”

alejandro leaned down, his voice soft and playful. “you know that’s true,” he whispered, his fingers gently brushing against your side. “but i can’t help it, mi vida, you always know how to make my heart race.”

with that, he gently pulled you back onto the couch, his hands steady and strong as he slid you into his lap, holding you close. “you’re not going to distract me this easily,” he muttered, his voice still warm with affection.

you grinned up at him, feeling a soft blush creep up your neck. “oh, i think i’m doing a pretty good job.”

alejandro smiled, his lips curling up into a mischievous grin. “you think so, huh?” he leaned in, brushing his lips against your forehead before dropping a kiss on your nose. “mi reina, you’re impossible.”

but the teasing didn’t last long. as he held you close, his lips found yours in a soft, lingering kiss. it was sweet, but it held an undeniable warmth — one that made your heart flutter as he pulled away just slightly, his forehead resting against yours.

“next time, mi vida, try to let me breathe for a second,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of affection.

you giggled, wrapping your arms around him. “maybe next time, i’ll just do it again,” you teased, your voice full of playful mischief as you snuggled into his embrace.

alejandro chuckled softly, holding you tighter. “mi reina, you’re going to be the end of me.”

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୨ৎ lamine yamal

you weren’t planning to start trouble — not really. but the juno trend was trending, and the pose — yeah, that one — was all over your for you page. the one where sabrina got on her knees, leaned forward just a little too low, her back arched just right, with a mic in hand and a look that could kill.

you had no mic, but you did have an idea. and a boyfriend who was way too easy to fluster.

lamine was laid out on the bed, socks mismatched, hoodie pushed halfway up his arms as he scrolled aimlessly on his phone. completely unaware. perfect.

you set your phone down and dropped to your knees in the middle of the room. hips tilted back, you lowered yourself down into the pose — back arched, head tilted slightly, eyes fixed on the camera with a soft smirk. you stayed there, letting the audio play, knowing the exact moment his attention would snap.

“nah…” lamine’s voice from the bed, slow and drawn out. “you’re not doing what i think you’re doing.”

you didn’t answer. just turned your head slightly to give him a lazy, innocent look.

his phone hit the mattress. “preciosa… that’s illegal.”

you bit back a laugh. “you’ve seen me do it before, guapo.”

“yeah, with me, in private,” he groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he sat up, blinking at you like you’d just stolen all the air out of the room. “you tryna kill me in broad daylight?”

you raised a brow, still holding the pose. “what, don’t like it?”

“i love it,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “that’s the problem.”

he crossed the room in a few strides and gently tugged you up by the waist, still flustered but smirking now, eyes warm. “you really just gonna pull out that pose without warning?”

“spontaneity keeps things fun,” you teased.

“nah,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then trailing one dangerously close to your jaw. “you’re dangerous.”

“but cute?” you asked, just a little breathless.

“too cute,” he mumbled, resting his forehead against yours. “preciosa, don’t ever post that. that’s for me.”

you smiled, cheeks heating up as he pulled you even closer. “okay,” you murmured. “only for you, guapo.”

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୨ৎ marc bernal

you weren’t trying to get marc's attention… well, maybe a little.

marc was lounging on the couch, lazily watching a match, half paying attention. you were pretending to scroll through your phone, but really, you were just waiting for the perfect moment to get his reaction.

you spotted the juno tight squeeze pose again — the one that’s ridiculously dramatic and a little playful. it seemed like the right time.

you slipped off the couch casually, positioning yourself on the rug in front of the phone you’d set up. knees pressed tightly together, back arched just right, arms extended in front like you were holding onto something, glancing back over your shoulder like it was no big deal.

marc noticed right away. “what… what are you doing, cariño?” his voice had that confused-but-curious tone as he sat up, eyes wide.

you kept the pose, not budging. “nothing.”

marc blinked, looking almost frantic as he pushed himself up from the couch. “nothing? cariño, you can’t just… do that. that’s not nothing.”

you smirked, holding the position, feeling his gaze burning into you. “it’s a trend.”

“it’s too much,” he muttered under his breath. “you really just gonna do that in front of me like that?”

“you’ve seen me do it before, haven’t you?” you teased, giving him a playful glance.

“yeah, in private!” he shot back, voice almost cracking with how flustered he was. “and even then, it was dangerous. this? this is… I’m not gonna survive.”

you turned your head to look at him, an innocent smirk on your lips. “so i shouldn’t post it?”

he ran a hand through his hair, giving you a look like you’d just set off a bomb. “post it and you’ll break me. collapse me. i’ll just… fall over, cariño.”

you giggled, finally sitting up, looking up at him as he stepped closer, moving like he was trying to regain some composure.

“you’re really playing with fire, huh?” he murmured softly, his hands coming to your waist, pulling you up gently.

“only for you, guapo,” you said, leaning in closer to him, your voice low and teasing.

he chuckled, leaning down and brushing his lips against your forehead. “I should’ve known,” he whispered, his voice warm. “but seriously, cariño, warn me next time. you’re not making it easy for me.”

you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck. “why would i do that? it’s fun watching you try to stay cool.”

“well, next time, i’ll be the one holding the camera, and you’ll be the one getting flustered,” he said, kissing your forehead once more, a soft smile on his face.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, lmk if you want to be added!

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have-you-seen-my-sanity · 2 months ago

Text

Vivid

Moon Knight masterlist

Dark!Moon Knight system x fem!reader

Cw/triggers: NSFW, somnophilia, smut, dead dove do not eat, somewhat body worshipping, dub-con(because reader is sleeping), p in v sex, oral(f!receiving), not beta read, potential typos.

The cool night air brushed against your exposed skin, causing you to snuggle deeper into the covers with a sleepy mumble before your mind went back into a peaceful deep state of sleep.

But then,

Click...

The small click from your door opening had been easily suppressed by the city noises that could be heard from the open window. Silent steps came inside your room, the person was wrapped in darkness and shadows, but the moon light shining through your window hit his face, making parts of him visible.

Is it a bad idea when she's sleeping?

Steven didn't sound all too optimistic, but his tone gave it away he could be swayed into the opposite.

Well it wasn't exactly my idea, Jake just convinced me.

Marc stated nonchalantly in the headspace while Jake looked up as if he could see them and smirked.

Jake slowly walked towards you, trying his best to avoid any noises so you'd remain asleep. He carefully slid the blanket down, slowly, making sure each inch of your skin revealed leaves them eager for more. As soon as the blanket was off Jake moved to the side of your bed and caressed your cheek.

"Hermosa." Jake purred, while his hand moved smoothly over your chest, his fingertips dipped under tha waistband of your panties. The touch caused you to let out a small noise but you remained asleep. While Jake has his little fun with you, Marc and Steven were practically drooling.

'Fuck I can't wait any longer'

'Mate, let me or Marc take the body, please'

Even though Jake was equally excited he still wanted to tease the other two. He eventually got up and moved to stand at the foot of your bed, if you had been awake you could perfectly eye the bulge in his pants, the way it strained against the material made it look painful, and it was.

Your legs were gently spread by him, the mattress dipped as he moved on top of you. Jake surrendered the body and Marc took it.

'Please do something Marc it's too much'

Steven pleaded again, his voice was so thick with need and it was clear he couldn't wait to get his hands on you.

Marc brought his face down to your belly, his eyes made one last contact with your sleeping face before he trailed soft kisses up your stomach, getting closer and closer to your breasts.

'Imagine her gripping our hair'

Steven sounded so needy, he couldn't wait for his turn.

At Steven's obviously teasing tone Marc couldn't suppress the the low growl coming out of him, he went to palm himself, immediately bucking his hips into his hand.

It is a wonder how you're still asleep, the cool air from outside is hitting your whole exposed body but considering the heat emanting from their body it kept you pleasendly warm in your sleep, even more so, started heating you up aswell.

Marc grew bolder and gently sucked on your skin, which made you moan softly. He tensed up a little, thinking you woke up, but seeing you still oblivious and sleeping brought a wicked smile on his lips.

His hand went from his aching bulge to your panties, where he slowly pulled them to the side. He cursed softly when he found you already wet. "She's already wet, even in her sleep. Fuck."

'Lick her pussy, tell us how good she tastes'

Came Jake's demand. The touch of his fingers made you squirm slightly in response and Marc wasted no time to get down, licking all the way up to your cunt where he dipped the tip of his tongue in. He couldn't help but groan, his hand went back to his pants and palming the bulge.

"She tastes so good." Marc breathed against you which caused goosebumps rising up your skin.

Before Marc could lose himself, he decided to surrender the body, allowing Steven to take charge who gave you another slow lick and moaned delightfully at the taste.

Steven's hips kept thrusting into his hand, he couldn't wait to bury his dick inside you. Finally he moved off from your cunt, immediately working to free his pre cum leaking cock, nudging your cunt with his tip but he quickly stopped himself.

"But what if she wakes up?" He asked the others quietly, looking at you to make sure you're still asleep.

He heard Jake chuckle darkly in response.

'We will continue to fuck her'

Marc had a similar twisted thought,

'Yeah our cock will keep her quiet'

Steven felt conviced enough and pushed inside slowly feeling your tight heat envelope his cock as he kept pushing inch by inch inside.

The pleasure coming over you was evident by the way your hands gripped the mattress and the noises you made. Despite not knowing if you're dreaming, it felt so good, so real. At the invading pleasure your sleeping mind couldn't bring itself to wake up and instead surrendered to whatever feeling is coming over you and what or whoever is the one delivering it.

"Guys I think she's enjoying it." Steven pointed out, letting out a moan of delight as he buried himself fully inside you.

He watched you in awe everytime you're moaning or making other noises with every movement of his cock inside you. Steven wanted to kiss you so badly but he didn't want to wake you up.

'Steven buddy, let me fuck her now'

Marc's voice was rough with need and Steven knew Jake would want the same soon and so he surrendered to Marc who groaned when he felt your tightness around him.

He sped up his movements as far as possible to avoid waking you up. "I wonder how she feels right now."

'Probably thinks she's dreaming'

Steven responded.

Marc wanted to touch you but he reminded himself to take no risks when already doing something highly risky like fucking you in your sleep. He felt your hips buck up slightly and he had to stiffle the moan threatening to come out of him, your noises were suddenly needier than before and he was certain you are close to cuming.

'Fuck is she about to cum?'

Steven asked genuinely wanting to know, and although he wouldn't admit it willingly, it was such a turn on knowing they could make you cum even when you're sleeping.

Marc couldn't resist bringing his hand down to gently rub your clit thus causing you to be a whimpering mess. He really didn't know how this isn't waking you up but he's gladly accepting it.

He felt himself getting close to cum but Jake interrupted him.

'Let me fuck her now'

Marc immediately surrendered the body to Jake and he continued thrusting steadily into you. "Shit I wish we could fuck her forever." Jake sighed, rubbing your clit faster feeling your cunt tightening around him.

Jake's breathing got heavier, he wanted nothing more than to grab your hips and pound into you without mercy. Suddenly he felt your warm slick coating his cock and it was clear you just squirted. Jake noticed the layer of sweat on your skin but he paid no attention to it as all he wanted to do now was fucking you.

"I'm close." Jake warned.

'No wait don't finish inside her! Do it on her stomach instead, no traces left behind'

Marc responded immediately.

Jake growled lowly but obliged to Marc's suggestion, seeing his reason. A second before he came he pulled out, aiming at your stomach, spilling his cum all over it.

Jake catched his breath, tucking his spent cock back into his pants, he adjusted your panties back in place and started pulling the covers back over you.

Once finished he looked at you with a wicked smile. "You're right Marc. But there will be more upportunities for us in the future."

With those last words Jake quietly left your room, leaving you to your peaceful slumber.

The next morning you woke up with a pleasant feeling between your legs. Was it all just a dream?

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

Tags:

@nekoyin @steven-grants-world @buckyssugarchick @iolaussharpe-24 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @krakenkitty

@ingoldthewizard @klillaah @xxjust-a-kidxx @silvernight-m @stevendameron @alexxavicry

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #dark!marc spector #dark!steven grant #dark!jake lockley #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #marc spector smut #steven grant smut #jake lockley smut #dark marc spector #dark steven grant #dark jake lockley #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

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raginggeeksworld · 1 year ago

Text

I swear I'm never gonna find the love I know I right-fucking-fully deserve

I just rewatched Bridgerton season 3 for the 3rd time already, and MY GOD, if a man does not yearn for me like a Bridgerton man😩

Request: Kaz Brekker x drunk (fem) reader (this is a long fcking one)

Too Sweet

TW: fluff, mention of assault

"And then, THEN he said I am just as useful as a rock. A damn rock!," she scoffed as she swayed in her seat. "Rocks can bee useful," she mumbled, "you can throw 'em at people. Like me! I can be thron at people," she hiccuped once before pointing at her glass for the bartender to re-fill.

The guy just shook his head at her and told her to stop shouting at costumers, or find someplace else. Apparently, she's been a lot friendlier than she thought.

She dropped some kruge on the counter, not having enough common sense left to count if it was even enough.

"But his eeeyes while he looked at me, oh Saints, his eyes are so beautifuuul, and sooo blue, they make me swoooon," Y/N told a waitress, who just laughed at the lovesick girl, who's been talking about a boy for the past 10 minutes.

"Oh honey, you have such a soft spot for that boy!" She laughed, and Y/N just nodded. "Yeah, and-and you should see his cheeks and ears, that when he gets flustred, no, flusterred, uh, flus-tered, yes, they turn red but he hides it, and no one sees, but I see it, because he has such a preeeetty face," she tells her on a high pitched voice, and even rests her head on her arms and lets out a sigh.

Y/N talking about her love life being the only thing actually happening in the small bar, the waitress sats down in front of her after getting out a round of drinks. The two women began their discussion about the boy, and the way Y/N cannot stop smiling while talking about him makes the waitress smile herself.

The sound of a cane tapping on the floor makes the lady turn around, only to find the Bastard of the Barrel himself staring right at her. No, not at her, but the girl on the other side of the table. She gets up and with a quick goodbye slips out of her seat, to make her way to the other side of the place.

Kaz Brekker, as if he had all the time in the world, slowly walked over to his Crow, who was supposed to be in the Club with their group hours ago.

He'd only been trailing her for an hour or two, but in that time she already went through 3 bars. Not counting the one, or ones, where he wasn't present. And without paying. Kaz made sure she wouldn't be in debt by the next morning. As he looked at her drunken state, he began questioning his own plan to get her home as soon as possible.

"Jeeesss!" Y/N looked up at him giddily, practically dragging her words out. "Come 'ere you silly," she signaled for him to sit down, to which Kaz just rolled his eyes. She must've drank quite a lot if she thought him to be the sharpshooter. "Why you in black?" She shook her head as if getting rid of her question and looked at him giddily yet again.

Kaz couldn't shake the bittersweet feeling that slowly made its way into his well-guarded heart. The feeling that she looked the happiest in that moment, drowned in alcohol, probably on the edge of alcohol poisoning, and staring at him with such joy Kaz rarely saw anymore on her, even less in his life. It was clear to him that she was going through something, he just didn't know what it was.

If he had any talent for it he would've drawn her right in that moment, to capture her smile, the shine of her eyes, to keep her this happy at least on paper, to keep her smiling.

"Alright, get up. You're going home," Kaz sternly told her to which she just scoffed. "Ah, but Jesper we have so much to talk aboouuuut," she whined as he took a step closer. "This wasn't a question. You. Are. Going. Home."

"Alrigh', alrigh'," Y/N mumbled to herself as she tried to steady herself enough before attempting to walk on her own. After a few seconds of failing to do so, she quickly straightened her back and began her uncoordinated, swaying march for the door. Kaz was just two steps behind her, and when they got out on the street, he took half a step closer as he stepped next to her.

"Am I late for that meeting? Nahh," She mumbled loud enough for Kaz to hear. "It don' matter. What do I do?" She turned her head to Kaz for a split second before loudly continuing. "I'm talking Jespeeerr!" Kaz quickly shushed her, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to them.

"Don't ssssshhh me, Kaz sssssh-ushes me, not you!" She said and had it not been for Kaz, she would've tripped in her own foot. "I feel like he doesn't like me anymore," she said then, but Kaz just kept quiet, waiting for her to continue. "I want to tell him to shut up for once, to give 'im my opinion," she began gesturing before herself, as if she wasn't even talking to him anymore, more to herself.

"I feel like... punching him, givin' 'im a piece of mind. Yah, let'ss do that!" She quickly turned around, probably to find Kaz who was standing next to her, but Kaz caught her elbow and stood her in front of him. "You won't do that, alright? You're going home to sleep, and if you still feel like it, you'll give him a punch tomorrow."

"But whyyy? He's always up at night, and that'ss when we taaalk. I can't tell 'im during the dayy!" Her words began to slur again and she was swaying, so Kaz took it as a sign, that she was still in fact really drunk. He didn't let go of her elbow as he guided themselves towards her little flat near Fifth Harbor. It was more like one big room rather than a flat, but she didn't spend that much time there to care about it.

"And why can't you? Is there an unkown force keeping you from it?" He told her while he fought the nausea slowly coming up his throat. They'll be there in a few minutes, he reminded himself. "Jess, why are you the one asking? You're always telling me to lissen to my heart, to not overthink, to just say it. You're not Jesper, that's why!" She said more to herself than Kaz.

"Say what?" Kaz turned to Y/N for a few seconds, trying to see her face to determine what she was feeling. He found himself as curious when he was just a small boy, watching the magicians on the streets of Ketterdam. He watched every little detail of her face, from the flatter of her eyelashes to the unnoticeable tremble of her lips, trying to guess what she was going to say.

"Again with the questionss," she mumbled and right after spoke up on a sad tone, her vice slightly trembling, almost as if she was holding back from crying. "You sound like my landlord. Saints, I hate 'im. He's always angry a-and yelling, and soooo tall, taller than Matthias," she said and Kaz noticed the barely noticeable crack in her voice, making him worry about what more she had to say.

"I mean, I fought 'im twice yesterday, you know, 'cause he was demanding the rent I already payed, givin' me a great punch to my ribs, but like, you know, I'm a fighter, I can take 'im any day, but I mean, he's sooo tall and, and I was tired, so you know I didn't have too much "fight" in me." Y/N rambled, probably unaware of admitting that she was assaulted and making it seem less serious than it was, but still, it made Kaz's vision fog up with red.

How did he not know? How could he let this happen under his watch? Why didn't he felt the need to investigate her place, like he first intended to?

She was still rambling about her landlord and their multiple fights, yes, multiple Kaz realized, getting angrier by the second, when she stumbled and Kaz had to yank her up before she fell on the hard ground.

Without a second thought, or any thought at all, Kaz put her arm around his shoulder and carefully slipped his other arm around her waist to keep her somewhat standing. They were just a block away from her place, but Y/N seemed to cling to Kaz, her legs barely functioning at this point, and Kaz had to lean themselves against an old brick building before they both collapsed.

He also had to take a breather from all the touching, not being used to touching her for this long. Yes, they've stitched up each other countless times, sometimes even caring enough to change each other's bandages. But that never lasted longer than half a minute, or one, which was the limit for Kaz.

As soon as he calmed down, he felt warm fingers touching his face.

He froze in his spot and he had to close his eyes and concentrate on his breathing if he didn't want to start panicking. A minute passed by, and the hands still didn't leave his face, but they began to explore his every feature. It started at his cheeks then to his jaw, his forehead, the hand smoothed over his eyes so carefully as if he was made from glass, then the fingers stopped at his lips. He didn't even know he was forcefully keeping them in a thin line until the warm touch made them slightly part.

When Kaz opened his eyes he felt his heart stop and melt all at once, he felt it cease to beat only to then began pumping his blood with so much force he felt as if his heart was trying to fire up his veins.

Y/N was looking at him with a longing gaze, as if this was her last, yet the first time seeing him. As if he was something worth looking at.

She kept looking at him even though Kaz swore his heart was about to burst into a mess of blood and flames. Her fingers lingered on his lips as her other hand came up to softly caress the side of his face, touching a strand of hair. As if she wasn't able to stop touching him. Kaz felt his lips part even more than before, and his breath got stuck in his throat at her touch. He kept his eyes on her as he felt the need to close them for just one second. He felt his heart throb too fast for his liking, feeling his head getting dizzier by the second.

He was sure he was about to faint.

When her thumb caressed his lips for one second, just one second, she moved both of her hands to the side of his face ever so gently, and Kaz felt his knees tremble under her gaze. They never once broke the eye contact, which made the moment feel even more intimate. The way she was looking at Kaz, the way her eyes reflected the dim light next to them on the street made her eyes sparkle in the moonlight, and Kaz felt himself quietly gasp for air.

Kaz Brekker gasped for air, mesmerized by the sight of her.

He was trying to figure out the emotion behind the look she was giving him all night, when she mentioned him or his name, when she realized he wasn't Jesper, when she took his face in her hands, as she caressed him with such tenderness, as if one wrong touch could shatter him like the finest porcelain.

But when she moved her thumb back to his lips again, slightly caressing it without even noticing, Kaz finally dared to speak up.

"What are you-," He couldn't finish the words he was whispering, because Y/N put his handkerchief between their faces, holding it onto Kaz's lips, as if she was about to...was she? Was she about to...kiss him? Kaz felt like fainting again.

When she spoke up, the drunk look was somewhat gone from her eyes, and bittersweetness took over. "My imagination is wicked, but this might be the cruelest thing it ever did to me, making me see you as if you were real, as if you were here." She whispered it so gently that Kaz had to take a second to grasp what she was saying. "I'm here Y/N, I've been here all night." He said, but she just sadly shook her head.

"You're another hallucination, dream-Kaz, because I can never kiss you in the real world. And even in my dreams, I can't do it without respecting you first," she whispered, smoothing the handkerchief over his lips.

Kaz couldn't pin-point when did his heart pumping began too loud for him to hear, or when did he forget to breathe, but what he knew exactly, was the fact that these all made his thoughts cease to exist. Except one.

"You...dream about me? Above all people you could have choosen, you chose me to dream about?" He asked breathlessly, not believing how small his own voice sounded. Still, tears began welling up in Y/N's eyes, which she tried to keep at bay, but a single drop escaped and she let it stream down her face as she spoke up.

"You're... everywhere, all the time, and I can't escape you from my imagination, sometimes even preferring to hallucinate because that's where I know I'll find you, where I'm brave enough to-to say 'I love you' to your face, without having to deal with your rejection, because I-" As she glanced away from him trying to blink away her tears, Kaz gently took the handkerchief away from his lips and instead held her hand which put the handkerchief on him.

Kaz finally realized how she looked at him. If their racing hearts, her shallow breath, the tremble of her voice wasn't enough clue, than her touch certainly was. Throughout her speech her hands were still on his face, unmoving, not daring to move, instead keeping them there in a tender touch. She was in-

"I'm irrevocably, unconditionally, and fatally in love with you Kaz Brekker."

Sharp breaths and worried looks.

Unnoticeable steps and reassuring nods.

A trembling exhale.

One quick step, and Kaz was kissing her.

Their lips colliding against one another like the sun sets on the dark sea, like the moon takes the sun's place, like fireworks lighting up the sky. Her lips a mix of cheap alcohol and something sweet, his the scent of coffee and something salty. Her shyness, afraid of hurting him, clashing with his yearning movements, all of a sudden forgetting everything that wasn't her. His hand found its way onto the back of her neck, while the other gently touched the side of her face, just as she did mere seconds ago.

Kaz couldn't begin to think about his aversion, nor his nausea, because he was surrounded by her. Her scent, her lips, her hands on his face, her gasp in the kiss. He kissed her as if she was the air he was breathing, and he had been drowning, therefore he took the breath that belonged to him. Kaz never kissed anyone before, nor did he imagine himself doing so, but he did it with a strange hunger, as if he was a starving animal in captivity.

In a way both of them were animals, walking the cruel roads of the city, taking down anyone that crossed their paths in the need of survival. In a way, Kaz was no better than a starving animal, looking for crumbs to feed his hunger, finding any way for revenge to ease his anger. And in a way, Y/N was the first healthy taste that could keep Kaz from starving again.

She was addicting. The kiss couldn't have lasted more than 5 seconds, but Kaz already felt himself in need of another. He only tasted her once but he wanted more. So much more.

His knees didn't stop weakening, and he still couldn't quite catch his breath, and maybe it was from the lack of air in his lungs, or his heart beating too loudly in his ears to hear anything, but despite his past with touch, despite his head trying to tell him to stop, almost as soon as they broke apart Kaz captivated her once again.

This kiss was more tender than the first. Kaz still kissed her with wild hunger, but now he took his time getting familiar with her lips. Although, Y/N didn't let herself fall under his spell this time, she daringly smoothed her fingers through his raven hair, stopping at the nape of his neck and gently caressing some strands. She stood still, letting Kaz do what he wanted with his hands on her.

It all felt like a dream, a dream that she was bound to keep like a memory, not just another one of her hallucinations. She knew this wasn't real, it couldn't have been, because she knew her Kaz could never touch her like this. Not in this lifetime. So she let herself get lost in this dream more than she should've let herself to, because she knew her drunkenness would be a reasonable excuse.

Therefore she couldn't bring herself to step away from him. She wanted to kiss him, needed to kiss him, desperately, and if this was the only way she would do so, in her drunk imagination, then she would have to settle for it. She had to accept that this lifetime wasn't meant for them.

Kaz knew his anger. It was hot and messy, uncalculated, selfish and greedy, which brought out the monster in him. It made him destroy everything in his path, without a single care about who's coming down with him. Kaz knew his anger.

Except this time. As he stepped inside Y/N's flat, looking at the broken chair in the corner, the different marks on the walls, and the small droplets of dried blood at the entrance, he felt a deep rage take over him, and out of instinct he tightened his arm around Y/N just a bit more.

He imagined every scenario as Y/N talked about the fights, from the bad to the worst, but seeing the remnaints of those fights in the organized and neat place felt almost ridiculous to him.

Y/N didn't bother with covering about the damage. She kept her place clean and comfortable as always, and now her place looked like as if the two sides of her life clashed against one another.

Kaz walked over to the bed with her and sat her down, before he grabbed a glass and poured her some water. He signaled for her to drink it and she agreed, probably unaware of what she was drinking. Meanwhile Kaz looked around and lit up a few candles around the room. Then Y/N moved to take off her boots, failing to do so. After multiple attempts and swearing under her breath, Kaz spoke up.

"Stop that and lie down. I'll help," he told her and set his cane down on the bed next to her. She began giggling as he knelt down on one knee to take her boots off. "If you wanted to get me into bed, you could've just asked," she chuckled and Kaz felt his face heat up. He was grateful that she couldn't see his face right now.

"And what would be the fun in that?" Kaz asked and Y/N could hear the cockyness in his voice. "The easiness. I would let you without thinking, you know." Kaz sat her boots next to her bedside table and looked up at her as she slowly sat up.

"You're not an easy woman Y/N, therefore I wouldn't want easy with you." Kaz told her and watched her smile faltered and her eyes got bigger, like when she was concentrating on something. He took it as a sign to continue.

But before he did, he took a moment to really look at her like this. Face red from drinking, eyes shining in the candelight, her gaze full of emotion, hair messy from touching it too much, a few strands sticking to the side of her face, probably from sweat. Kaz moved to tuck those strands of hair behind her ear, and Y/N watched his tender movements with a sleepy smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Kaz, still on his knees, told her to go to sleep and she happily obliged. She fell back on the bed, quickly moving around for a comfortable position then closed her eyes and fell asleep in just a few minutes.

"I'll be right here," Kaz whispered as he got up from his kneeling position, and got to work.

Y/N woke up to the sound of keys jingling. Against her tired muscles she quickly sat up and grabbed her knife from under her pillow. When her front door opened she threw the knife without hesitation.

Knowing that she probably didn't aim right she grabbed another knife from her bedside table and rushed to the intruder. She grabbed the back of their coat and held the knife to their throat, or she would've, if the person didn't block them with their cane. With the beak of the crow.

"This is how you greet your friends?" Kaz asked mockingly to which Y/N just rolled her eyes and took her knife away from Kaz's face. "Why are you here?" She asked back.

"Good morning, yes I'm quite fine, how are you?" He said and the small grin on his face made Y/N want to kick his cane from under him. "Been better. Could do without the slight headache though, but I'm sure it comes and goes with you," Y/N told him and turned her back to get the knife back in its place.

"You were much better company last night." She turned around abruptly. "What did I do?" Kaz didn't answer at first, which made her worried she did something stupid again. "Kaz, what the hell did I do last night?"

"For starters, you hit up probably half a dozen bars to drown yourself in whatever was cheapest. Then you poured your heart out, probably would've fallen into the canal if it wasn't for me," He said the last words with a mix of mocking and smugness. "Better question: what did you do?"

"A thank you would suffice for saving your ass," He told her and she just scoffed. "Thank you, for being a-" Y/N started but as she hopped down on her bed she felt her ribs ache and she had to breathe loudly to ease the pain. Kaz was in front of her in seconds and had an almost worried look on his face. "What is it?"

"Nothing, it's just-nothing. Probably slept in a bad position," she winced as she put a hand on her left side, but she didn't miss the fact that Kaz reached his hand out. It was only a second, or half a second before he took it back, but she saw it.

Imaged of him touching her flashes through her, his hands in her hair, on her face and neck. She could still feel the touch on her lips, and for a second she just stared back at him in surprise. Was it...was it real? Kaz looked at her questioningly, not knowing what just went through her mind.

Then Kaz sat his cane on her bedside table before he got rid of his coat and put it next to her on the bed. Another image came up: the same position, but he was kneeling in front of her. Y/N shook her head a little, trying to get rid of the images.

"Kaz, what are you do-AH," Y/N shouted as Kaz lifted up her shirt and put his hand on her ribs. He kept poking her left side all the while she was cursing him into oblivion. When Kaz finally stopped and reached for the hem of her shirt she grabbed her clothing and clutched it.

"Hey! No more of this! What do you think you're doing?"

"Measuring up your bruises. I need to know how many punches you took," Kaz told her as a matter-of-factly, and Y/N stared back in confusion. "From who?!"

"Your landlord. Mr. Kozar."

Silence fell over the room. Kaz could see the confusion turn into embarassment, then into fear. Y/N was still clutching her shirt, but this time with a tight grip to ground herself in reality.

"How do you-" She started, but then stopped as she looked up at him. "I told you last night, didn't I?"

"Yes, everything," Kaz had to slightly bite down on his lip, so as not to tell her what did he plan for her landlord tonight. The sight of her, slowly curling in on herself, looking as if she wanted to disappear, when Kaz knew better than anyone that she always made her presence known everywhere she went.

Kaz gently touched the hem of her shirt, next to the piece of fabric she was currently holding in an iron grip, when she looked at him again, this time with uncertainity. Kaz just waited.

"If you want to take off my clothes, at least ask my permission first. Be a gentleman," Y/N told him quietly and loosened her grip on her shirt. Kaz scoffed quietly as he kneeled down in front of her. "I'm anything but gentle," he said, his touch on her shirt never tightening.

"Can I?" Kaz asked on a voice so soft it could've melted gold. Y/N never heard him talk that way, therefore she had to take a moment to grasp her head around how sweet his voice sounded. "Can I take off your shirt?" Kaz asked her again, his soft, sweet voice not faltering. Y/N gently nodded. "Yes."

The minutes while Kaz looked at her bruises, sometimes poking them again, she felt like crying the entire time. Not from the pain, that she was used to living in the Barrel for this long, but from how tender his touches were. He may believe he's not a gentleman, but Y/N knew the truth. She knew the heart behind the iron bars.

After Kaz finished, he handed her shirt back and even helped when she had to stretch out her side. He told her one of her ribs might be fractured, but it shouldn't cause her any trouble tonight.

"Is there a job tonight? Wait, was the meeting I missed last night about this?" Y/N asked Kaz quickly after she reached for her boots to put them on. She was stopped by Kaz's cane snatching them away. "This isn't a job, only if you want to look at it that way," he said carefully and it made Y/N suspicious.

"What did you do?"

"I? I did nothing. Your landlord, on the other hand, did more than what's understandable, even more so, hurting someone close to me, which I believe you don't tolerate either, therefore I set up a meeting with him," Kaz said and rested his hands on the top of his cane, looking at everywhere except her eyes. Y/N didn't miss the way he described their relationship. Someone close to me. Was she still dreaming? Or was this real life? Before she could ask him about that little detail, another thought formed in her mind.

"What meeting?" She asked but the way Kaz glanced at her for just a few seconds before putting his coat on to go on his way, told her more than his words could've. "Oh, a meeting, as in, torture,"

"Only if you want it to get to that point," Kaz said and Y/N was up on her feet right in front of him, and her subconscious got giddy at the fact that he didn't move away from her. "Why Kaz? You didn't have to bother with any of-"

"I did." He said suddenly, and his tone made Y/N go silent. "I do, because I wasn't careful enough to investigate this place like I did with the one before, because I trusted you enough to handle things, because I knew ypu would fight your way out of it. Then you told me you were assaulted, multiple times, multiple fucking times Y/N andyou never once told any of us. You never onced mentioned it, not to anyone, not to me." Kaz told her getting angry at himself for not making sure you were alright, because he was too absorved in his own thoughts, in his feelings for you, trying to punish himself for feeling the way he did. Meanwhile it got to a point where he forgot to protect you. He forgot. He never forgot to look after you. "You didn't ask my help."

"You had enough on your plate now that Pekka's out of the picture. You had business to run, I couldn't have just walk through your door saying my landlord is a greedy asshole who's attacking me at any inconvenience. You wouldn't have cared."

"I would!" Kaz said louder and Y/N looked at him in shock. She was about to speak when Kaz interrupted her. "I do. I do care. I care about your well-being enough, that I wouldn't care at which time of day or night you came for my help." He practically whispered the last few words and he could almost feel her lips against his, the memory suddenly blinding him. "Never be too stubborn to ask for my help. Just come to me."

Y/N could hardly breathe in that moment. All of the flashes from her dream, they weren't dreams at all. She really touched his face, and Kaz really kissed her. Now she remembered how his lips moved against hers as if he had been hungry all his life. And as Kaz looked at her with his pale blue eyes, she was reminded of the fact that he initiated the second kiss. Y/N wanted to know how he kissed, now that she was sober. If it felt addicting while she was drunk, she couldn't begin to imagine what it would feel like now that she's sober.

"I need your help Kaz," she whispered and Kaz's face turned serious at the mention of his name. "I'm afraid I don't remember much from last night." Y/N whispered as she slowly held her hand up next to his face, not wanting to be too quich with her movements, but Kaz gently grabbed her hand and put on the side of his face.

"And now?" Kaz asked raspily. Y/N felt like fainting, as she took a quick inhale. "Not familiar," she said and Kaz moved her other hand to the nape of his neck while he put a hand under her jaw, on her neck. "How about this?" He asked, the words a whisper against her lips. "Still not remembering," she moved her head just a little closer to him and heard Kaz quietly gasp for air, to which she let out a small smile.

"This, you remember," Kaz didn't waste time hugging her even closer to him, so he could finally kiss her again. Saints know he's been itching to do so.

Y/N let out a small gasp in the kiss and Kaz poured all of his years of yearning into their kiss.

Since that night the Barrel had something worse to fear from Dirtyhands: his love and devotion.

#grishaverse #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #six of crows #kaz brekker fanfic #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x reader #grishaverse fic

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st4rymoon · 3 months ago

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can u please do a smut where marc rents a hotel for valentine’s day and there’s a mirror on the ceiling 😁

Surprise!!!

𝐈 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞��𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘤 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘹𝘵: 𝘝𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘤 <3

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: unprotected sex!, language, p in v, overstimulation, praising, messy sex!, mirror sex!, slight dumbification

Your eyes were watery, mouth ajar, and hair a complete mess as you stared up at your reflection. You were so overwhelmed. Faced with your own reflection, Marc’s praises in your ear, cunt stuffed, and the view of Marc’s back muscles shifting with each of his thrusts.

“Pretty girl, look at you” Marc cooed as he had your legs spread wide, his calloused hands squeezing the back of your thighs as he slowly swayed his hips.

The sounds coming from between you were pornographic. The sticky strings of your slick mixing with Marc’s previous loads made it all the louder. “Ma-mmm” you tried to get your words out, but it felt impossible.

Your entire body was tingling, cunt pulsing with every slow hard thrust Marc gave you. “Huh? Can’t talk now? You just feel so good don’t you sweetheart?” He mocked with a smug smile on his lips.

“F- fuckin’ mess we make huh? Jus’ feels so good” Marc seethed, his hips now smacking the back of your thighs at a heavier pace.

The moan you let out was music to Marc’s ears. Your pretty sounds only encouraged him further, he pulled out orgasm after orgasm out of you.

“Come on baby, give me that pretty smile of yours” Marc’s voice echoed as you stared dumbly up into your reflection, a smile forming on your lips as your eyes roamed onto Marc’s back and hands tangled into his hair.

#smut #marvel smut #moon knight smut #moonknight x reader #moon knight #moonknight smut #marc spector x you #marc spector smut #marc spector x reader #marc spector #marvel fic

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barcapix · 2 months ago

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✮ Handcuffed.. Gone Wrong? - Marc Bernal

marc bernal x fem!reader

sy: trying the 24hr handcuffed challenge with marc. original request here.

a/n: in honour of this cuties birthday (albeit late) and this is the english version!

warnings: none?

ESPAÑOL VERSION

did you think it was going to be this chaotic? no.

was it still, worth the time of a singular day to rile up your boyfriend in matters where he likes his own personal space? absolutely.

“do i still have time to leave?”

marc lifts up his left wrist, handcuffs loosely tangled but not fully secure. you laugh, clicking them in place. “nope.”

you erupt another small giggle as you pan the camera to his pouty expression. “well, say hi to the camera baby.”

marc squints into the camera, only to sheepishly grin, hiding his hands behind his face, until whispering. “i need a shower really bad now.”

“we can’t shower yet! it’s been like two minutes! i’ve had a whole activity day to plan out for us—”

you thought you would of withstood the control a little longer. apparently not. without an uttered word, he tugs you with him—may you add—disbelievingly strong, all the way to the bathroom.

“marc no!” he closes the door shut, marching towards the showerhead to switch it on. “you can’t be serious. my hair is freshly washed!”

his grin turns wicked. “its a good thing mine isnt.”

that cocky bravado evaporates the second he struggles to peel off his shirt. apparently, having only one usable arm is a bigger obstacle than he anticipated.

marc twists, turns and spins around on the spot, his arms stretching behind his back so far that you hear a pop. “marc, be careful!”

“do you need help?” you say through hesitant laughter. “you really look, like you’re um—” the campers flips from you to him. “..struggling.”

“am not.”

“are you sure?”

instead, you stare at the lens of the camera, watching your boyfriend writhe at the collar of his tee. marc attempts to lift it over his head, finally, but it gets caught on his nose.

your laughter escapes, defying any effort to remain composed. your free hand clasps at your mouth, then seizes your stomach after doubling over in a silent wheeze as he spins like a sad carousel horse.

“okay.. amor. can you help me please?” the brunette admits, sighing softly.

“yes,” you chuckle, stepping closer. “yes, i can help you baby. all you had to do was ask.”

the camera gets placed atop the sink, as it films you ascent high on your tiptoes to wriggle his head free; his face is overly blotchy and scratched by the fabric.

“i finally feel like i can breathe again,” he exaggerates a sigh of relief. “that’s torture.”

you leave an innocent peck to his cheek. “torture is forcing me into the shower at 8am.”

within a measly time in trying to get into the actual shower, you both promptly realise that your once ‘fun’, idea comes with several layers of logistical hell.

you’d planned ahead, more or less, by slipping on bathing suits underneath your casual clothes before entering (because, duh, youtube guidelines or literally—common sense).

but that still didn’t account for the fact you had to synchronise every single move.

it took you aprox. two seconds to complain. “why do you take up so much room?”

“maybe because i actually need to wash,” he tries to shoot back, instead you pinch your nose. “yeah—you do.”

marc attempts to shampoo his hair, his arm lurching upwards in a messy lather. problem is, your own limb yanks along with his like some forgotten marionette. “ow—ow, marc! i can’t bend that way!”

“you’re fine,” he says, wincing a little too.

barely a minute later, when you begin to balance on one leg to shave, his body sways and leans too far out of the water stream. the momentum pulls your body forward, flinging the razor into your shin.

“cariño—jesus!”

a thin like of blood bubbles from your skin. “did you just cut yourself?”

“no, the spirit of common sense did. yes of course i did.. you did!”

he threads through his hair, the soap falling down his bronzed back. “i did not.”

“did too,” you puff. “can you just pass me that?” you point at the loofah above his head. marc goes to follow your direction, until he underestimates the obscenely amount of shampoo that’s leaked, and slips against the sleek tiles.

if he falls, you fall.

you crash down in a tangle of limbs—your elbow hits the bath lining, and your left knee lands squarely in his crotch.

marc lets out a wheeze so high-pitched it might register to bats. your eyes widen. “dios mío!” he droops back theatrically, both hands guarding the area as if he thought you’d do it again.

“you’ve killed me,” he croaks. “this is how i go. i’m gonna die young.”

what a humiliation ritual.

escaping is just as difficult.

as you attempt to exit the slippery hellscape of a shower, your foot slides across a rogue puddle.

a loud thunk echos and your mouth drops.

“oh my god! are you okay!?” you exclaim, reaching for his face. he’s hunching over the sink, gripping his forehead.

“i think.. my brain’s fallen out,” he groans.

your teeth nip at your bottom lip, smothering a laugh. snatching the camera from the shelf, it zooms into the angry, red mark blooming across his skin.

“ouch,” you whisper, almost reverently.

you lower the camera slightly, though it’s still rolling. “i’m sorry,” you’re genuine this time. “does it hurt bad?”

he emits a second whine. “only when i think.”

your hands crawl up into his wet locks, brushing them aside; your lips mould gently over the cut. “then lucky for you, that’s not often.”

after some squabbling, plastering and disinfecting his wounds, the effort of drying off becomes a one-sided competition.

and surprise surprise, marc is done within like thirty seconds.

how does he only use one towel? one.

“are you not gonna put a shirt on?”

“and get it stuck on my head again? no way.”

MOMENTS LATER… marc takes custody of the camera this time. triumphantly, the boy waltz’s into the bedroom, dragging you along in which the camera catches a few, “stop!” and “that hurts!”

“ah, well that was refreshing,” marc flashes a toothy grin at the screen, looking sure as hell pleased. “babe, do you agree?”

he tilts the camera to his right, and down, showcasing an unenthusiastic-you. your hair was still 90% wet, sticking to the back of your neck and dripping onto your dry clothes.

just because, somehow, men can dry off 100x quicker, like its some inevitable superpower, marc thought it was amusing to speed-run getting ‘ready’.

like.. define ready.

“don’t worry guys, she agrees, really.”

oh, if looks could kill. “can i have the camera back now?” your scowl is conspicuous, and for the first time ever, he actually looks slightly intimidated.

“if you can reach for it, yeah,” he shrugs.

simultaneously, you lunge forward. unluckily for you, marc is an utterly, annoyingly, freakishly tall guy so by lunging, your arms flail up uselessly.

that is, before, rerouting your strategy.

your hand coils around the back of his neck, yanking him down into the mattress with a victorious thump. he barely has time to react before your legs scramble over his, pinning him into a makeshift headlock.

marc lets out a pained muffle. “ouch, okay okay! you can have it back! just let me go.”

“hmmm,” you pretend to consider. “you’re missing a very important word there marc.”

“what? free me now?”

you scoff, wrangling around his neck with a little more pressure. “nuh-uh. use that big head of yours. the same big head that got you stuck in your own shirt.”

“i don’t know!—ow, y/n! i’m serious.”

eventually, his grip weakens on the camera-stick, allowing you to, with ease, reclaim it into your own non-cuffed hand; he doesn’t notice.

“im serious too,” you remark smugly.

he knows what he’s doing. he knows this game. you glare at him, arching your brows in a solemn wait.

marc grumbles, finally caving in though slightly muffled by the mattress. “fine, can you free me.. please?”

“now was that so hard?” you mock, kissing his temple before unravelling him free.

well, not totally free because he’s forced to stay within a ten inch radius from you, but free enough.

almost like admiring and flaunting your artwork, you zoom in close on his annoyed face as he rubs at the reddened spot on his neck. “you left a mark.” he then deadpans, straight towards the lens.

“send help.”

WHEN THE AFTERNOON ARRIVES… you cut straight to the kitchen.

the kitchen looks like a crime scene. flour on the floor, water on the counter, a tragic half-sliced onion sitting abandoned mid-chop. marc’s face is slowly melting with stress.

its evident to know your boyfriend isn’t a morning person, and now he’s not a 10am person either.

“was this really your ‘day full of activities’?”

you subconsciously nod, scrunching your brows as you scroll at the recipe on your phone. it’s balanced awkwardly up against the flour jar, when marc suddenly dips a fingertip into the batter.

“amor, don’t eat that. it has raw egg—”

stupidly, he’s already licking it off clean, eyes squinting. “is it.. supposed to taste like that?”

you slowly lift your head. “like what?”

“like something made of mould.”

you smack his hand away when he reaches for more. “stop touching things with your plague fingers! you said it tastes mouldy.”

“mouldy doesn’t mean it didn’t taste good,” marc shamefully waddles away from it. also, it’s important to note, that you gave him one important task: monitor the pasta.

so, what are your next words?

“marc the pasta!”

“what about it? it’s fine—“ his eyes shoot ample, half-jogging over to the hob. its foaming and bubbling over the pan, spilling its remains over the countertops.

you resist the urge to quite literally, smack him—he’s stirring it. “babe, what are you doing? turn it off!”

the footballer panics, flipping and turning all off the hob controls because he doesn’t know which one was does what.

you grab his wrist mid-spin. “you’re not flying a plane—just pick one!” he randomly slaps a knob and it works.

“phew,” he rubs the back of his hand on his forehead, shortly wincing when he realises his cut still exists. “that could of been a close one.”

as if his words bite him back, he lifts his socked foot to reveal how the water from the oven slid onto the floor, soaking through his socks.

“marc—just, don’t move,” you demand, instructing him to watch over the hob. “well, actually can you shuffle this way just a little?”

you had to reach the fridge somehow.

marc gawks at the camera propped up infront of him, one arm horizontally straightened out of sight—where you were rummaging in the fridge for eggs.

his voice drops low, unmistakably only for the camera to hear. “she’s taken three years off my life today.”

he dusts a miniature patch of flour from his bare chest, stealing a look at you. “she’s amazing though, isn’t she? a little insane, but amazing.”

“a little help here would be nice, by the way!”

what he thought would create a wholesome moment—is interrupted as your voice projects straight through it.

“you haven’t gotten them yet?” he inquires, genuinely surprised. you sulk. “no, they are impossible to reach!”

marc beams at you, on your uppermost tippey-toes, “what silly asshole puts these on the furthest shelf?”

there’s a teasing edge to his tone. “normal people can usually reach it, so i didn’t think it was a problem.”

the brunette pads over, effortlessly grabbing them for you and elbows the fridge shut. when placed down, you nudge him out of the shot—taking full dominance—letting his arm be the victim of strained movement as you twitch your wrists when opening the egg box.

“so, now we just need to crack two of these.”

you’re about to lift one up, until he sneezes directly into the fresh bowl. there’s not a singular logic thought behind those eyes.

“i can get fresh bowl—?” a sigh rattles from your bones. “no, nope. let’s just cut the camera here.”

AS IT FALLS DARK YOU… you lay, sprawling on your shared bed.

“well, you guys, it’s currently 11pm,” you adjust the view to reflect the alarm on your nightstand. then you pan the view to your boyfriend, looking already half-consumed by sleep.

“and also you can see, todays zapped all of his energy,” you can’t help but laugh. bless him.

“but, that is us done for the night. we’ll see you all in the morning!” the recording ends as you rest your head on the pillow.

marc sleeps on the left. the handcuff is on his left hand. of course, it is. meaning his arm is pulled behind his back like he’s doing some kind of weird backstroke in his sleep.

it didn’t make your case any easier, either.

“ugh—can’t you just,” you wriggle out from the duvet, trying to manoeuvre your bound wrists over the edge of your boyfriends stiff, slightly-snoring body. “roll over for five seconds?”

marc huffs, face down in the pillow. “i am rolled over!”

“you’ve rolled not even halfway! you’re hovering like a plank and my shoulder is cramping.”

its almost ticking to 1am; time lingers interminably. if you were to count, you’ve tossed and swivelled about a hundred times, sighed like a thousand and complained maybe like.. a million?

“you know what else is cramping?” he lifts his head to reveal half-lidded eyes. “my dignity. now pass me that, duvet-hogger.”

marc aimlessly reaches for the sheet you have curled between your bare legs, and for that—you decide to throw it over his head like a veil.

one.. two.. three seconds.

“cariño, its hot under here.”

you reply, “you said you wanted the duvet.”

“preferably not over my head,” he playfully retaliates, scrambling it from his face. marc grumbles, shuffling in close to you. “c’mere now.”

you both scuttle around, trying to reposition again. he wants you in his arms, you don’t want your limbs stuck under his weight.

you try to flip to your side; marc’s hand jerks forward, eliciting a shocked yelp. “we are not made for prison.”

“nope,” he breathes, raking you against his body until you have no choice but to flip back over. “we’d probably be the first to die in there.”

you laugh. “you’d go before me though.”

a similar snicker rumbles in his chest, low and sleepy. marc yawns, for like the fiftieth time, until melting back into the billowy pillow.

“hey, marc?” you settle just inches apart from his face. he hums in response. “i know it’s been a little.. crazy today, but thank you for doing this with me.”

abruptly, his eyes flutter open—looking slightly surprised yet tender all at once.

“you’re welcome, preciosa. you know i’d do any dumb challenge if it meant spending the day with you.”

you lean in, gently tugging at his chin toward you and kiss him—mellow, affectionate and longer than you mean to.

the chain between you clinks inaudibly.

marc smiles against your mouth, cradling the back of your head to reel you in for another. “i love you.”

“i love you too, mi vida.” he dots petite pecks across your nose, then across your cheeks. “goodnight.”

you whisper back. “goodnight baby.”

absentmindedly, his lips skim over your temple as he tries to tuck fallen hair back behind your ear with a very-chained hand. although, it just ends up patting your face.

“that was my eyebrow,” you mumble, eyes shut.

“it still counts.”

the room settles into a tranquil silence. your fingers trace the metal chain that links, and marc hums as if he feels it too.

neither of you say it aloud, but today is a memory you’ll both reach for on the kinds on days that need one.

a memory worth cherishing. forever.

MORNING LIGHT SPILLS PAST… the curtains, stirring you awake. “mm,” a satisfied hum escapes your lips, as you find however you’re positioned, is genuinely comfy.

your boyfriends arm is snug around your shoulders, his molten breath fanning your face, in gusts.

the chill steel of the handcuff chain presses bitterly cold against your skin, but the warmth which marc radiates, makes up for it.

when you shift, he shifts.

“well morning, sleepyhead,” you coo, cupping the one side of his face that you can. “rise and shine.”

your boyfriend groans something incoherent into the pillow. “bebé,” you whisper, nudging your foot against his shin. “oye, come on, we need to finish this.”

it’s not like you can rotate much, but you dig around; eventually take ahold of your camera that tried to hide beneath the messes of blankets.

it beeps when you turn it on, and marc suspires—preparing for the finality of what he’d call hell.

“..do we have to?” your boyfriend groans, his voice still drowsy. his breadth arms are still iron-fisted around your frame, refusing to loosen.

“yeah, we do,” you encourage, mirroring his lethargy as you yawn. even apart of yourself didn’t want to record the final ending of the challenge.

because, where you were right now, warm and tethered to the one person who always pulls you in a little closer in his sleep—it felt like if you move, you’d never fall back into this little cocoon again.

following a weighted exhale, you position the camera high enough into the air so it captures you two together.

“morning, everyone,” you blink at the camera, rubbing at your weary eyes. “it’s officially been 24 hours, which means we’ve successfully completed the handcuffed for-a-day challenge.”

marc is trying to avoid the blaring light, eyes still closed but when you shake him up, he briefly rotates his head so you can see all of the sleep marks etched onto his face.

his cheeks are toasty-pink, his hair sticking up in every angle and direction. but he still doesn’t depart from you.

“any words to end the vlog, marc?”

“im never doing this again.”

🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli

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fettuccin-e · 2 years ago

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It's About Power, Baby

Kinktober Day 26: Face Sitting

Tags: Marc Spector x Reader, afab!fem!reader, cunnilingus, face riding, subby!Marc because he needs to be dominated because I said so (w/c: 903)

A/N: A short lil drabble for some of my late Kinktober stuff. I am a firm believer in switch!Marc okay. He likes when a woman takes control because no one marries Layla El-Faouly without being a little bit of a sub okay, I'm right and you know it!! (For Kinktober I've been using these prompts from flightlessangelwings!)

There’s just something about it that drives Marc fucking wild.

It’s something about the way you grind onto his face, gripping hard into his hair as you chase his tongue and dig your clit into his nose.

It’s in the way you taste, warm and musky and so fucking good on his tongue. He aches to have you like this, begs you for it, even though he never really has to beg for anything.

You can't say you understand it, but you certainly can’t complain when he pulls you down to his mouth, licking into you like he wants to drown in your wetness.

The first time you did this, you’d been so nervous, hovering lightly over his face and refusing to let your weight rest on him.

“Marc, I’ll crush you,” you’d said, swaying slightly on your knees as Marc grazed his hands up your thighs.

“You won’t, baby, promise,” he’d murmured. “C’mon, just relax. I’ll make you feel so good.” He’d nipped lightly at your inner thigh, and you’d moaned softly.

“I have no doubts about that, I just don’t want to kill you with my pussy, Marc.”

“But what a way to go,” he’d breathed, almost dreamily, and you’d wanted to smack him. But you couldn’t, you’d barely had a chance to breathe before he was using his strength to pull you down to his mouth.

And fuck, if you had known how good it would feel, you would have smothered him with your pussy without a second thought. It’s so different like this, the way you just let gravity do the work for you, spearing yourself deep on Marc’s ravenous tongue.

He moans loud when you rest your weight on him, the folds of your cunt spreading apart on his face and making a fucking mess, dripping down his cheeks, down his chin.

His nose digs into your clit so perfect, so right from this angle, and you can’t help it when your hips twitch forward, grinding into it. His thick fingers dig into your thighs hard enough that the tips of them turn white, and you’ll probably find dark bruises later from the strength of his grip.

But it doesn’t matter, not at all. Not when Marc groans into you and sends vibrations reverberating up your spine, and your hips twitch forward again, dragging your slick pussy across his face.

“Fuck, oh my God, Marc,” you whimper, and Marc only answers with a moan, his tongue working against your dripping entrance, drinking you in. A sharp grind of your hips into his face makes you cry out, your hands snapping forward to grip onto the headboard.

There’s a heady sense of control that flows through your blood, making your mind hazy and the feeling of his mouth against your cunt so much more electric.

“It’s so fucking good like this,” you whimper, your hips twitching instinctually to rub Marc’s nose back and forth against your throbbing clit. You should let him breathe, lift off of him so he can suck a substantial breath into his lungs, but you can’t fucking stop. You can hear movement behind you through the rush of blood in your ears, and glance behind you. The sight nearly makes you black out.

Marc’s hips undulate into the air, an obscene tent in his boxers as he humps into nothing. He licks into your pussy as his cock searches for friction, desperate and needy and so fucking hot you could cry.

Marc is a man who doesn’t like to show weakness, but this? This is clear as crystal, the way his eyes flutter shut as he savors the taste of you on his tongue, the way he needs you so badly he fucks into empty air as you sit on his face like a queen. Marc Spector is not a weak man, but God, he is weak to you.

The knowledge that you are the only one who knows him like this, to have this kind of power over him, makes your head spin.

“You’re so fucking hard, Marc,” you whisper, and Marc grips onto your thighs like a fucking lifeline, whining beneath you. You reach a hand down to curl your fingers back into his hair, rocking your hips into his searching tongue. “Make me cum and I’ll ride you so hard you’ll see stars, baby.” You feel him nod between your thighs, moaning softly.

Marc tilts his head up beneath you to suck your aching clit into his mouth, and you nearly scream as he throws you over that edge, soaking his face as you tremble and clench above him.

You practically stumble away from his face as he continues to lick at your overstimulated entrance, pulling back to sit on his stomach. You watch with wide eyes at the way his chest heaves, how he licks at his lips and tastes the cum you left behind.

He lifts his head to look at you, a blush high on his face and his mouth shiny with your slick. He looks fucking ruined and oh so gorgeous.

He sits up on his elbows, wordlessly asking for a kiss, which you gladly give him, even though his lips taste like you.

“My turn,” you murmur, grinning against his mouth, and Marc’s chuckle quickly morphs into a moan as you squeeze his neglected cock. You smile.

He looks pretty damn good at your mercy like this.

#marc needs a woman to dominate him #do not argue with me #i am right #marc spector x reader #marc spector smut #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #moon knight x you #moon knight smut #moon knight x reader

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melosliving · 6 months ago

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kelvin Harrison jr x crush!reader

warning : +18 (MDNI), first time sex, protected sex (stop being careless), inspired by this blurb and this ask

"That smell.." The smell of something incredible drifted into Kelvin’s apartment, accompanied by the sound of lively salsa music bleeding through the shared wall. He smiled to himself, recognizing it immediately as yours. It wasn’t the first time you’d filled the evening with your impromptu kitchen concerts, and usually, he’d let you enjoy your fun from a distance. But tonight though ? Tonight, something was different.

He softly knocked on your door, still dressed in his sweats and hoodie, though his signature grin was fully in place. When you answered, wearing an pink apron tied over a simple tank top and shorts, your face slightly flushed from the heat of the kitchen, he could have sworn the air grew warmer.

“Smells amazing in here,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “What are you making?”

"I know you’re not in my business, kelvin." You teased before stepping aside, letting him in with a playful smile. “Arroz con gandules. I had a craving.”

“And the music?” he teased, nodding toward the speaker blasting Marc Anthony. “Cooking fuel?”

“Always,” you replied, turning back to the stove. “What’s the point of cooking if you’re not dancing, too?”

Kelvin chuckled, watching you sway your hips as you stirred the pot. The rhythm of the music seemed to flow through you effortlessly, and he found himself inching closer, his hands itching to reach for you.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, his voice carrying a playful challenge. “If you’re going to dance, at least let me join.”

You turned off the stove before turning to him, eyebrows raised. "You?" You laugh. "You know how to dance salsa ?"

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, taking your hand without waiting for an answer. “Come on. Show me what you’ve got.”

Laughing, you let him pull you into the middle of your kitchen. His grip was warm and sure as he guided you into the rhythm, his steps steady, though not as fluid as yours. You couldn’t help but laugh again as he stumbled slightly, his focus split between the music and the way your body moved against his.

“You’re not bad,” you teased, your hands resting on his shoulders as his found your waist. “Not bad?” Kelvin repeated, his voice dipping lower. “I think I’m holding my own just fine.”

His grip tightened slightly, pulling you closer as the music slowed. The playful atmosphere shifted, the heat between you suddenly more tangible. Your breath hitched as his dark eyes held yours, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

“You know,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the music, “you make it really hard to stay in my apartment when you’re in here doing… all this.”

“What’s all this?” you asked, your voice light but breathless. “The cooking. The dancing.” His thumb brushed against your waist, his touch deliberate. “The way you look at me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got stuck in your throat when he leaned down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was as soft as it was certain. Your hands slid up his chest instinctively, your fingers curling into his hoodie as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm.

The music faded into the background as Kelvin walked you backward toward the couch, his hands never leaving your waist. He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered, “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it is.” you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation.

He kissed you again, hungrier this time, his hands sliding under your tank top to skim over the bare skin of your back. Your body pressed into his as his touch grew bolder, his fingers tracing a slow, teasing path along your sides.

Somehow, you ended up on the couch, kelvin leaning over you as his kisses trailed down your neck. His hoodie had been tossed aside, and your tank top soon followed, leaving you exposed to the warmth of his hands and the heat of his gaze.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe as his lips moved lower, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone, your chest and down to the curve of your waist.

Your hands found their way on his head, holding the nape of his neck gently as he explored your beautiful body with a careful intensity. He took his time, his movements deliberate and attentive, like he wanted to memorize every little sound you made, every way you reacted to his touch.

When you reached for him, pulling him back up to kiss him, he let out a low groan, his control slipping just slightly as his body pressed into yours. The heat between you was almost overwhelming, the tension building as his hands slid down your thighs, hooking them around his waist.

“Tell me you want me to stop, and I’ll stop” he said, his voice strained as he paused, his forehead resting against yours. “I don’t want you to stop, kel,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his as you spoke.

He kissed you again, his hands gripping your hips as he guided you closer, his body moving against yours with an intoxicating mix of control and urgency. The world outside your apartment seemed to disappear, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the sound of your breathing, and the steady rhythm of your bodies moving together.

Soon after you found yourself on top of him, straddling his thighs while you were ridding him. Head in his neck, his hands were all over you, clinging to your thigh to help you get down on him. "You’re so perfect, baby." He kisses your shoulder, one hand going to hold one of yours.

You whine a bit, trying to pull away because of how overwhelmed you already felt. "Nah, where are you going, don’t run from me baby." He said, now thrusting his hips up, matching your movements. "Shit, I feel you all up in my stomach baby. How the fuck do yo-" You moan, your head going backwards. "Yeah ?"

"Yeah."

Kelvin’s view was a sight to see. To be able to have you in such a vulnerable position was something he would never take for granted. He dreamed of this moment, where he could have you looking all pretty while being filled by his dick, your lips all up on his brown skin, moaning incomprehensible things.

Kelvin brushed a strand of your silk press from your shoulder, his lips curving into a soft smile as he tells you, “That might’ve been the best dance of my life, pretty.”

And as you arched into his arms, your heart still racing as you were almost there, you couldn’t help but agree.

this was really the best dance ever.

@ melosliving 2025

#kelvin harrion jr x black!reader #kelvin harrison jr x reader #kelvin harrison jr.#kelvin harrison jr smut

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honeybunnyale · 10 days ago

Text

The Process of a Bond l M.K.

w.c.: 9.7k

t.w.: Dark-ish series, Werewolf Moon boys!, Smut, a/b/o dynamics (bonds and emotional connection, knotting, scent kink, breeding kink, size kink, weight gain stufffff), Pregnancy, some descriptions of violence, angst, fluff Jake focused, reader is implied to be mid-sized, moon boys have a belly

a/n: Please read all warnings for all of my works before reading. 18+ only! It's long-ish! Last chapter!

Summary: You meet Jake, and he offers you his services (as well as himself) (A Wolf in Sheep's Clothing Masterlist)

You arched your back, stretching as much as you could. Your body trembles as you yawn and your nerves sing from the action.

He watches as you stumble out of bed and to the bathroom, robotically moving to wash your face and brush your teeth with your eyes closed.

It has become a habit now, that you go about your routine automatically in his apartment. He's sure you weren't even conscious enough to notice him sit up against the headboard.

You kiss his cheek, scrunching your nose at the feeling of his stubble which he hasn't made an effort to shave. You felt it last night, when he was buried between your thighs. You had to put a salve on the inside of your thighs just as you woke up from the chaffing.

Your aloe plant was losing its limbs quicker than it could grow them.

He wakes up relatively quickly most of the time, taken out of his slumber from the feeling of your weight on the mattress leaving beside him. His shift starts later in the evening, so he doesn't have to rush as much as you do.

"Take me to work?" you ask gently, pressing deft fingers across his forehead and sweeping tufts of hair from his eyes.

He didn't say a word. Weird on its own.

Marc would probably be apologizing, mumbling about how he should have already been awake and helping you. Steven would have been trembling in excitement, getting up the second you woke him up, doting on your every move, and following you around like a hungry puppy.

You watch as he goes into the bathroom for a couple of minutes, the shower on and steam pouring out from the bottom opening of the door.

He comes out without a towel, walking around with his junk swaying and without even glancing at your perplexed expression.

He changes quickly, wearing a thick jacket even if it was about to be summer. He looks over his shoulder, pointing with his head to the door.

"You ready?"

…

You glance at your side, keeping your bag close to your stomach as he drives. He barely looked at you, leaned back against the seat and lazily gripping the steering wheel. You hop off the car the moment he parks. You didn’t think he would follow behind you, you didn’t even notice him as you walked through the glass doors to the building.

His hand was suddenly on your back, startling you as you paused to push the door. Your hand grips his wrist before he could get inside.

“What are you doing?” you harshly whisper.

He quirks his brow, glancing between the crack of the door and you, his lips twist in slight annoyance.

“What?” he spits.

He didn’t sound like Marc, American yes, but not Marc American. It sounded exaggerated like Steven’s voice. Something distinct and completely different from both of them.

Your eyes widen, you let go and step away.

“I want to make sure you get in safely.”

You nod, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey.”

You take a deep breath in. His scent was different, how could you have not noticed?

Ever since you’ve been claimed by them you’ve been developing stronger senses. Specifically smell. Marc and Steven were as pungent as ever. Whoever this was, was too. They smelled like wood, leather and cleanliness.

They smelled good. But of course they would, Marc and Steven did too.

“Hey.”

He places his hand where your shoulder and neck meet, his thumb gently pressed against your pulse. His hold on you was possessive and yet strangely gentle. Your eyes were glassy when you looked up, his lips purse from the way you tensed. His hand falls to his side.

“I just wanna walk you in, yeah?”

You let a man you don’t know walk you in, holding onto his arm as he strides inside. Your steps are hurried against his slow ones, his leisure was making you anxious. You make it to the front desk and let go quickly. You grit your teeth as he leans against the counter, combing a finger through the bowl of candies.

Your mouth parts, about to tell him to leave but he came out of his office. The floor’s department head.

“Marc!” he greets excitedly, as if he was welcoming an old friend. He claps a hand over his shoulder, “Marc” flinches. You mimic the reaction.

“What brings you here?” your boss asks.

Your eyes connect and you glance down onto your computer screen, signing in to your account and ignoring his stare. No one knew you were a thing. No one knew you were even pregnant. You wore loose blouses and jackets anyway, they would never know.

Hopefully.

In your embarrassment everyone thinks Marc rejected you, which he did in the name of “protection”, and you didn’t want them to start more rumors about you anytime soon. His presence would surely cause a stir. You already saw the stares from the early birds when he strutted in, your arm entangled around his.

They’d probably say you baby trapped him in some way. The alter, whom you’ve never met or heard of being mentioned, turns to your manager.

“Just wanted to have a chat with you,” he smiles.

Your brows furrow and still you stare into your blank screen, scanning over the meeting schedules. Pretending to not be listening in on their small talk.

“Come to my office.”

The alter’s fingers tap against the desk, making you look up at him. He sends a smirk in your direction as he’s directed to the department head’s office.

“What are you doing?” you mouth. He sends a wink and a kiss with a purse of his lips in your direction, walking over to the office further down the hall.

He comes out a couple minutes later, kissing his fingers and blowing it to you as he leaves, mouthing an “I’ll pick you up later” as he walks out the door.

You didn't see the boss the whole day, eventually they sent you to check up on him since he wasn't answering any meeting calls. Everyone huddled near your desk, waiting for you to come back, wanting to know what was happening. Everyone expected him to be having a mental breakdown. Rumor was spreading that his wife filed for a divorce weeks before.

You initially ignored them, not wanting to become a shoulder to cry on, especially not to a middle aged man with wandering hands. A look from one of your coworkers who happened to see Marc walk in with you in the morning makes you get up out of your seat to finally check.

You grit your teeth as you knock on the door. His office was the only one that had a closed off space, no clear windows because of his need for privacy.

You don't get an answer, you wait a few moments before knocking again. Still, no answer.

People start coming closer, wondering what the problem was. They didn't see him leave the office, you're pretty sure the last time he left was when he- You curse under your breath and close your eyes tightly begging whatever omnipotent force out there would make your assumptions wrong.

The last person to leave the office was Marc, or Steven, or someone in Marc and Steven's body. An alter you've never met.

You twist the handle to the door roughly, gasping as you stumble inside. He was slumped over, documents scattered all over the desk, turned outward in the direction of the chairs in front of his desk.

You stood there frozen; his body was pale, deathly pale. Who knows how long he could have been laying there. A mug had fallen to the floor, the coffee dried up on the carpet.

His death was announced by a coworker brave enough to approach the body, checking his pulse by his collar.

Everyone was sent home early, police interviewed you and you somehow failed to mention a guest appearing before his last appearance outside of his office. They emphasized the importance of your recollection as the security cams stopped working the night before.

He was waiting for you outside, leaning against his car with his hands tucked inside his jacket pockets. You were about to call to be picked up, your phone in hand. You stare blankly at him, knowing your intuition was proven. It would have been strange in any other circumstance for him to be early.

You sigh as you get inside the passenger's side, his hand finding your thigh as he swerved in reverse, driving out of the parking lot.

"What's your name?" you ask as he kneads your leg. You grip his wrist, moving his hand and putting it back on his own lap.

He just smiles, looking on into the traffic, his eyes glancing at you every other second. Your sharp glare amused him. You really thought you could pull off the interrogator look, it was cute. He plays along.

"Jake Lockley."

You hum. You lean back against the passenger's seat, back aching from sitting in your cheap office chair all day long.

"Why did you do it?"

His hand reaches out to caress the barely there baby bump. His hand lands on your thigh. You don’t move it this time.

"He was a bad person."

You hum again.

"He has cameras in his office y'know."

He snorts.

"He doesn't. He says he does so that no one tries to steal anything. We checked."

We? Your confused pout was cute.

"That's why we were there in the first place, sweetheart. You just made us stay a little longer."

Your jaw clenches and you turn to the side, folding your arms over your chest. His hand thumps against the leather of the seat as you shift away from him.

Marc told you about what happened to him and explained why he turns every full moon, which prompted him to talk about Khonshu. You knew he killed people, he was probably doing it all the time, but you didn't think you would be anywhere near his jobs anytime soon.

He swore you would never see that part of him. You guess he was technically still true to his word. Still, Jake tastes the sourness of the betrayal in his tongue. You were more hurt than afraid. He was surprised by how much that affected him. His smile disappeared, his face neutral.

"He was getting more dangerous, I had to, for your safety," he says as he makes a turn. Your head tips lightly in his direction. Your scent less sour at the possessiveness you felt in his words. You couldn’t help but feel warmth at the thought that he would protect you, even if you’ve barely met.

"What did he do?" you mutter.

He purses his lips, turning off the engine as he parks next to the sidewalk, a diner illuminated against the descending sun. Your face heats up, he knew you were hungry without you having to tell him. His fingers thrum against the steering wheel as he glances in your direction.

"You don't want to know."

…

"Jake! It's been a minute," she says cheerfully.

He smiled up at her, food in his mouth and threatening to spill. She smacks him upside the head lightly, glancing in your direction.

"Thinks he's funny, this one."

You chuckle, sipping from your mug of hot chocolate as she chastises him. Something about minding his manners in front of ladies.

You and Marc come to the diner all the time. You finally had your official first date here. It was nice and quiet later in the evenings and Linda, the owner of the diner, was always there to greet you both, even making conversation as you waited for your food.

She leaves with a passing hand on your shoulder, carrying a coffee decanter for the table on the other side of the diner.

"She knows."

He didn't forget your look of surprise when he was greeted by his name at the door.

You look up from your plate, swallowing thickly.

"Figured. Probably knows more about you guys than me," you mutter.

You were a little peeved, especially since you were essentially going to live out the rest of your days with them. Who knows what else they could be hiding?

He moves his hand over yours. He would be irritated too.

"Her daughter, Gena, saw me half dead in their alley after a bad mission. Everything was hurting so much I couldn't even breathe."

He pauses and takes a breath in, focusing on moving your fingers and intertwining them with his.

"It was a bad night. They helped me, a stranger, without a second thought."

You didn't say anything in response. At your quietness he let go of your hand, digging into his food again. You twirl around the eggs on the plate, your mind swirling with questions.

"What do you do?"

He almost chokes on his food; he didn't expect you to ask. He almost wanted you to be hesitant around him. He just killed your employer. You shouldn't be so curious.

"I'm a cabbie."

You scoff. He smiles lightly as you roll your eyes and cross your arms.

"Do you do those things often?"

"Do what?" he asks offhandedly, biting into a flapjack. His eyes were averted, chewing loudly and quickly and staring into his plate. You huff. He smirks as he swallows thickly, chugging down his mug full of coffee.

He wipes his mouth with a napkin.

"If you can't say what I did, maybe you can't handle the topic,” he quips. You narrow your eyes and lean forward.

"Do you kill people often?"

You say it loudly and with confidence. His eyes widen before he starts to laugh. It sounded ridiculous coming from your lips.

"I protect the body, if killing comes with the responsibility so be it. I protect you too now, just so you know."

He points to your neck, and you flinch. His eyes flash with hunger as you pull your collar up, covering the jagged mark out of sight.

…

You keep your distance from Marc and Steven. You knew it was upsetting them, at some points their irritation was almost suffocating but you didn’t care.

Jake was amused. You didn’t have to feel it through any weird connection to know that. When you turn your head away from him he smirks and chuckles. When you refuse to talk to him in the mornings he kisses you lightly on the temple.

It had gotten to the point where he started teasing you. Lightly kissing your neck and cradling your cheek to keep you still when you grumbled a quiet response to whether or not you wanted pasta for dinner.

He’d pinch your cheeks when you pouted and scowled. Even going as far as pinching your ass whenever you walked past him to sit by yourself in the living room.

You were getting pent up despite trying to be angry at the fact that they kept a whole person from you.

But the frustration disappeared for Marc and Steven one night, instead being replaced by immense caution directed towards Jake.

Jake picked you up from work and you were in the passenger's seat. The windows to his limo were tinted, his hand was creeping up your thigh and you squirmed in your seat.

You liked his company; he was funny and in a way less serious than the other two when it came to everyday living. His actions were calculated and purposeful, he made you ginger tea when you felt nauseous and rubbed your back without a word. His behavior made you giddy at times. It was like meeting someone for the first time, naturally, without rushing.

Of course, he liked to have a hand on you at all times. Just like the others but since they were essentially in time out, you've had more time with him and the way his hands would wander when he was bored.

The tension was making you restless at this point.

He speaks without turning in your direction.

“Do you want me to stop?”

You breathe in deeply. His fingers were hovering right over the button of your skirt, caressing over your swollen stomach, massaging into the waistband that was growing tighter every week.

Your hand pressed his harder against you. You salivate as he does.

“Please don’t…”

The squelch of your arousal resounds in the car, his thick fingers sliding easily inside of you. You’ve denied yourselves sex, too angry to let them anywhere near you.

Steven was the most saddened by that.

You were so pent up, so much slick was gushing out of you, dripping onto his leather seats as you rocked your hips back and forth.

He turned the car roughly to the left, your body rocked forward and his fingers sunk in deeper. You bite your lip mid moan.

You can see red run up his neck, his jaw tensed so tightly you’re sure he was going to break a tooth.

He groans when you place your hand over his bulge, the jeans are tight, his belt already digging into his belly and becoming even more of a burden as he hardens at the sound, the scent of you.

The car smelled gloriously arousing, he felt pride and joy at the fact that he was bringing you so much pleasure.

His skin prickled and his senses were overloaded with you, you, you. He could barely focus on the road ahead.

He lets you rock into his hand, your swollen clit catching on his thumb as he stiffens it.

His breathing was picking up, it was as if he could feel your orgasm with you. His legs stiffen, the car moves faster from his foot still being on the pedal.

You grip his arm feeling the muscles on his bicep tighten as you squeeze. Your back meets the cushion of the seat, arching as your hips lift. His two fingers stuff you full, they move apart inside of you, scissoring and stretching you deliciously and bringing you towards the edge.

He comes with you in pulses, gritting his teeth as he groans through the urge to close his eyes and rut against your hand over his jeans.

He distantly hears you cry out, sound escaping past your lips as you practically claw at his arm.

His heart pulses in his ears, deafening out as he breathes deeply. He was disoriented, he almost wanted to slap his face to get him out of his daze, but your hand was tight against his forearm, smoothing up and down his jacket as your chest evened out its breaths.

Instinct takes over and he pushes on the breaks quickly. The car lurches to a stop making you grip the door when you're threatened to bounce off the seat.

Your hand shakily moves to cover your mouth. You were inches away from crashing into a car, you can see the people inside turn around and look between you both in annoyance.

“We’re fine,” he says, tension in his tone.

His hand grips the inside of your thigh tightly, you turn to him only to see that he was focused on the rearview mirror.

He glares into the reflection. You adjust your skirt when he lifts his hand, pushing his fingers between his lips and sucking lewdly, still staring into the mirror, his eyes narrowing and his lips curling into a grin.

He smiles widely, still staring at the mirror. You had this feeling pass through you, like a child winning a game, making snide comments to the other players.

"Pinches cabrones," he murmurs, wiping his spit on his leg, wincing when he shifts to move the car forward and feeling his dick pulse in stimulation. He unbuckled his belt quickly, his belly freed and revealing the growing wet spot of his tucked in dress shirt he wears to work.

He curses under his breath at the mess of cum, his hand palming his stomach and lightly lifting it to feel the extent of the wetness.

He turns to you at the next red light, looking you over. Your breath evened out, but you were still visibly dazed, your lips were swollen, and your nose was runny.

You shift on your soaked underwear too. You wince, you probably made a mess on his leather seat. You were both uncomfortable in the sticky dampness you both had caused.

"You okay?" he mutters. His eyes focus on the road again as the light changes.

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

You snort. His hand blindly reaches for yours and he smiles when you start to chuckle, gripping his hand and fiddling with his fingers. You felt like a wild teen. Like a first love.

"What?" he asks, chuckling along with you.

"Your seat is ruined, Lockley."

…

You thought the night would have ended there. Soft chuckles as you got out of the car into a diner Jake found on some random website, it was nearby the apartment at least.

The food was good, the servers a little irked from the way you took turns going to the bathroom before sitting down to eat. You two were talking for hours, the moon was shining already.

Jake suddenly tensed, looking to his side briefly as if there was a person there. Before you could ask what was wrong he took his phone out of his pocket, acting as if he were answering an important call.

The phone was off the whole time, he didn't even touch the screen to answer. He stands and you give him a look. He knew you knew who he was really talking to. The damned giant bird.

He still acts as if he was on the phone with someone, stepping away from the booth and whispering harshly.

"Viejo Pajarro..."

He went outside to talk, leaving behind a stack of bills to pay for the food.

You realize then that you shouldn't have gone outside by yourself. First of all, you weren't in a part of the city you've ever been to, second, the man following close behind you didn't seem nice.

You thought Jake would have been by the car, pretending to have a conversation on the phone with the bird man, effectively scaring whoever was following you away, but he wasn't there.

Your heart was beating out of your chest as you got closer to the limo, praying to some god that you somehow had the keys, even if you saw them glint against Jake's belt.

It all happened relatively quickly, your bag was on the floor, he pressed you against the car door and you were shaking.

"Please, I don't have anything."

The gun pressed against your belly and you wanted to sob. You finally look up at your assaulter, he looked young.

"Please-no-I'm pregnant," you rush out.

His face falls, the gun in his hand slacking as he steps back slightly.

"Hey!"

You both turn at the shout. You gasp as Jake strides closer, his ceremonial suit on. He was becoming more well known throughout the city. There had been some conspiracy theorist internet videos talking about a man in white, throwing knives the shape of half crescent moons at criminals. Bodies of pedophiles, rapists, and human traffickers were starting to appear all over the U.S. with the same deep cuts from the same blade.

Moon Knight scared many, since so few have come out of encounters alive.

You’re shoved forward, your knees bending from fear and making you fall to the ground harshly. The barrel presses against the back of your head, Jake grasps crescent darts from his chest.

"Let her go."

The gun presses further, making you crane your neck forward. Jake steps closer.

"Don't come any closer! Stay where you are!"

You can feel the gun shake in his hand, you keep your eyes on the ground, too scared to lift it up towards Jake.

Despite the warning Jake creeps forward, the click of the safety makes him stop, you stop breathing entirely. It feels as if you couldn't take a breath in, your lungs suddenly stopping their motion.

You're on the ground, your hands and knees as you heave air. You couldn't stop yourself from shaking.

You could barely make out a ‘shit’ coming from the man behind you. He moves to kneel down, but something cuts the air. The gun falls to the ground, he gurgles as he slumps to the floor.

In your horror you watch as he stares at you pleadingly, his hands at his throat, a dart embedded in his neck.

Jake calls out your name, you shuffle for a moment, crawling in his direction before you gather enough strength to stand.

You stumble into his now open arms, stepping away from the body that fell beside you. He wrapped his cape around you as you buried yourself as close to him as possible.

It took you a minute to gather your bearings, to calm as he purred in your ear, willing you to take in his scent as he cocooned you against himself.

“Oh my god, that was a person," you say.

You push away from him, panicked.

"You just killed a person.”

He grasps your shoulders when you start to back away slowly.

"He was going to kill you."

You shake your head. He really wasn't. You could see it in his face, he was scared, Jake was just too angry to see it. He loosened his hold on you and he wanted to help you up. The safety was on until Jake appeared.

He should have let go of the gun when he kneeled down.

"You could have talked to him"

"He had a gun pointed to your head-to your stomach seconds before."

"He was scared."

"He was scared? I was scared for you! You wanted me to give him a chance to kill you!? Our baby?!"

You step back. He was shouting and you were getting frightened. The armor changed, morphed into an actual white suit.

"Let's all calm down, yeah?"

He cooed as he brought you to his arms, instructing you to call the police.

Steven waited with you as the police came. He answered their questions, out of his attire, and drove you both home. He was the one who held you in bed as you cried silently.

…

Jake showed up less frequently. He felt as though he had scared you, enough to make you not want to see him ever again. It was alright. He makes himself believe it was for the best.

His aggressiveness makes him think he would make a terrible partner, a terrible father. Wendy may not have birthed him, but she damn sure was a factor into his creation.

They all knew that, Steven knew that, Marc knew that. It was why Marc was the most afraid, the most in tune with your needs. He knew you wouldn't let him become his mother, Steven and Jake wouldn't let him either, but there is always the fear that it might happen. As if it ever could.

You reassure him it won't. You know it won't.

Jake though, he feels as if he should be resented. Steven was sweet, doting, a friend, someone who had unconditional love. He was brutal, making the hard decisions, protecting when no one else could.

He was the aggressiveness of others turned against them. He plays their game to get out of it. He dreads the thought of never walking away from the tight fists, the bloody snarls and the bursts of desperation.

The responsibility that Khonshu gave them amplified the need for his presence. The curse from the monster that bit them made his need to protect inconsolable.

Now they found you, their mate, and he was foaming at the mouth, writhing to let him out. To keep you home instead of letting you roam around where he knew the world was dangerous and cruel.

He fights through it. He just couldn't do it that time. The gun at your head was too much, the sourness of your scent and the taste of your tears in the air was too much.

Your distress made him panic; it scared him beyond comprehension. He saw red when the gun that man was holding inched closer to your stomach. In the back of his head he knew he was probably just putting it down, he was kneeling down to help you relax.

He should have aimed for his shoulder, but his eyes zeroed in on his neck.

He wanted to be like Marc. To have a semblance of him.

Knowing when things went too far. In a way he wants to hate the fact that he works for Khonshu. He wants to dread the call like they do. He wants to detest it as much as he does. But he enjoys it most of the time, that sickly sweet taste of brutal justice.

Then again, Marc was on the verge of alcoholism and Steven doesn't really know how to get out of stressful situations.

They get to have you and he gets to make sure you’re alive. He ensures that you are loved, that his child will be loved in the rightest of ways. He couldn't risk himself turning into Wendy or even Elias.

He would never be an Elias. He was damn sure of it.

…

You turned the bedside lamp on after you both came down. Your hands were running down his neck, over his shoulders as you sat on his lap, tracing parts of his body as he tried to catch his breath.

You liked the routine, he liked to be held and touched gently after a good orgasm. When you tried to trace down his pecs to his soft stomach his eyes shoot open, he stopped your hands from roaming further.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

Marc leans his head back, up against the pillows you fluffed for him before riding him to the stars. His cheeks redden, and he smooths his hand up his stomach, he pokes at his belly. His other hand smooths over his face in frustration as his finger disappears in the softness. You frown.

“You are very handsome,” you reassure slowly, your eyes showing extreme sincerity.

He mumbles to himself.

Sure, he gained weight, some relationship weight you liked to call it, and he carried it well. He was bulkier now; his abs may have lost definition and his shoulders were broader than before, but he was just as strong.

You swear you could feel the muscle of his arms bulge when he picked you up, carrying you to bed whenever you stayed up too late watching reality tv in the living room. You cup his cheek and turn him to face you directly, his jawline was softer, cheeks fuller unlike his previous sunken and tired appearance months before.

“What did you say?”

You try to smile, your thumb drawing circles on his jaw gently, tsking when he avoids your gaze.

“I need to lay off the sweets,” he says louder.

He developed a belly, a proper gut, ever since he met you. You’ve never mentioned when his shirts would get tighter, when he would have to get bigger pants. It became more noticeable when you had gotten pregnant, your scent changed, he was much calmer, enjoyed a little more of life than usual.

He didn’t have to worry about you leaving, so he subconsciously let go and settled down a bit.

“I think you look great like this,” you mumble absentmindedly. Your nails drag over his skin, humid with sweat and soft as you press into his chest.

He hums sarcastically as if saying, 'Sure you do.'

"You look like a father," you jest.

He stares for a moment, unamused. He sits up against the headboard, rolling his eyes as you cup his cheeks with both hands.

"I don't care if you have a belly or not. I like it because it's you..."

You lean up to his ear, your hands now running down to squeeze his sides.

"Also might be because you look homely, safe and like I'm taking care of you like a good mate should."

You feel him harden again as your breath tickles his earlobe. You press your stomach against his.

You couldn’t understand him. Technically, you were growing too. They liked it, they felt warmth whenever they noticed your bump. When you would hold them from behind and your belly would make contact with their back first.

Steven would talk to it, the baby, and Marc would pat it, drawing circles over your skin whenever he thought you were asleep or weren’t paying attention.

The scent of their arousal didn’t surprise you whenever you absentmindedly rubbed the top of your bump, sitting down at home, watching TV.

You almost did it on purpose, putting a hand on your back while the other cupped the underside of your belly when you stood for too long.

Putting on their shirts, the clear outline of your breasts and body on display. Barefoot and pregnant as you made breakfast.

They went crazy over that.

They also didn’t miss your arousal whenever they were on the couch or in bed, shirtless, waiting for you to accompany them. The rise and fall of his breaths, his damn stomach, made you think of a bear; comfy, warm, big, strong and protective.

Whenever you were thinking too much or too hard about something at work, you baked. Whenever you were in a good mood, you baked. When you were sad, you baked.

You liked to bake and make food. Your home was practically stocked with eggs,flour and sugar.

“Is it good?” you would ask slyly. Marc practically inhaled your food. Leaving no crumbs at your kindness in the form of sustenance.

“I love you,” he would moan. You would usually laugh, especially since he always asks for seconds, but sometimes you couldn’t help it. You felt good that whatever you did made them feel good.

Sometimes you think you didn’t show your appreciation. They took you to work, they cleaned the house, they took the time out of their day to ask about your day. Tasks were shared unequally, and they usually took the heavier bulk of chores.

They were perfect and you felt as if you didn’t do enough. So, by cooking and making small treats, it felt as if you were paying their affection back in some way.

The balance of give and take was essential, with them constantly being helpful, affectionate and generally around, the small act of giving them some extra sugar was barely enough, in your opinion.

So yes, you do get aroused by their growing gut. It was a symbol of your love. The progression of it, considering their whole situation was not something you particularly wanted in the first place.

They just denied the fact that you could possibly be into their softness as much as they were into yours.Even if they grew claws and their hair texture got rougher on some starry nights.

"You don't like me like this?" you ask innocently.

Your hips shift forward, his cock slides snuggly inside you. You practically lay on top of him, pressing your head against his neck.

"I’ll love you however you look," he murmurs.

You nip at his jaw, he tenses and groans as you go lower, your tongue meeting the small patch of sensitive skin on his neck.

“I’m only swollen because of you. Only gonna get bigger.”

His hips twitch forward on instinct, feigning adjusting himself from his sitting position. He groans at the image of your body going through changes, your belly extending, your breasts swelling up with milk, your body softening further. All due to him.

You sit up again, your hands on his shoulders as you start to move your hips, bouncing softly as he closes his eyes, parting his mouth as the back of his head dips into the pillows further.

"Fuck, you’re gonna look so good," he moans.

His hands meet your hips, squeezing the fat of your ass and lightly helping you along.

Your hands slide down, resting against the swell of his stomach, palms massaging further down until it cups the underside of his belly.

You squeeze and he stares at you, confused but mostly aroused at the idea that you were turned on by the way he jiggled as you bounced harder on his lap.

You lick your lips.

“You’re gonna look good too,” you huff.

You grind your clit against him as he bottoms out with each lift and fall of your hips.

The squelch of arousal and the slapping of skin amplifies.

You were starting to moan openly, your words coming out breathy; as if he was fucking the air out of your lungs.

“So big and strong… gonna be like a teddy bear… so soft for me… mine…”

Your scent was off, it was strange. He knew when you were horny, he could smell it but this was different, downright hostile. He fucking swears as you throw your head back, mouth agape in a wanton moan he could see your canines growing.

Your grip on him tightens, your nails biting into his skin. Making your mark, claiming your territory. He couldn’t help but pop a knot in you.

You cum, completely overstimulated from the past rounds as you collapse on his chest. He doesn’t mention the starry look in your eye, how you nuzzled and sniffed along his claiming mark for a few minutes even as his knot came down.

He was startled when you pushed up against his chest to sit up. Your hands are on his face and smoothing over his cheek leading down towards his lips.

“Where did this come from?”

You were still sweaty, discombobulated and you swiftly changed the tone of the atmosphere. Just like that. He gave you a look, your eyes were half lidded. Pregnancy brain, he thinks.

Your thumb traces over the mustache he was growing on his face, mesmerized. You ignore the way he snorts, confused at your sudden drunk like behavior.

You smelled weird. An overload of scents invades his nose.

You were decidedly undecided. It was nice now that his beard grew out but then he shaved most of it off, keeping a bush above his lip.

It looked good, you thought. He looked like a dad. You furrow your brow, staring at him when he doesn’t answer your question.

He looks at you in panic, the sudden seriousness in your face catching him off guard.

“Do you not like it?” he asks slowly.

“I don’t hate it,” you quip.

He huffs.

“It was Jake’s idea,” he mumbles. He feels you tense above him, your hands smoothing over his chest and down to rest on his stomach as you sit up straighter.

You frown. He can feel your anxiety rise, dread in the pit of your stomach.

His hands smooth over your arms, stroking up onto your neck.

“Hey, he didn’t mean to scare you.”

You purse your lips.

“He didn’t scare-“

You sigh. Laying on his chest again as you breathe out deeply.

“He killed someone, and he didn’t feel anything."

His hand caresses over your back.

"He was scared. He was angry, not at you, but at the fact that he left you in danger."

If he were to be honest, he would have killed him too. Steven might have not, but he knows that he would have. In a way that scared him, that person could have been innocent, he could have let you go if only Jake had stalled a little longer.

It doesn't change the fact that he would have killed him too.

Fear breeds violence. And Marc is very fearful. Jake is too, which makes him good at what he does. He has a drive that forces him towards an unsavory solution.

Violence is almost always the quickest path towards it.

“He just wanted to protect you, like we all do,” he whispers.

“Please understand,” he adds when you stay quiet.

You burrow further into his shoulder as a response.

…

Your body couldn’t keep up. You were changing too quickly, your hormones were like rapid fire, changing almost every minute as your body tried to get accustomed.

Because of this, you were almost always by his side. Only letting him leave when he had to work.You called off your own work, or more like he called off work for you.

Steven was very attentive to your needs. He liked taking care of you, you liked the way he didn’t get tired of the way you incessantly found ways to lead him back to bed.

The bedroom was an organized mess, covered in blankets and pillows, sheets upon sheets that you said you absolutely needed or else you would probably die.

You weren’t going to but the anxiety in your head at the mere thought that you wouldn’t have those specific white with pink polka dot sheets made you think you would spontaneously combust.

You spent your time there, making a nest and burrowing under the mass of softness almost all day for the past week.

Oftentimes you would lead him wordlessly to the bedroom, able to convince Steven to lay down with you, covering him gently in blankets and pillows until his face was the only thing visible.

“Oh-“

You wrap a blanket over his legs, making it difficult for them to move apart.

“Darling-“

You shove a pillow on either side of his head, the soft ones you liked that felt weighted and like stuffed animals.

“This is just-“

You shush him, pecking his lips as you pull a thicker blanket over his torso, pressing in the fabric until it pinned under him.

For a moment he squirms, a final giant blanket pulled over you both as you cuddle to his side. He looked like a swaddled baby, he felt like one too.

It was warm and your content hum against him made him relax, almost as if you were soothing him to sleep.

You start to purr, he didn’t even know you could do that, and you make him melt.

“This is kind of lovely, isn’t it?” he mumbles slowly, his words starting to slur together.

His eyelids feel heavy, his breathing deepening as you kiss his cheek gently, smoothing his hair to the side and caressing the sides of his face as he closes his eyes for a nap.

He woke up, loosened from the blankets and pillows and with you beside him. An arm wrapped over his stomach loosely as you snored softly. He couldn’t help but imagine you with your baby already. Your instincts were making you practice, unfortunately he was the usual victim to your antics.

But he also knew it was getting close to a full moon.

They were getting restless, their bodies aching as if they were ready to transform at a moment's notice.Their fists pounding harder against the enemies of the night and their irritation pulsed at every small inconvenience.

Most of the time the full moon meant they were clingy to you, watching you interact with anyone in barely contained anger. Now, it was you who was acting clingy.

You started to exhibit strange behaviors, only increasing by the day.

Marc's worries were being pushed to the side, Steven thought that you were just overly affectionate and tired. Hormones.

Even if you haven’t been outside by yourself in a while, and you refuse to let them go anywhere without you being there. Even when you start to sweat in your sleep, twisting and turning from discomfort whenever he is out on missions.

Every day nearing the full moon made Marc anxious, he was expecting the worst, Steven convincing him otherwise.

Marc was seemingly right.

They expected you to be home when they came back from work. It was a full moon now, they just wanted to lay down for the night, have you wrap them up in blankets that smelled like you and sleep.

They didn’t expect the apartment to be trashed, the bedroom to be a complete mess and the door halfway open as they turned the hall.

…

Jake knew almost immediately. He fronted without explanation, their distress pushing him forward. He curses when he peaks outside, shrugging on his jacket as he picks up his keys. The moon was already out, taunting him.

He was grateful for the control, the practice they’ve had with holding in their form even as the moon begs them to change.

It was probably your first time, you were most likely scared, looking for them. He wanted to puke, his stomach swirling and his mouth filling with bile he had to spit out on the sidewalk.

He went by the path to the current security job they had. It was for a rundown building, closed at this time. Barely any customers, on the verge of bankruptcy and of letting them go. It wasn't exactly safe to be around at night.

He knows you're vulnerable and in anguish, he feels your anxiety spike just as he sees a group of people from the corner of his eye.

“Hey!”

You were in your pajamas of all things. Barefoot and cowering as two men crowd you.

They turn to his voice.

You didn’t look much different, of course you wouldn’t, he was probably half of werewolf, you would be even less.

Even he didn’t look like the monster that bit them, not as hairy or wolf-like. Not as feral… anymore. The first time is always the worst one.

He imagined he would have been dangerous, killing without remorse maiming whoever was in his path, but he was scared, traveling around London, lost as if he were a newborn.

When Marc met you, he was startled by the way his other form reacted so harshly, becoming aggressive and restless.

He only acted that way during his ruts.

It was why Marc wanted to back off, to not show you what he really was. For a moment he thought he would hurt you despite the way he yearned to be around you.

Marc learned to embrace the need though, albeit with reservations, being away from you would cause more harm than good. It would probably drive both of you insane if he continued to push you away.

Jake is learning that lesson now.

…

You were overstimulated, smells and sounds were making you feel crowded. You couldn’t stop from trying to find Marc, or Steven, Jake. It was like you were possessed, going by what you knew of their workplace and wandering from there.

The two men were ignored initially, you were too concerned with sniffing the air, finding any indication that they were even at their shift.

Then they grabbed you and cornered you, talking to you until your ears started ringing from the rise in volume of their voices.

By the time Jake dropped their bodies to the floor you were crouched down, hands over your head as you tried to block the sounds of their flesh tearing, their bones breaking, and the scent of their blood all over the corner of the street.

He picked you up carefully, your growing nails digging into his arm whenever you swayed too harshly.

“Ey, hermosa.”

He sits you down on the bed; you didn't even notice you even entered your home, least of all your own room. He cups your head in his hands, and you lean heavily into his palm.

"We're home."

You nod.

"You look different," he tries to joke. The pain all over his body was starting to become unbearable. He moaned lightly and it was almost as if the sound was beside your head.

He chuckles when your now pointed ears flicker.

"I was trying to look for you," you mumble.

You barely registered your voice sounding muffled, your tongue sliding over your teeth almost expecting to find cotton. Your canines were longer, sharper than before.

"You shouldn't have, it's dangerous in your condition."

He was starting to sweat, his face turning red as he closed his eyes tightly. Your fingers instinctively swipe over his cheek, flicking the drops away.

You were stunned when you caught the size of your fingernail. You almost cut him as your thumb smoothed over his cheek.

"It was like I couldn't control myself, I just ended up on the streets before I knew it and-“

He groans, closing his eyes tightly before marching out of your hold and into the bathroom, holding his head in his hands.

You could hear him for a couple of minutes, objects falling to the floor, groans coming from his throat as his bones shifted and the muscles in his body rearranged.

You whine from the back of your throat as he attempts to stand, working the doorknob for a few seconds before slamming the door open.

Something was off about him; you didn't like it. Your eyes kept on directing you to his neck, you thought it looked a little bare.

He picks you up from where you sat, pressing your back against his chest as he plops onto bed, wrapping his arms around your waist and connecting over your stomach.

He holds you tight, trying to ignore the way you were trying to turn. His hands envelope your own, twisting gently to compare yours with his.

"Still so small."

You have matching hands now, he offhandedly remembers your comment about painting his nails, how they looked like acrylics from how thick they were and how they curved slightly at the base.

As his grip loosens you turn, your nose meeting his neck before he could react. You make a noise of disgust.

He takes it as dissatisfaction because of his presence. You probably wanted Marc or Steven, not him.

"You smell wrong."

His jaw tenses, humming as you grip onto his shoulder tighter, pulling him down for better access. Bile rises between his molars again. A pit in his stomach formed. He was readying himself for you to ask him to leave.

"I can fix it."

Before he could ask what you meant, you bit him, sinking your teeth into his flesh and staying locked on so surprisingly that he could barely feel the initial pain.

His body fills with euphoria, his cock chubbing up and his knot aching. You envelope him like a blanket, his senses suffocating with only you.

He falls onto the mattress, on his back groaning as the lust increases tenfold. Your own body starts producing more slick, the pheromones in the room working on overdrive.

Guiding his hands, you drag his nail against the seam of your pants, the sound of it tearing resounds around the room.

The pieces fall to the side of the bed. He watches leaning against your nest of pillows and blankets as you remove your panties from one leg and then the other.

His hands caress up your thighs as you reach behind your back to unhook your brasier. Your breasts releasing from the fabric and your nipples pebbling from the cold air.

He grips your hips for a few moments, his body tensing and his eyes staring into yours as you sit up against his lap. He suddenly lifts, making you yelp and dragging you forward until your pelvis meets his chin.

His mouth was watering, he pushed you further up and his lips met your cunt, moving as if he was kissing you. He groans into your folds, and you lean forward from the stimulation, gripping onto the headboard to stabilize yourself.

Your thighs were on either side of his head, you didn't fully seat yourself, too scared to crush him with your weight.

It wasn't until his tongue breached your folds, circling around your clit before finally squelching inside of you, did you let go.

His fingers dig into your ass, pulling you deeper onto his tongue.

He grunts when he feels you clench around the muscle. Your hands tighten over the headboard, your hips gyrating against his face.

“Fuck- I-“

The bridge of his nose nudges against your clit.

One thing about Jake was that he has seemingly lived off of the appraisal of others. He has gotten so little of it back then, Khonshu being the only person to congratulate him with a job well done after missions and now recently you, telling the others how good they made you feel, how much of a-

“Good boy.”

-they were.

He moans at your praise. He gets off on it, acting as a fly on the wall whenever they have sex with you, thrusting their hard cocks inside of you as you babble away.

It was nonsense that made him want to burst. It created a warmth inside him that nothing else could bring.

Truth was, you wouldn’t dare say anything if you weren’t dazed from their thumb pinching over your nipples or your clit. From their fingers or cock dragging against your walls.

“Your tongue is so fucking- so good,” you whimper.

You may have thought about it, more than once or twice, the size of it every full moon. It was so long. You liked to kiss him, just for it to stuff your mouth full.

It was strong too, the muscles would flex and the sheer girth of it made you fantasize about other places it could slather onto.

You liked a lot of things they didn’t like about themselves.

Jake liked that.

He starts to lift you, up and down on top of his mouth repeatedly. You reach behind you, past his belly and grip him from the base.

“Jake,” you moan. He hums against you, pushing his face impossibly closer to your cunt, his nose rubbing into your clit with more pressure.

“You make me feel so good.”

His cock twitches in your hand. He starts to pant, slurping and mouthing relentlessly as you squeeze. You lift off shakily, his tongue grinding against your mound as you scooted away. A faint squelching sound being made as he unsheathed his tongue from your pussy.

His pupils were dilated so round, they almost made his irises look black.His chest was heaving and he licks his lips with his eyes now closed, feeling you move down his belly.

For a moment you both are at a stand still, his cock fit snuggly between the cheeks of your ass. His hips undulate, your pelvis meets his stomach, your mound grinding against his belly.

Your clit throbbing.

Your hands move up to his pecs as he thrusts up, you could feel the sticky mess of his precum collecting on the small of your back as you squeeze his softness.

Your tongue glides along his throat as you lean down. He squirms when your teeth drag against his skin, sensitive and raw from your bite.

He whimpers when you bite down lightly and you shush him with a growl. He was being impatient, he wanted to be inside of you but you wouldn’t let him.

“Is this what it felt like? When Marc bit me?”

So helpless, so desperate for a mate’s attention?

Your mouth was covered in his blood, you licked your lips as you sat up straighter, your hips moving back and forth against his cock.

You cup his cheek and he closes his eyes. With a thick swallow, and a gasp as you started lifting your hips up and down he answers a quiet yes.

“Just thinking about you leaving makes me crazy,” you whimper.

You lift to your knees, moving over his erection and finally pulling him from his misery, his mouth opens in an almost silent groan as you sink down.

“I don’t want you to leave anymore.”

The past week you’ve felt horrible, like something was missing. Your anxiety was through the roof and the day before you felt as if you were going to collapse from it.

Now, connected, with Jake present again, it was as if the feeling had disappeared completely.

His knot is starting to catch on your opening, as you rut against him it starts to swell.

“Promise you won’t leave,” you demand.

Your hips move desperately, he tenses below you. You rut harder against the underside of his belly. You guide his hands over your breasts.

"You won't leave me, right?"

He squeezes your chest, his thumb running over your nipple as you bounce aggressively. His balls tighten, he breathes deeply to stall the inevitable. But you wanted him to lose himself, you wanted him to spill his brains out.

"I love you. I don't think I can live without you. All of you."

You both shake, trembling thighs and sweat soaked bodies piercing into each other's skin.

You saw white, you couldn't focus on just one feeling. His hands were running down your body, his eyes closed, panting as you slump against him.

Your skin awakens as he touches you, bumps rise from your back to your arms, heat from within your own breast travels to your stomach, towards the rest of your body. You go limp, pressing your ear against his chest, hearing his heart beating in sync with yours.

Your hands tighten over his flesh, his blood pools over your fingers, making the air smell sweet. You press it to your lips, groaning at his taste.

His neck throbs, the wound healing into a matching silver scar.

You've never claimed to love them, and, in this copulation, you've spilled your truth. You've kept it for a long time, you just didn't know what was stopping you.

You nuzzle against him, your nostrils flaring as you take a breath in his scent. A scent you’ve missed. Sweet, musky, like fresh pine and wilderness.

"Don't leave," you whisper.

He never left; he was about to respond. But he knew that wasn't what you really meant.

He kisses your head, cradling your belly.

"I promise."

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

Woah! This is the final part! Thank you to all that have read and supported my monster fucking initiatives. ☺ Maybe the lesson is that maybe we all haves wolves inside of ourselves maybe. Lmao

Series Masterlist

Requests open!

-Alejandra 💋 🐇

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockely x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x you #marc spector x you #moon knight fanfic #marc spector fanfiction #jake lockley #dark fic #ale's fics <3

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the-offside-rule · 3 months ago

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Jake Lockley (Moonknight) - Jesus Take The Wheel

Requested: yes

Prompt: Y/n driving Jakes cab

Warnings: cursing en español

Jake Lockley groaned softly as he slowly regained consciousness. His head was pounding, and it took him a moment to piece together where he was. The familiar scent of leather and gasoline hit his nose—he was in his car. But something wasn’t right. Blinking the haze from his vision, Jake glanced to the side and his eyes immediately widened in horror. Behind the wheel, gripping the steering column with casual ease, sat his girlfriend. Wait...his girlfriend?! “Mierda!” Jake shot up in his seat, heart racing as he instinctively reached for the wheel. “What the hell are you doing?!” She looked over at him and grinned, not the least bit surprised by his outburst. “Good morning to you too, Jake.”

“You- no puedes conducir! You can’t drive!” His voice was a mixture of shock and panic, his hand hovering near the wheel like he still might wrestle control back at any second. “Why are you driving my car?!” She gave a light laugh, her hands still relaxed on the steering wheel as she navigated through London’s streets with confidence. “Jake, I can drive. You just hate it when I do.” He let out another string of curses in rapid-fire Spanish, fumbling to secure his seatbelt even tighter across his chest. “That’s because you’re going to kill us both!” He looked at her like she’d completely lost her mind. “Dios mío, where are Marc and Steven? Why didn’t they stop this?”

“They’re not here.” She said nonchalantly, her eyes on the road ahead. “Just you and me. Relax, I’ve got this.” Jake threw his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, swearing under his breath again as the car jolted over a bump. Relax? How could he relax? His knuckles were white as he gripped the door handle, glancing at the dashboard like he could somehow wrest control of the situation from the passenger seat.

For a few minutes, Jake tried to stay quiet. He clamped his mouth shut and stared out the windshield, determined not to let his nerves show. He could handle this. He’d survived all kinds of danger before—gunfights, fistfights, you name it. But every time she swerved a little too close to another car or took a turn a bit too sharply, his breath hitched in his throat. His leg even twitched like he was pressing down on an imaginary brake. “Jake? You okay over there?” She asked, noticing his tension.

He pressed his lips together, gripping his seatbelt so hard it felt like it might snap. “Nothing.” He muttered. “Just... focusing.” But a moment later, the car swayed slightly in the lane, and he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “For the love of—stay in your lane!” He finally burst out, his heart racing as his voice echoed through the car. “You can’t just swerve like that! These people don’t know how to drive!” She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “I don’t know how to drive? Really, Jake?”

His hands flew up in frustration. “You’re lucky I’m not grabbing the wheel right now! Did you see how close you were back there?” She just smiled and shook her head, ignoring his complaints as she smoothly accelerated through a green light. “You’re being dramatic.” Jake muttered more curses in Spanish under his breath, sinking into his seat as his heart pounded in his chest. His usual calm demeanor had completely shattered, and it only got worse as the drive continued. Every sudden stop, every tight turn had him clutching his seatbelt for dear life. “I swear to God, I’m never letting you drive again.”

For the next several minutes, he tried to keep quiet, biting his lip each time he felt the urge to comment. But it was useless. The moment they hit a speed bump that rattled the car, he groaned again. “Do you have to hit every bump?” She just rolled her eyes and turned up the radio, the music drowning out his grumbling.

By the time they finally pulled up to the flat, Jake unbuckled his seatbelt in record time and practically launched himself out of the car, taking in a deep breath of fresh air. His pulse was still racing, his hands clammy from gripping the seatbelt and door handle like his life had depended on it. He turned to her, glaring in disbelief as she casually got out of the car and tossed him the keys with a grin. “See? That wasn’t so bad.” Jake caught the keys, his expression a mix of shock and indignation. “Not so bad?! I almost died!” She chuckled softly. “You’re so dramatic, Jake. I drove fine.”

“Fine?” he sputtered. “Fine? I thought I was gonna die at least three times back there! You can’t drive like that!” She arched a brow. “You act like you’ve never seen danger before.” Sbe teased, brushing past him and heading toward the front door. “You’re the one who’s always saying you’re fearless.” Jake shook his head, locking the car as he followed her. “I’m fearless when I’m driving, not when someone else is trying to send me to an early grave!” He shot her one last glare as they reached the door. “You’re never driving my car again, me entiendes?”

She smirked, throwing him a mischievous glance over her shoulder. “We’ll see about that.” With a frustrated sigh, Jake opened the door and muttered one last curse under his breath. “Next time, I’m driving... or maybe Steven.”

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sxcretricciardo · 3 months ago

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party animal - Marc Marquez

you love to party, he loves to party. Did fate bring you here?

•

Madrid had a heartbeat, and you could feel it in your chest the second the cab door slammed shut behind you.

It was just after midnight — the exact time when the city started to stretch awake, heels clicking across cobblestone, voices echoing through alleyways, laughter bleeding into the warm air like perfume. You weren’t trying to impress anyone. Not tonight. You came to dance, to drink, to get lost in the music. And maybe — if the night played its cards right — to do something you couldn’t tell your manager about.

You weren’t famous-famous, not yet. But you were getting there. A rising voice in the right underground circles, a few viral performances, a record deal that was finally starting to feel real. And tonight, the energy was perfect. You were in Madrid for a short recording break, and one of your producer friends had texted you with the location pin and the message: “You need to come. Capital. Now.”

So you did.

Teatro Kapital.

The name sounded like a whisper, and the moment you stepped through its doors, it was like being swallowed by music.

Seven floors of light and chaos. A wall of bass hit you as soon as you entered — that deep, hypnotic rhythm that grabs your bones before it touches your ears. The air was thick with sweat, perfume, smoke. The kind of place where no one’s really watching, but everyone is looking.

You lost your jacket and your inhibitions by the time you got to the second floor — all house music and laser lights — and soon, you were swaying into strangers like it was your last night alive. You weren’t drunk, not yet, but you were buzzing. From the rhythm. From the heat. From the delicious anonymity of being in a city that didn’t know your name.

And then — out of nowhere — he found you.

Or maybe you found him.

You were in the middle of dancing when you felt a pair of hands ghost just near your waist — respectful, but confident. You turned, and your eyes landed on him: dark eyes, sun-warmed skin, messy hair, and that very specific kind of grin — cocky but not sleazy, like he knew exactly what you were doing and liked it.

“Is this your song?” he shouted over the music, that Spanish accent laced into every word.

You shook your head, laughing. “No — but I wish it was.”

He leaned closer, just enough that his lips brushed your ear. “Then dance like it is.”

And just like that, the space between you collapsed.

You didn’t know who he was. He looked familiar, maybe, but in that way everyone does after a few drinks and a few more glances. He moved like he owned the floor, but not in the annoying way. In the way people with adrenaline in their veins do — like their bodies are wired for speed and risk.

You danced with him like the rest of the club didn’t exist.

Hands on hips. Bodies pressed close. Heat building between you until it wasn’t about music anymore — it was about him. The way he looked at you like you were the only person here. The way his hand lingered on the small of your back. How he smelled — like salt, sweat, and something expensive.

He never told you his name. Not then.

And you didn’t ask.

You took a tequila shot together, then another, and somewhere around 3AM, you were both leaning against the bar, laughing over something stupid and breathless and ridiculous. You told him you were a singer, just in town for a few days. He told you he liked your voice, even though he hadn’t heard it.

“You’ve got that look,” he said, eyes dark and unreadable. “Like someone who belongs on a stage.”

You tilted your head. “And you’ve got the look of someone who breaks things for fun.”

He grinned. “Close enough.”

From there, it was inevitable.

You left the club together.

Madrid was still humming when you stumbled into his hotel — not yours — some ridiculous suite that had a private elevator and a bottle of champagne already chilling like it had been waiting for you.

You kissed before the door even shut.

There was no slow build. No small talk. Just the fire that had been crackling between you all night finally bursting into full flame. He kissed like he had something to prove. Like he’d been waiting days for your mouth, your skin, your breath against his. You didn’t care about details. Not about his last name. Not about tomorrow. You just wanted him — now, hard, fast, tangled in sheets and moonlight and the taste of that stupidly good champagne on his lips.

You woke up the next morning, half-buried in pillows, mascara smudged, body sore in the best way possible.

He was already up, towel slung low on his hips, phone pressed to his ear in rapid-fire Spanish.

You stretched, sheets slipping down your chest. He turned when he noticed and gave you that look again — like he hadn’t had nearly enough of you.

“Morning,” he said, voice rough and low.

You blinked at him. “Are you a model or something?”

He laughed. “Not quite.”

He paused, then looked at you like he was debating something.

“I’ve got a race this weekend,” he said casually, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You should come.”

You raised an eyebrow. “A race?”

“Yeah,” he grinned. “MotoGP. I ride.”

You blinked. “Like… motorcycles?”

He nodded, amused. “Yeah. Fast ones.”

You stared at him. “Wait. Wait. What’s your name?”

He smirked. “Marc.”

“…Marc what?”

He paused, watching your brain start to connect the dots.

“Márquez,” he finally said, sipping his coffee like he didn’t just casually drop a bomb.

You nearly choked. “You’re Marc Márquez?”

He just grinned wider. “Still coming to the race?”

And that’s how, less than 24 hours after meeting him, you found yourself backstage — or whatever the MotoGP version of that is — in his garage, surrounded by bikes and people in branded jumpsuits and the smell of rubber and fuel. You wore black sunglasses and a borrowed lanyard that said “All Access,” and everyone looked at you like you were important.

Marc winked at you before his race, already zipped into his suit, helmet tucked under one arm.

“Sing something for luck?” he teased.

You laughed. “Go win something first.”

He did.

And later that night, he pulled you onto the back of his bike, and the two of you rode through the Spanish hills like something out of a dream — full throttle, no fear, no brakes.

Just speed, music, and whatever came next.

The thing about Marc Márquez was that he was nothing like you thought he’d be.

After that wild night in Madrid, you told yourself it was a one-off. A story. Something to tuck away and smile about later. But then he texted you the next day. And the next. And then he called. And then he started showing up in places you never expected. Barcelona. Milan. London. All the cities you traveled through for studio sessions and shoots and gigs — somehow, he found a way to be there too.

You told yourself it was casual.

Just a few drinks. A few nights. A connection built on late-night chaos and chemistry.

But it wasn’t.

Because Marc didn’t let it stay surface-level. He asked questions. Real ones. About your music, your family, your past. He watched your live performances from backstage with this quiet awe that made your skin hot. And when you told him you didn’t do relationships — that love had never quite fit right on you — he didn’t flinch.

He just nodded and said, “Okay. But I’m not going anywhere.”

And he meant it.

That was the problem.

The nights were easy.

Those were the parts you didn’t question.

Marc was warm and wild and so full of life it made you dizzy. He kissed like he wanted to memorize your mouth. He listened to your voice like it was the only sound that mattered. You’d lie in bed after shows, limbs tangled, his hand tracing lazy lines down your spine while you talked about nothing and everything.

“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone,” he asked once, voice low in the dark.

You hesitated, then said, “I never learned how to stay.”

He didn’t laugh. He just nodded.

“I used to be like that. I still am, sometimes,” he admitted. “But I think I’m tired of running.”

He was 32, but not old. Not really. He still laughed like a teenager when you told a dirty joke. Still begged you to ride on the back of his bike through backroads at sunset. Still danced with you in clubs until the lights came on and your feet hurt and your lipstick was smudged.

But there was something more under the surface — a quiet ache you could feel when he looked at you too long.

He wanted roots. A life. Someone who wouldn’t vanish the second things got real.

And you? You were still trying to figure out how to let someone stay the night, let alone stay for good.

One evening in Barcelona, after a long studio day, you met him at his place — a sleek, modern flat tucked into a quiet hillside neighborhood. You weren’t even supposed to be there that week. Your schedule was a mess. But something in you missed him, so you showed up anyway.

He opened the door in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair damp from a shower, and he looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in a world full of noise.

“You okay?” he asked as he pulled you into his chest.

And that was the worst part — that you were. When you were with him, you actually felt okay.

And that terrified you.

That night, after dinner, you stood barefoot in his kitchen drinking wine out of mismatched mugs. He was watching you, fingers drumming against the countertop, eyes soft in that way that made your stomach twist.

“I’ve been thinking.” He said.

Dangerous words.

“About what?”

He hesitated, and then he just said it. “I want something real with you.”

The air went still. You stared at him, heart lurching.

“I know you don’t do labels,” he continued, “and I’m not trying to scare you off. But I need to tell you. I care about you. I want you in my life — really in it. Not just when it’s convenient. Not just when it’s fun.”

You looked down at your wine, trying to swallow the panic rising in your throat.

“Marc…”

“I know,” he said quickly. “You’re not ready. You’ve told me. But I don’t want to pretend like I don’t feel what I feel just because you’re scared.”

You met his eyes. They were honest. Wide open. The kind of vulnerability you’d never been brave enough to offer anyone.

And that’s when you panicked.

You left before sunrise.

No explanation. No note. Just the sound of the door clicking shut behind you and your heartbeat thundering in your ears as you ran from something that felt too much like real.

You didn’t call for a week.

He didn’t either.

And that silence? It tore you up.

A few days later, you were back in a hotel room in Milan, staring at your phone like it had personally wronged you.

You missed him. God, you missed him.

You missed how he held you when the world felt like too much. How he made you laugh when you were exhausted from pretending. How he always saw you — not just the singer, not just the wild girl who danced on tables — but the real you, the one you never let anyone close enough to understand.

And that’s when it hit you.

You weren’t scared of Marc.

You were scared of what it meant to be loved by someone like him.

To be chosen.

Because if you let it happen — if you let him happen — there’d be no turning back.

You texted him.

“Still in Barcelona?”

His reply came seconds later.

“Yeah.”

“Can I come over?”

There was a long pause. And then:

“Door’s open.”

You didn’t even pack. You just booked the flight.

When you walked into his apartment that night, he was sitting on the couch, lights low, a single beer in his hand.

You stood in the doorway, heart in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

He didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“I run. It’s what I do. I didn’t think anyone would… stay through that.”

Marc stood, walked over slowly, and looked at you like he was trying to memorize you all over again.

“I don’t need perfect,” he said quietly. “I just need you. Even if you’re messy. Even if you panic. Just… don’t disappear.”

You exhaled, eyes burning.

“I don’t know how to do this.”

“Then let’s figure it out together.”

He pulled you into his arms, and this time — for once — you didn’t flinch.

You just let yourself feel it.

You never asked for the spotlight to follow you into your personal life.

Music? Sure. That was your arena — your stage, your rules, your fire. You were used to being looked at, dissected, praised, picked apart, loved one day and forgotten the next. That was the job. That was what you signed up for.

But loving Marc Márquez? That wasn’t part of the plan.

And once the world caught on, everything got louder.

It started small. A blurry photo taken from someone’s phone in Monaco — the two of you laughing outside a restaurant, his hand at the small of your back, your head tilted toward him in that way that gave everything away. At first, it felt innocent. Maybe even a little thrilling. You’d already grown used to hiding in plain sight: fake names on hotel reservations, separate arrivals at events, ducked heads and sideways glances.

But that one photo sparked a firestorm.

Your name was trending before sunrise.

“Márquez Spotted With Young Singer — New Romance?”

“Marc’s Mystery Girl: 24-Year-Old Songstress Linked to MotoGP Champion.”

Suddenly, you were part of the narrative. Not just a singer, not just someone trying to build something real in private — now, you were “the girl who’s too young for him.”

It got worse.

The interviews came next. Subtle at first, masked behind casual curiosity.

“So, Marc,” a reporter asked during a press conference, “there’s been a lot of buzz about your personal life lately. Care to comment?”

He smiled, calm as ever. “I don’t live my life for headlines.”

But the internet didn’t care about grace. They didn’t care that you’d spent nights curled into him whispering your fears into his chest, that he kissed your forehead before bed and made you laugh when the world felt impossible.

They cared about numbers.

32 and 24.

They called it a phase. A fling. Said you were too immature to handle a man like him. Said he was just chasing youth. That you were using him for fame. That he was using you for the illusion of being young.

They dissected your body language in photos. Your outfits. Your past. Your lyrics. Your age.

You tried to stay silent.

Tried to let it roll off your back.

But it wasn’t easy.

You were in L.A. for a recording session when you saw one of the headlines.

“Marc Márquez Dating Singer 8 Years His Junior — Fans Say It Won’t Last.”

It wasn’t even cruel. It was worse — dismissive. Like you were a temporary accessory. A phase. A pretty little detour on his way to someone “more serious.”

You stared at the article, blinking, heart racing.

And for a split second — a terrifying, horrible second — you believed it.

What if they were right?

What if you weren’t enough?

What if Marc woke up one day and realized he needed someone quieter, calmer — someone who didn’t panic when things got real, someone who didn’t flinch at the word forever?

When you called him that night, your voice was tight, your throat thick.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Hey, amor,” he said, voice warm. “You okay?”

You swallowed. “You’ve seen the press.”

A pause.

“Yeah,” he said gently. “I have.”

You sat on the hotel bed, staring at your bare knees. “Do you care?”

“No,” he said. Then: “Do you?”

You didn’t answer right away.

“I hate that they think I’m not enough for you.”

He was quiet, and then his voice dropped, low and steady.

“They don’t know you.”

You bit your lip.

“I’m not calm, Marc. I don’t have a filtered version of myself. I’m loud. I’m moody. I get overwhelmed. I make decisions with my heart. I’m not…” You hesitated. “I’m not simple.”

There was a rustle on the other end. You pictured him pacing, hand in his hair, doing that thing where he took a deep breath before saying something that mattered.

“I love that about you.”

Your heart skipped.

“I don’t need simple,” he continued. “I need real. You make me feel more alive than I have in years. I don’t care if you’re younger. I care that you see me. That you love me not for what I’ve done but for who I am when no one’s looking.”

Silence. Then softly, like a whisper:

“And I see you, too. All of you. Even the parts you think are too much.”

You closed your eyes, letting the words sink in. Warm and steady and real.

“I just don’t want to ruin you,” you whispered.

“You could never,” he said. “But if this gets too hard… I’ll fight for you. I’ll fight like hell.”

You saw him again a few days later, at a race weekend in Assen.

You hadn’t even planned to be there. But he left a pass for you anyway.

When you stepped into his garage — press everywhere, cameras clicking, eyes on you — you felt like you couldn’t breathe. But then he saw you.

And the second your eyes met his across the room, the noise faded.

He didn’t wait. He crossed the space in seconds, wrapped an arm around your waist, and kissed you — not soft, not tentative, but real. Intentional. Right there in front of everyone.

Gasps. Flashbulbs. Headlines being written in real time.

But you didn’t care.

Because in that moment, you knew.

You weren’t just some phase.

You were his.

And whatever the world had to say, you’d face it together.

#marc marquez #marc marquez x reader #marc marquez imagine #motogp #motogp x reader #motogp imagine #valentino rossi #alex marquez

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ivystoryweaver · 11 months ago

Note

Hello amazing writer-person.

May I request the following…

"i cannot stand you, and yet i also cannot stand to be away from you."

… with our moody baby Marc Spector 🌙

(Congrats on the 500, you rock) 🎉

TY & ILY! 💜 (not me finally finishing my oldest request)

Luminous white orbs fixed on you as he cinched you close to his side. "It's a full moon. Try not to scream...at least not until I get your pants off."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Content: f!reader, action, violence, smut, Marc is a cheeky bastard because let him have fun sometimes

Word Count: 1.5k

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"Give me your hand." Moon Knight's white, bandaged arm reached for yours, but your stubbornness alone stopped you as you wrenched yourself free of his grasp.

"I don't need you to hold my hand," you told him, peering over the building's edge to the street below, several stories down. "I'm gonna jump."

"The hell you are," he protested, yanking on your arm. "Hold on to me. I'll get you down."

Although he wasn't tall for a superhero, he was strong enough to make a point.

"You can't even fly. How are you supposedly going to 'get me down'?"

Luminous white orbs fixed on you as he cinched you close to his side. "It's a full moon. Try not to scream...at least not until I get your pants off."

You couldn't see his face but you were certain he was smirking.

He leapt over the side of the building, dragging you with him. Despite how much you wanted to resist his help, you couldn't fly, and you didn't want to die, so you held on tightly, tucking yourself into him - arms wound around him trustingly and your face pressed into the gauzey fabric covering his throat.

He smelled like ancient secrets and sun drenched sands. Warm and woody, enticing your eyes closed as you entrusted your life to his embrace.

The wind in his cape, the power of the full moon and his years of experience helped him slow your shared descent through the night sky. Hitting the pavement with an inconsequential thud, you barely had time to get your footing before he grabbed your hand again. "Let's go."

"I think I can take it from here, Lunar Legionnaire." You mockingly tossed out one of his recent media nicknames, wrenching your hand away from his, but following his lead to an abandoned warehouse.

"In here," he directed. "Those things are still following us. They have our scent."

"Then we better not stay here," you reasoned. "Unless the great Fist of Khonshu needs to catch his breath?"

"Hilarious." White eyes narrowed into judgmental slits. "You're the one panting, sweetheart." He moved in closer. "Or were you that excited to be close to me?"

Before you could smart off, you heard a metallic rattle and then a growl. Jackals. Supernatural, invisible jackals.

But he could see them.

"Get behind me," he ordered.

Which of course you did not, shouldering right past him. "Thanks for the ride down, but I work alone."

He groaned, squeezing his wrapped hands into fists. After bouncing on his toes for a moment, he reluctantly followed. "Got your six."

His gaze fell to the sway of your leather clad hips, down over your curves.

"That's an interesting way of letting me know you're staring at my ass."

"That's an interesting way of pretending we haven't worked four missions together."

"Look who's counting," you teased.

"Counting on this being the last one, maybe. You have a death wish or something. I'm always saving your - "

Moon Knight didn't even finish his sentence before you whirled around and leapt in his direction, firing your wrist rockets into the jackal right behind him. He ducked just in time.

And that sound drew the rest of them.

"Nice work," he groaned, racing past you, breaking into a sprint as he called back over the swish of his cape, "It's gonna be a long night."

“Hey, you’re the one following me.”

The two of you spent the next annoying half hour eliminating invisible foes, working in tandem, despite you both maintaining your loner status, at least mentally.

You finally ducked into an alley, grateful for a breather.

"Are there any more of them?" You gasped, gripping your knees as you doubled over, winded from your exertion.

"Not that I see," Moon Knight answered, giving you a once over. He didn't get as tired as you, but then again, you didn't have superpowers. It felt kind of endearing to see you not perfectly put together.

"You know, you look good like this," he commented, moving into your personal space. "Sweating. Panting. I feel like I've seen it somewhere."

He tapped his gloved finger on his masked chin, pretending to think. "Was it the last time I saved your ass?"

As badly as you wanted to retort, you were still a bit out of breath.

"Oh I remember," he went on, yanking a crescent dagger from the center of his chest. He backed you up against the wall, pinning you in place with his hips. "It was the last time you were underneath me...in Dubai."

"Bullshit. I was on top," you panted, eyes fixed on his weapon, feeling wetness pool between your legs as he pressed his obvious erection against your core. "What's that for?"

He traced the pointed dagger's edge over your bottom lip before flicking his wrist, expertly cutting through the thick fabric of your mask. Before he could pull it free and reveal your face, you struggled against him as your hand darted up to keep your mask in place.

"What the hell?" You snapped, even though you physically responded eagerly to the friction between your bodies. "No faces. That was your rule."

"Don't you ever break the rules?" He challenged, stashing his dagger and gripping your hips. Thrusting against you with a seductive pulse, he dragged you back and forth over his straining length.

"Show me yours first," you ordered, still holding your mask in place with one hand. Strangely enough, this man had been inside you twice, but you had yet to lay eyes on who he really was.

Without hesitation, he complied. His gauzey mask disappeared, revealing a man far more handsome than you expected. Dark, soulful eyes peered into yours, such a beautiful contrast to the haunting white glow.

You stared as his gaze flickered down to your parted lips.

"That bad, huh?" He half joked, quickly summoning the supernatural fabric to cover his angular features once more.

You swallowed thickly, the thought of sinking your fingers into his dark curls convincing you to slowly lower your mask, pulling it free from your face and hair.

Tilting his head, as if studying you, Moon Knight shook his head playfully. "The magic is gone."

You slugged him on the arm as he chuckled, amused with himself.

"I can't stand you."

His mask disappeared again, instantly. "I can't stand to be away from you."

His lips crashed into yours with unrestrained fervor, the force of it taking what little breath you'd regained.

You sighed into his mouth as his tongue slid over yours. Tangling your fingers into his hair, you twisted your way through his curls, which were every bit as gorgeous and soft as you expected.

"Can you make a useful part of this damn suit disappear?" You huffed, tearing your mouth from his.

Yanking at the leather of your pants, he worked you free, hoisting your thick thighs around his waist. Then, as you were anticipating, just enough of his suit vanished so that he could push his heavy, pulsing length up inside you.

"Been waiting for this all night."

“That’s an interesting way of saying you’re obsessed with me.” Despite your biting commentary, you sank against him in relief, your head thumping against the brick wall behind you, its rough surface scraping against the curve of your ass. But you didn't care. He was your drug and you were getting your fix.

"Look at me," he lowly commanded, gripping the nape of your neck and staring possessively into your eyes. Heavy, deep thrusts sent your body bucking against his. "Like that?"

"Yes, right there. Feels good."

"Thought you worked alone, sweetheart." His lips curled as your eyes flashed with defiance. "You think you can get yourself off like this?"

You shuddered, your velvet walls fluttering, clenching at the sound of his infuriating voice.

"Nah...I think we work better together.”

"Just...shut up. Keep doing that. Faster."

He went slower. But deeper, hitting something devastating within you.

"Saving your ass from jackals is worth the look on your face when you come for me."

And as if his voice alone could control your body, you came undone, your body betraying your stubborn mind, agreeing with him. And, as predicted, you might have screamed a little.

The glint in his eye didn't last long as you shuddered around him, gripping him so deliciously that he actually moaned. It sounded so good coming out of his plush lips. His clenched, corded neck tensed and bobbed as sweat dripped from a singular curl.

The sight of him losing control because of you was worth a bout with jackals and all the danger that came with it.

His hips stuttered as he tried to pull out of you, but you clamped your thighs around him and held him captive. "Stay right here."

The longer you gazed at him, the more you wanted to never see that stupid white mummy mask cover his face, ever again.

Hot breath fell on your ear as he took a minute to come back to himself.

Easing back, he touched his forehead to yours - a gentle contrast to the scandalous public encounter you'd shared.

"I'm Marc."

You felt lighter somehow, sharing a laugh with him before he kissed you deeply.

"Nice to meet you."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist

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le-chevalier-au-lion · 7 months ago

Text

the game lasts 14 hours: rosquez [e], part 1

Marc had been dreaming—yes, dreaming is a good word for it. One minute, he’d been upright on the bike, panting like a dog inside his sweat-damp helmet, Pecco half a heartbeat behind, the grandstands around Sepang a blur of color and heat-fuzzy people. The next, he thinks he’d been down, or dead.

Now there’s someone hammering on his door. Hard enough he can feel it pulse on his teeth, on the tips of his fingers that are cold and numb.

His eyes are gritty. Everything about his body moves a heartbeat too slow, unresponsive. It takes Marc a moment to drag himself upright, to convince his legs to move. Dead fits better, he is sure of it.

The pounding becomes deafening. Marc forces air into his lungs once, twice—and off he goes. He swings the door open, almost closes it again once he sees who’s there. He could be dreaming, still. Or very high on the good painkillers.

“Marc,” Valentino croaks.

He’s panicking—maybe. Probably. It’s there in his wide, watery eyes, in his hands, wobbly and clammy. He jitters, looms on Marc’s doorway shaking worse than an addict.

“You have to believe me,” Valentino spits once it becomes clear Marc won’t speak. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three, his fingers tap on the wall. His mouth pulls to the side, like he sucked on something sour. “I’m in a time loop, it’s—”

“Alright,” Marc cuts him, “do you want to come in?”

Valentino blinks. His shoulders jump, grow stiff, and he sways a step back before he remembers himself.

“You always say that.”

There’s a strain in Valentino’s voice, a knot unswallowed. Marc wonders if he should bring that up, decides against it. It’s easier to move to the side, invite Valentino in wordlessly. He should ask how he got his room number, how he bribed the staff to let him come up.

Or not. It wouldn’t be that surprising.

Valentino stumbles like a baby deer, all long, uncooperative legs. Sweat prickles on his throat, on his forehead. His gray shirt is fucking soaked with it. He looks—it must be said—like shit.

“You look like shit,” Marc decides to inform him. It’s a little—mostly—because he can’t think of anything else to fill the silence. He never can.

“You always say that too,” he scoffs.

Offense is better than panic—Marc hates when people panic around him. And it makes Valentino suck in a breath, convulsive, short, and then another, one more after that, each one easier. The minutes tickle by until he collapses into a plush arm chair, a puppet with his strings cut, sleeplessness carved into the bags under his eyes, into the gray sallowness of his face.

Marc checks the clock on the wall, the aggressive, bleeding red of the numbers. 05:13 AM. It’s early, still, but he needs to go on a run, have breakfast with Álex, sit down with his crew to smooth out his tire choice. Five points between him and Pecco, he can’t afford to make a mistake.

He doesn’t have time for Valentino going on a full freak-out, and yet—

“You believe me.”

Marc sighs, gets around brewing himself a mug of coffee. Only one, he isn’t sure if Valentino should be taking any caffeine when he’s this close to a heart attack. It’d be funny, for this to be a loop where he dies so early, doesn’t learn anything from it.

“You don’t contradict senile people.” He’s smiling, a little, a sharp grin tucked on the corner of his mouth.

Ha ha, Valentino barks. He’s clinging to the armchair so hard the fake leather creaks under his bitten bloody nails. “You believe me. I know you do.”

It isn’t usually this difficult to not be an asshole before 7 in the morning.

Marc could be cruel—it’s not often he gets to catch Valentino wrong-footed, genuine. His anger is so mirror smooth, an opaque, enchanting thing. Few people can dig into him and make it hurt. He could be much kinder, too. Say something like you’re obviously afraid, it’s not the time to question anything, of course I’d help.

Not a good idea. There’s a timeline where Valentino punches him for that, he thinks.

Marc is also very tired of offering kindness to Valentino.

He swallows. “Let’s say I do.”

Valentino lets out this noise—like Marc stabbed him right between the ribs, right where it hurts. It’s the thing about him, one of the worst ones. Doesn’t he know that a good third of Marc’s life has been spent dealing with what he says? Rolling with those wild fairytales, bracing for the next hit.

It sticks to the roof of his mouth. I believe you believe that, soothing in the same twist where it’s mocking, an oystershell of the unkindness that Marc has been rehearsing once he stopped showing his soft underbelly.

“Is this the first time you’re coming to me?” He asks, raises an eyebrow.

“No.”

“Really?”

Valentino hums an unwilling assent, kisses his teeth. The sharp tsk sound is so familiar that Marc feels like he was plucked from his body, tossed ten, eleven years ago. The sense of vertigo has him braced against the narrow, non-descript counter, watching out for the trickle of coffee that will—maybe—ground him. He’s an optimist.

“Twenty-six,” he huffs out, scowls. It sounds like it was pried from him laboriously.

The coffee machine beeps. Marc does the unwise thing and turns his back on Valentino, fiddles with the buttons. He will take it with sugar today. He fucking deserves a spoon or two, something sweet to soften the blows.

“I’m guessing I’m not exactly helpful.”

Marc feels a hand pressed between his shoulder blades, hot as a brand, that touch raking over his nerve endings even through the protection of a shirt. It’s proprietary, tugs on his guts like a fishhook. His insides might as well spill out, redredred and so overly honest it hurts. He flinches, remembers he shouldn’t have. His mouth twists, lips pressed together.

Everything suddenly aches.

“Are you ever,” Valentino breathes out because he never had a problem with being cruel.

It’s easier to hold on to that—it’s the gentleness that has Marc grinding his teeth, dull pulses of pain settling in his jaw.

He closes his eyes, then forces them open—you can’t run from a tricky corner, or from Valentino. “Any reason in particular you’re messi—”

“I’m not messing up with your weekend,” Valentino hisses. Time loop, right. Marc is still annoyed at being interrupted.

But his face is so close, Marc can spot each new wrinkle, the skin of his earlobe sagging under the weight of his earring, the patchy, half-shaved stubble on his oddly cadaveric cheeks. He forgets to not be charmed, forgets how abrasive Valentino can be.

“In my experience, you typically are,” he counters, mostly to be difficult.

Valentino’s face spasms. Marc counts down the seconds until he hardens, becomes a naked blade under sunlight. His expression crystalizes into his usual mask, except for his bottom lip wobbling, the manic glint in his horribly blue eyes.

“Allora, it’s always a fight with you.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Marc curls his hand around his mug, sinks into the heat radiating against his palm. Valentino tightens his grip on his shirt, turns him around. He has to look up—if it’s through his lashes, well, it’s so very early, and he hasn’t taken his coffee yet, and he’s bleary and good as dead.

Neither of them speak.

It’s 05:28 AM, the clock cheerfully informs him. He needs to get going, or he won’t have time to go on his run.

Marc doesn’t move. Valentino keeps him boxed against the counter, gripping his arms. It’ll bruise. His bones creak under that hold, but it’s the closest to tethered he’s felt in a while. He lulls himself into that false security, knowing it’ll bite, knowing he’ll take the bite anyway.

“So why come to me?” He asks, once the silence grows boring, once it starts gnawing on his sanity.

Valentino lets out this laugh—a little hysterical, choked. “It’s not my first choice. Uccio tries to give me Alprazolam and Luca tells me to go back to bed.”

Marc hums, faux-commiserating. “It’s good advice, have you tried it?”

“Right?” He keeps laughing or making that noise that looks like a laugh and sounds like it’s tearing him apart stitch by stitch. Marc could try looking into it, divining the omens of his day on his spilled guts.

Or—

“What happens next?”

He wants to know what Valentino will say today—it’s his favorite part of any game they play, getting roped into those stories. Falling for Valentino’s deranged Cesar on death row charm.

This time, Valentino skips the charm. Marc wishes he weren’t so disappointed.

“You’re going to die.” He nods, yes and?

Valentino grows stiff, death-serious, mouth wrenched in a snarl that bares his sharp canines. The press of his fingers goes from settling to a permanent ache, right over the place where he broke and didn’t heal right. It’s good, the kind of pain Marc can sink into and enjoy, constant, so dear by now.

“You can’t not care. You believe me.”

He smiles—bland, strained around the edges. His face feels like clay. “There’s always tomorrow, no?”

It’s a joke. Almost one. Marc has barely spoken when he notices how flat it falls, how he misses the apex of comedic timing by a mile.

There’s barely enough time to set his coffee on the counter. Valentino crowds into him, or wrenches him closer. They’re chest to chest like this. Blurring into each other, Valentino’s thumb splayed over the longest scar on his arm, Marc panting hotly over his protruding collarbone.

“You just don’t—”

“Valentino,” he sighs.

Marc has—they’re both bleeding, the walls of his hotel room pressing into him grimy and suffocating like a slaughterhouse floor. It’s too much blood, too much history, too much. Marc has made him angry. The ugly anger. A knotted mess Valentino can’t smoke-and-mirrors his way through, that pours out of his flashing eyes, his grinding teeth, his hands digging into Marc like he’ll crack open his ribs.

He doesn’t remember how many times he’s seen it before. Not many. Valentino is pathologically non-confrontational, his smiles slick and meaningless right as he lines a shot. Maybe he’s losing his mind, fraying, shattering.;

And maybe Marc is losing his mind too. I got you, he thinks, triumphant—the poisonous, acrid triumph of racing even when his arm twists like it’s trying to kill him. He still can make Valentino lose his footing. No one else but him.

“You’re going to die,” Valentino repeats, takes a step away from Marc like he’s scalding. He starts pacing, a caged thing, a Russian doll of nervous ticks. “It’s going to be—it’s going to be fucking terrible. It’s going to hurt. Why isn’t that enough for you?”

Marc looks—briefly—heavenward. Valentino scoffs.

And that’s it. Another one.

“How many times have you gone over today?” He asks, hopeful and hating himself for that hope.

Valentino smirks—like he has a knife tucked between his lips, joylessly, scraped raw. “Once or twice. It’s not like you ever take it seriously.”

The sound of the door slamming closed echoes in his chest. Marc tries to breathe, fails. Has to bend over the counter, the cold marble a blessing against his overheated skin. The chilly shock hoists back to his own body, but the nausea remains, a mouthful of thorns and bile he can’t swallow.

He wishes that Valentino would answer once—just once—how long he’s been on a time loop.

But he can’t linger too long on that. Marc has to go out now, go on a run, have breakfast with Álex, talk with his crew about his tires, die on T5 of lap 12.

Ater sixty-two runs, he’s pretty damn good at it.

#rosquez #motogp #motogp rpf #rpf #marc marquez #valentino rossi #time loop fic #chev fics #hahaha delirious time loop fic in which no one communicates #also don't trust marc's pov he IS lying to you #and to himself #and to valentino #manic pixie dream boy #i don't know what came over me but i'm glad it did #did you run here?

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