#steven is just a little baby boy

[dharr5]

I drew steven and amethyst! :)

I might do some more SU stuff later, but we'll see!

[orestesimp]

RED FLAGS ║ PART 11

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader x Marc Spector (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: You overhear things you were not meant to hear. Or alternatively: The girls boys are fighting.

Content: mild angst, lots of eavesdropping on secrets.

Word Count: 6.9k words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The music box sits atop of the wooden counter. For a love song, it’s such a sad and melancholic melody. Made sadder by the off-key note that clangs jarringly five seconds in, after you've wound up the music box to watch the little deformed Anubis inside twirl. 

It's oddly mesmerising in a meditative sort of way, how it keeps spinning round and round with nowhere to go. 

Doing the same thing over and over again. 

Stuck.

Has Anubis always looked so unhappy?

Steven's hand brushes against your back, interrupting your musing, and you jump in your seat despite the gentleness of his touch. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you with a worried frown.

"You're going to be late for work, love," he says, "It’s nearly eight-forty."

"Shit." You’ve lost track of time, fiddling too long with the music box. 

You glance at the table where Steven has already stacked your plate. Two pieces of charred marmite toasts sit atop his emptier plate as he's walking over to the sink. A pang of guilt sits in your chest at the sight of it. 

Despite the effort Steven had gone through, getting up early and having it ready for you by the time you woke up, you've hardly even taken a bite of your breakfast. 

You rush forward, wanting to at least help him clean the plates, but Steven waves you off with a shake of his head.

"It's all right, love. You go ahead, don't want you to be late. I'll clear this up. Donna can't possibly get madder at me than she already is." 

There's a forced smile twisting his lips, and when you don't make any moves to go, Steven sets down the dishes in the sink and walks back over to you.

"Have a good day at work today," he says and tips his head, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I don't want you to worry about anything alright? Everything will sort itself out." 

It feels like deja vu when he says it, and for a second you worry, because the last time you heard this sentiment aimed at you, the man who said it disappeared without any physical trace. 

As if he can sense your apprehension, Steven continues, giving your hand a gentle nudge. "Go on, love. I'll pick you up after work, and we’ll order something nice for take out tonight." 

Despite your hesitance, you find yourself nodding as you head towards the front door. The sound of porcelain clinking together and kitchen clutter continues in the background as you click the door shut behind you. 

The hallway is dimly lit and gloomy as you make your way down to the lift. 

Once inside, it’s quiet except for the whirring of mechanical gears from above. It’s almost like being trapped in a music box of your own, except that Steven’s building isn’t fancy enough to have elevator music. There's nothing to distract you here. No twirling Anubis. No melodies. The only thing keeping you company is your own thoughts and memories. 

‘Marc, I mean it. I miss you.’ 

The memory of your own words seems to echo between your ears, and you cringe, shaking your head in an attempt to make it stop. You're restless, the cuticles of your nails itching to be picked as you try to push yesterday's telephone call from your mind. Trying to mute your own pleading voice from playing on an endless loop. 

‘I'm in love with you– ’ 

You’re desperate for a distraction, but the cramped lift offers no distraction. There are mirrors on both walls, and endless Xerox copies of your own reflection stare back at you, repeating off into infinity. There’s no place here to hide from yourself. 

‘–You don’t have to love me the same way. Just come back.’

Your hand comes to your left wrist, seeking something to fidget with to calm your nerves, but the familiar leather strap of your watch is missing. Your forearm is bare.  

Oh, for god's sake. Where have you gone and lost the bloody thing now?

As soon as you think it, you realise where it must be. Can see the watch in your mind's eye, sitting on the porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, right where you left it when you took it off to shower last night. You sigh, pressing the button of the lift back to the fifth floor. This time as the lift ascends the floor, you fix your gaze on the menacing bright red LED sign indicating the floor level, refusing to look into the mirrors on either side of you.

‘Please. I miss you.’

The lift door pings open, mercifully interrupting the replay, and you briskly retrace your steps. You’re so focused on retrieving the watch—and ignoring the unwelcome memories—that you barely register that Steven’s no longer in the kitchen. It’s not until you’re brought up short by the closed loo door that you realise it’s not going to be quite that simple. 

Looking down, you can see the light streaming under the door is cut by a shadow’s flickering movement inside. Steven’s gone to the loo. That’s all well and good—nothing out of the ordinary— except the fact that your watch, which you would very much like to wear to work, is in there with him. 

You sigh. 

You’re already going to be late as it is, but you can’t very well barge in on him in the loo, now can you? The poor man would have a heart attack.

You contemplate your options, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, and you have to resist the impulse to tap your feet like some grumpy old biddy. Trying for patience, you take a few steps back, dragging your eyes away from the bathroom to stare blindly off towards the empty kitchen corner. 

There’s not much to look at, just the morning sun streaming in the window to illuminate the pile of sauce-stained dishes waiting to be washed. Your eyes linger anyway. Your mind fills in the gap with an echo of Marc as you’re used to seeing him, standing at the sink or stove, his back to you, outlined in the soft early light. All that’s missing is his voice calling out a soft greeting.

And for a moment, you think you can hear him—his all-familiar American accent echoing from your memories. Better his than yours. Better the voice you've been missing like an amputated limb this entire time he’s been gone. 

“You need to stop.”

You jerk upright because that’s new. 

You’re no stranger to the flat, demanding tone, but you can’t trace the words back to any memory of what Marc has said to you before. 

That means it’s real.

You whip your head back in the direction of the loo where the voice is coming from. 

It’s muffled. The volume muted by the door, but you’d recognise that grumpy, impatient voice anywhere. Been replaying it enough in your mind, that you could pick the owner out of a blind lineup based on sound alone. And you can definitely identify it now in the quietness of Steven’s flat, where it’s just you and him. 

Marc. 

The room seems to narrow to a needle point, the colours blurring into each other until all you can see is the bathroom door. Excitement rushes to your head and everything feels fast and slow all at once. 

Marc is in there. 

Your legs threaten to buckle, and the wooden flooring underneath your feet seems to sink and warp into porous sand with each step forward. Then you’re standing there, in front of the loo, separated from him only by a few feet and the thin wood panelling of the accordion door, so ancient and flimsy-looking that a gust of wind could knock it down. 

You want to knock it down. You raise a shaky hand to hover just above the surface.

All you want is to grab the handle, fling it open and see Marc again. Not as you have these past months, through the lens of the memory—either your own wistful, wishful thinking or the echoes of him that have been haunting your daily life. 

You need the reality of him. To see him in the flesh and bone. Marvel at the ever-present scowl as he tips his head in irritation. That deep furrow between his brow when he’s consumed in some task. The rare half-smile that never fails to make you feel like you’ve won a rare prize at the carnival when you’ve manage to coax it out of him. 

But you can’t. 

Because you know how that will go. Even if Marc is in there, cornered in the loo, the moment he knows you're here and aware of him, he'll spirit himself away like he did last time.  

So you stay there, hand raised, feet frozen to the floor, staring down at the shifting shadow visible through the wide gap like it’s shadow puppet theatre, trying to discern the plot as you listen in. 

“This is how things are now. It’s better for both of you that I’m not around.” 

He sounds tired, weariness weighing down his words, and your throat aches. You don’t need X-ray vision to guess how Marc’s shoulders must be slumped, his hand rubbing over his face and jaw in frustration. 

The worst part is that you know Marc well enough to know that he truly believes what he is saying. Believes that his presence is a burden. That just by being here, he’s causing everyone trouble. 

He thinks he’s doing everyone a favour by not being around, and there’s nothing you or Steven can say that will make him believe otherwise. You know that. But it doesn’t mean you want to say it any less.

You want to break down the door, take him by those broad shoulders, and shake him until his head wobbles as you scream that he’s wrong. That he would be nothing but good for you. 

Because being around Marc makes you happy. Sitting next to him, watching him sip the “rubbish” coffee you’ve made him, makes your chest light up.  Seeing his puzzled expression when you make a pop culture reference he doesn’t know makes you smile.  And even though you’re not a morning person, he makes you look forward to waking up early because you know you get to spend those extra ten minutes with him. Marc makes you happy.

It goes quiet behind the door, and you can’t hear his voice anymore. Maybe Steven is arguing back. You hope so. You hope that Steven is rebutting Marc’s misguided beliefs the way you desperately want to. 

Maybe for once Marc is actually listening. 

"She doesn't know what she's asking for, Steven.” 

Maybe not, the stubborn bastard.

His voice is pained, and you tilt your forehead forward until it makes contact with the doorframe, hovering as close as you dare. It’s not like it makes any difference; not like he can sense you from behind the door—nor would you want him to, given the flight risk. But your heart hurts for him, and you just want to be closer to him in any way you can, despite the divider between you. 

“If I'm around it'll just mess everything up for–” He stops suddenly like maybe Steven has cut him off. Then there’s a grunt of protest, followed by, "Steven… That's not– Steven."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Steven!" This time he sounds almost angry, his voice is low and venomous. And whatever Steven says next must really strike a nerve, because Marc hisses, “Shut up, shut up! Shut UP!" the volume rising to a crescendo with his agitation.

It takes you by surprise, and you jump back, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process. Then you scramble back to the door, pressing as close as you dare. Worried that you’ve missed part of the conversation because you can’t hear Marc anymore. 

“Look, maybe if you just, like... chill the eff out for a second, we can talk things over, yeah?” 

That’s not Marc at all. 

Instead, it’s Steven's warm South-Londoner accent spilling through the door. They must have switched.

“You can't keep doing this. You know that right?” Steven demands. “What's your grand master plan here, mate? Hiding during the day and sneaking out like a burglar in the dead of night...? A bit cowardly, isn't it? You have to know that’s not gonna work long term."

If Marc was angry, then Steven sounds properly hacked off, his patience on the last string, worn so thin it’s a surprise it hasn’t already snapped. This is clearly not the first, or even second time, they’ve had this conversation. Apparently the fact that he's been talking to Marc is one of those things Steven "can't tell you right now." You wonder how many times they've had this same argument. From the sound of things, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Steven has tried again and again without being able to even inch Marc to budge from his stubborn position.

"It's not the perfect life though, is it? Not when you’re being a right proper idiot about all this. She wants you here. I want you here, you great pillock!” Steven’s voice is loud and indignant, and you can hear a rattle in there that you’re pretty sure is Steven grabbing onto the sides of the mirror in a frustrated attempt to throttle Marc through it. “And you can stop trying to peddle ‘normal,’ all right? Nothing about this situation is normal, and I for one am perfectly okay with that!” 

You can always trust Steven to come through with the honest truth.

God, you love that man. 

You can’t help but smile as he quite loudly voices everything you’ve been dying to say to Marc in this moment. You agree with all of it, even the throttling. Because Steven’s so very right. Who needs ‘normal’ when you can have something better together? 

“Just–” Steven cuts himself off, and you hear the deep inhale as he takes a calming breath before he continues.

“Listen, Marc…” His voice is softer now, almost cajoling. Trying to negotiate and soothe. 

You lean up on your tiptoes and in closer to the door, until you’re practically pressed against it. In your eagerness, you forget about how flimsy the material is until it gives slightly under your weight, and you flinch back. Honestly, it’s probably a miracle the flimsy thing didn’t collapse altogether.  

“You’re not fooling anyone, all right? I can feel what you feel when you’re around her.”

You wait with bated breath for Steven to continue, selfishly hoping that he’ll spell it out further because you desperately want to know what exactly it is that Marc feels around you. For you. 

“When you wake up next to her, and–” his voice spills from the bathroom, the dry sarcasm unmistakable, “when you drink that bloody awful coffee.” 

Again with the sass about your coffee! 

You scowl at the door, any goodwill towards Steven’s efforts in this conversation quickly evaporating. Surely, your coffee can’t be as terrible as all that. It’s just beans and water! How much of a difference can the ratio make anyhow? 

“Or… Or the way you clutched onto that jacket for weeks after she wore it. Treated it like some bloody teddy bear, didn’t you?” 

His jacket? The one that gave you so much grief and guilt after the almost-kiss in front of the fishtank? And Marc had… what? Snuggled with it? Your mind boggles at the very idea, even as it warms your heart.

“‘Don’t?’” Steven challenges, obviously repeating something you can’t hear. “Don’t what, exactly, Marc? Don’t state the obvious?” He barrels on, apparently unwilling to give Marc time to reply, "I know how you feel about her. And I know what you think about when you spend those extra ten minutes in the shower." 

Extra… minutes? You frown to yourself. You don't understand. What could Steven possibly mean by ‘ten extra minutes’ in the– 

Oh. 

An invading image pushes to the forefront of your mind. Of Marc's stern and focused eyes closed in concentration. Wet curls plastered to his forehead. His fingers wrapped in a tight fist over his hard cock. It’s true that you’ve not ever seen Marc less than fully clothed, but you’ve seen Steven without a thread on his body, and your brain is more than happy to fill in the blanks.

Heat curls into your stomach and settles there. Your chest feels tight, as though the thought of Marc in the shower is squeezing the breath out of you. Your vivid imagination clings onto the image, no matter how hard you try to think of something else. Your brain is too enamoured with it and refuses to let it go. 

All you see as you close your eyes are his perfect cheekbones flushed a rosy crimson as he shudders in pleasure. 

"Well if you don't want me to tell her, you’d best stop playing hide and seek then," Steven continues, clearly exasperated, "You’re being ridiculous, you bloody plonker."

Despite the fact that he's still technically whispering, he's so agitated that he might as well be shouting and the volume would be comparable. Steven never could keep a lid on his emotions. You can just picture the animated expression on his face. 

“She wants you too, you know.”  It’s quieter, comes after a second or two pause, as if Steven’s deliberately tamping down how loud he was.

More silence follows. 

You wait for several torturously slow seconds, but there’s still nothing from behind the door. Is it because Marc has been replying to Steven, you wonder. And if he has, what has he been saying? Is he angry? Brushing Steven off? Or is it like it was on the phone last night—silent because he’s not replying back at all.

Why is that somehow the worst scenario? 

You don’t hear anything else. Perhaps this is how it’s going to end today as well. Another stalemate. Stuck in a loop, like Gus II’s endless pilgrimage back and forth across the tank, forever spinning in this box that you have gotten yourselves into, with no way out. 

How long can the three of you keep doing this for? 

“Did you know… she had a sex dream about us?" Steven says. 

A cold shock grips the entirety of your spine, and you jolt like someone threw a bucket of ice water over your head. 

"That’s right, about both of us, together—said she couldn't choose." 

Oh god. God! What on earth is Steven saying? Has he lost his fucking marbles? He can’t tell Marc that! 

Embarrassment burns with a fury in your cheeks. You bite down on your tongue, trying to keep yourself still, fighting every nerve in your body that wants to ram down the door. 

“Actually, I quite think you do need to be hearing this, mate. If you would just–” Steven breaks off, then tries again, raising his voice like he’s trying to talk over and overpower someone else in volume. 

“If you would just come back and talk to us about it, I'm sure she would… Marc. Take your hands off your ears, Marc. If you would just listen for one bloody second. Can you please just– Oh, right, that’s really mature!” 

“Oh, that is bloody well it!” Steven shouts, and harsh fluorescent light floods your vision, momentarily blinding you, as the bathroom door is flung open. 

You stumble forward, nearly falling through the doorway. The only things that stops you from going arse-over-tits are Steven's solid frame and the fact that you faceplant square into the middle of his chest.

His hands go to your shoulders, helping to steady you, and it only takes a second to regain your footing. And then you find yourself staring up at your fuming boyfriend. 

Steven’s cheeks are flushed, chest heaving, and his beautiful messy curls are bouncing wildly on top of his head. He must’ve been well and truly hacked off at Marc, but at the sight of you the anger melts off of him. 

"Oh,” he says, blinking down at you in surprise, “hello, love. You’re back?” 

Turning back to the bathroom, Steven narrows his eyes pointedly at the mirror, then turns off the light and slides the door shut firmly behind him.

"How... uhm… how much of that did you overhear?" 

"Quite a bit," you admit, not bothering to beat around the bush. "I'm guessing Marc’s still refusing to come home then?" 

Steven gives an exasperated shake of his head. 

"He's being stubborn, as always."

You nod, but there’s a bitter clump stuck in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. Steven must notice your struggle, because his hands trail down the length of your arms until he finds yours and weaves your fingers together, squeezing lightly. 

"Don't worry, love. He'll come around eventually, yeah? He just needs time." 

Steven likes to say the two of you have all the time in the world, but you're beginning to wonder if even that would be enough.

The flickering light from the telly is swathing the bed and surrounding surfaces of Steven’s bookshelves in blues and whites. You’re staring blindly at the ocean scenery playing out before you, without really hearing any of the narration as Attenborough drones on about whale wildlife. 

You feel listless. You try to tell yourself that it’s just been a long day at work. Between Poppy stealing your lunch, (which she denies) and that three hour Teams call that nearly ended your will to live, it’s no wonder you’re ready for this day to end. 

But it’s more than that. 

‘It’s better for both of you that I’m not around’.

Marc had sounded so tired in the loo this morning, like he’s exhausted to the depths of his soul, and you hate that for him. Guilt swirls in your stomach, simmering until it curdles into irritation and then anger. 

You’re furious at the whole situation. 

You hate how angry and defeated he sounded. Can't stand the thought that he's doing something that hurts him to keep you and Steven “happy.” But most of all you hate that he’s alone again. By himself, trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders like the victim of some tragic Greek myth, condemned to a solitary existence by the gods for all of eternity. 

But your anger isn’t helping you right now, and it certainly doesn’t help Marc.

In fact, nothing you’ve been doing has helped him, has it? All your efforts to get him to come back: spam texting him, poisoning him with your toxic coffee, confessing your feelings… The only thing any of it has achieved is to make him feel cornered and miserable. 

It needs to stop. 

You need to stop. 

“You all right, love?” Steven’s voice near your ear pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts. 

“Hmm?”

Steven frowns at you from where he sits beside you on the sofa. 

“You seem… distracted. Is there something on your mind, love?” 

“Yes, sorry, I think I’m just–” you trail off mid-sentence, the screen catching your eye when you lift your head. The credits are rolling and must have been for quite some time without you even noticing. 

Without pressing you to finish your thought,

“Let’s go to bed, love. Call it an early night, yeah?” he asks with a gentle smile on his lips. 

Curling up in bed with Steven sounds perfect to you in this moment and you nod at him.  

It’s all he needs to start moving,  Steven stooping to gather up the blanket that’s pooled by your feet and reaches over your lap for the remote to turn off the telly. The room dims without the brightness of the screen, and Steven takes your hand, pulling you to your feet. He watches your progress surreptitiously, keeping his hand steady over yours like he’s a guide dog worried you’re going to trip over your own feet. 

He doesn’t let go until you’re safely sat down on your side of the bed, and even then he stays standing there with an uncertain look on his face, one hand hovering in mid-air, the other hanging by his side, fingers fidgeting. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” Steven finally asks, the words bursting out of him as if he’s unable to hold them in any longer. “What happened today, that is. About Marc, and what you overheard.” 

“Marc…,” you begin, and his name barely even leaves your lips before Steven is already nodding enthusiastically for you to continue. “He sounded really quite tired today, didn’t he? It must be hard for him to keep this up. I don’t know why he thinks he has to keep hiding like this.” 

Steven’s chewing on his bottom lip, and there it is again, the feeling that Steven knows so much more than he’s been telling you. You can practically see the weight of the phrase ‘I can’t tell you right now’ perched heavily on his features. 

You look down at your lap, fingers twisting into the blanket. But maybe, it isn’t hard to guess what it is neither of them are telling you. It’s Occam’s razor isn’t it? All things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. And maybe the simple explanation here is that Marc just… doesn’t want to see you. Whatever the reasons, he’s made that much abundantly clear, and you’ve gone and ignored all signs and pushed forward regardless. You told the man you loved him, and he didn’t say anything back. 

“I think that what I said on the phone–me telling him I love him—has probably only made things worse.” 

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you raise your eyes towards Steven again. 

“I just want him to know it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same about me. It’s all right if he doesn’t want this or– Or me. He doesn’t have to hide to avoid rejecting me or to spare my feelings. I don’t want him to be alone because of that. Can you… can you tell him that?”

Steven's eyes widens, and he shakes his head vigorously.  

“No. No, no, no, love. That is not what's happening here. That's not– The problem is– Marc is just–" He stumbles over his words a bit before spitting out tartly, "Just a right twit, is what he is." 

You can’t help the grunt-like snort that escapes, and the levity feels good. It’s nice to be able to laugh with Steven, even as glum as you are over the situation that you’re all stuck in. 

Your laugh must’ve pleased him, because he smiles back at you, eyes crinkling adorably. His shoulders relax too, and his hands stop their nervous fidgeting. 

Climbing knee-first onto the bed, Steven sits in front of you. His hand comes to yours, and he settles both your hands on top of your lap.

“Marc isn’t hiding away because he doesn’t feel the same about you.” 

Your face must show your scepticism, because Steven squeezes your fingers between his reassuringly as he continues. 

“Same body and all that, remember? I’m aware enough nowadays that I can usually feel what he feels when I’m not the one fronting.” 

"What does he feel?" You blurt out. It's a question that has been haunting you since your impromptu phone call confession. Longer even.

Steven hesitates, clearly torn, and it’s enough to make you realise what you've just asked of him. How unfair of a question it is.

"Sorry.” You grimace, your shoulders sagging. "I know you don't feel comfortable sharing things about Marc without him here. And I understand. It's okay. Really it is. It's..."

It's only right, isn't it? Of course it’s not for Steven to out Marc’s private matters. And what can be more personal than one’s inner thoughts and feelings?

"Oh, love," Steven says, voice impossibly gentle, “You're right that it's not my place to tell you.”

You nod, looking down at your lap, feeling like your whole chest has deflated. You know it's the right thing for him to do. You’re glad for it even—that he's looking out for Marc when Marc's not here to look out for himself—but you can’t help but feel disappointed all the same.

“Buuuut…” he continues, and your head whips up, searching his face with a tiny sprinkle of hope that perhaps there's still something Steven can share with you. 

“You heard what I said to him in there, right?” Steven prompts, and you nod. His fingers brush over yours, giving you the time to process. 

You try to remember everything you overheard, any other hints you’ve gleaned. How Marc always drinks your “awful” coffee. That he’d clutched onto his jacket after you’ve worn it. The shower. Your fingertips tingle all over again as the image of him in the shower tries to resurface in your mind. 

“Surely it’s obvious by now how Marc feels about you, isn’t it?” 

Steven looks so certain—like he can’t even begin to fathom why there would be any doubt about this—and you desperately want him to be right. Desperately want to think that Marc might care for you in return. 

He says it like all of the pieces of the puzzle are plainly there for you to see. And they should be, you suppose. Marc has shown you so many different sides of himself, and the conversation you overheard revealed more. The problem is that no matter how hard you try to mash the pieces together to make them fit… They don’t.

What Steven’s implying makes sense, and yet here the two of you are, alone. And Marc is still refusing to join you.

Despite everything, the picture before you is still somehow… incomplete. You can’t help but feel that there’s at least one more vital piece of information that you’re still somehow missing. 

“So why is he still hiding, then?” 

And there’s something there, in Steven’s reaction when you ask him. A quick, blink-and-you’d-miss-it flicker towards the direction of the fish tank. The only reflective surface, lit up as it is in the darkness of the room. 

“Steven?” you prompt loudly, fully intent on interrupting whatever tirade Marc is shouting at Steven. You lean forward, squeezing his hand for attention. “What is Marc saying to you? Why won’t he come back?”

Steven’s head whips back in your direction. His mouth is works, but no words come out, and he’s hesitating like he’s trying to decide how much he should tell you. 

“There are things that we—that Marc hasn't told you,” Steven finally says, eyes flicking to the fishtank again, then back to yours, holding your gaze earnestly. “Things that you ought to hear about from him. He doesn’t think he deserves– Well. He thinks that once you know about everything, you’ll walk away from us both. So he’s staying away. I guess in some way, he thinks he’s protecting me again. Buying me some time before it ends."

“That’s ridiculous!” you shout before you can stop yourself. “He can’t possibly know how I’ll react until he’s told me!” 

Your ears burn and you wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam coming out. Why can’t Marc just sit you down and tell you these things instead of making assumptions about what he thinks you would want? What he thinks would be best for you? It’s Steven and the goldfish all over again. 

“And, Steven,”—you look him right in the eye, because you don’t want there to be any doubt about this next part—”I love you. There is nothing Marc could tell me that would make me want to leave you, all right.”

Steven smiles, and even in the dark it’s warm enough to light up the whole room.

"Yes, love, I know.” His smile turns wry, “Like I said… a right twit."

It’s dark. 

Quiet. 

The world isn’t awake yet, and you’re not sure if you are either. You can’t even hear the London traffic outside. There’s too little light in here, and you can’t make out anything except vague shapes in the inviting darkness. You close your eyes again, ready to drift back to sleep. 

Fabric rustles nearby, a soft white noise like the raising of sails. It reminds you of visiting the beach as a child and putting your ear to the opening of a seashell. Everything sounds like it’s underwater.

The surface under you moves, rolling slightly, and then settles again, and it feels like you are out at sea on a small boat. Behind your eyelids, all you see is purple skies dusted with sugared stars. 

Someone is here on the boat with you, warm and sturdy against your side. For a moment or two, drunk on sleep as you are, you don’t quite know where you are or who the person is. All you know is that you feel happy and safe with them. 

The boat rocks again, the surface under you shifting, and the warmth moves away. You want it back. Before you can reach out, the soft weight covering you shifts like a wave, dragging against your hip as it rises up over your torso before settling again, tucked snugly under your chin. 

There are quiet, almost careful footsteps on wooden planks. Then the clink of metal like chains being dragged across the floor. 

It’s all so familiar somehow. 

Didn't there used to be a time when you'd often find yourself like this? Drowsy and half-conscious, pulled towards awareness by the quiet sounds of someone moving next to you, but too far under to fully wake? 

When did it stop?

Oh. Right. When Marc disappeared. 

This must be a dream then. Your brain processing and recycling old memories. Why else would you be out on the open sea? 

The noises stop. 

You can feel the moment drift, pulled away by the currents, but you’re not ready to wake up yet. There’s a long silence, where the dream threatens to slip beneath the inky depth of a wave. 

Squeezing your eyes firmly shut, you try to let yourself float gently on the current, hoping you can relax and prolong this dream. 

The surface you’re resting on dips, and something settles onto your shoulder. A solid, comforting weight. You know this feeling. It’s Marc’s hand, and it inspires the same feeling of safety it did last time, the last time you and Marc were together in person, after you'd cried yourself into exhaustion and he'd agreed to let you fall asleep in his bed. 

It feels nice. More than nice. It feels right.

You nuzzle your cheek into billowing warmth surrounding you that feels like a soft pillow and smells of fresh laundry detergent and coffee. You inhale deeply, sighing contently at the scent, trying to enjoy it while it lasts. 

You don’t want to give this up.

The weight lifts from your shoulder, and you almost rise up in protest, but something sweeps softly across your forehead. Those gentle fingertips, brush the hair from your eyes before coming to linger on your cheek. 

It's a bit funny, isn’t it? A bit cruel even, of your subconscious to conjure up a scenario where Marc’s touching your cheek tenderly like this. After all, isn’t this what you’d thought he might do that night? What you’d wanted him to do, even if you hadn’t known it then? To cup your cheek in his strong, warm hand; to hold you like you're precious to him, beloved, the same way that Steven does?

Marc’s hand moves away again, replaced by the gentle brush of soft lips and bristly stubble against your temple. It’s a barely-there touch, so light and fleeting that you might have imagined it, yet everything inside you aches like a tender bruise. Your skin tingles with an echo of lingering warmth.

You don’t dare to move; barely dare to breathe for fear that you’ll wake yourself up. Your chest constricts with a bittersweet longing that feels large enough to bury you whole. 

"I love you too," his quiet voice says, filling the silence.

Warmth blossoms in your stomach, pouring and pouring through you until you feel filled to the brim with happiness. You think you would be content to stay here, in this safe, quiet space, just basking in his loving presence forever.

For long moments, you do, sinking into the feeling of being loved by this grumpy, stubborn, confusingly gentle man.

Then you hear the heavy sigh.

"That's why I can't come back," he says, voice quiet, resigned, “I need you to be safe. And happy. I’ll make sure of that.”

The sea rises as his weight lifts away from you. The whole of the boat shifts unsteadily beneath you, tilting with the tumultuous waves. Set adrift by the unexpected and unwelcome turn the dream has taken, you’re convinced that the boat is going to tip over and capsize. That you’ll slip into the cracks between the planks of the deck and fall into the abyss, never to be seen again.

You reach out to grab the railing, trying to steady yourself. But where you expected a wooden ledge, hard and wet from seawater, your fingers grasp onto something soft and warm instead. It gives way easily under the grip of your hands, like cotton. Like sheets. 

Still you hold on tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable descent, and then…

Nothing.

Nothing happens. You’re still on steady ground. Still surrounded in the stillness of the dark night. The only sound is that of soft footsteps moving away and then the unmistakable click of the front door. 

Wait, what kind of dream is this?

Your eyes fly open, and you’re greeted to the sight of the wooden planks, mostly lost in shadow. The bottom of the deck? Are you in the ship’s hold? 

No, it’s the  lowered ceiling over Steven's bed. You’re in his flat.

There’s an ache in your shoulder from having rested on it too long, and you force yourself upright. Your eyelids feel crusty and dry, as though a desert has sprung up behind them overnight. They sting as you blink, wanting to seal closed again. 

Are you awake now? Or is this just another part of a dream? Ten seconds from now, will you find yourself back down on the mattress, forcing yourself to open your eyes all over again?

It’s dark in here, but that tells you nothing. In wintertime, dark can mean 5pm or 7am or anything in between. Turning to the side of the bed, you pat at the nightstand until you find your watch and raise it to your face, squinting in the darkness to make out the dials. 

Eight-thirty? That can’t be right. You and Steven fell asleep well past eight last night, and it’s too dark outside to already be eight in the morning. You reach over to the small lamp, holding the face of it up to the dim light. The arms counting the seconds is taking much longer than a second to hobble forwards. It’s desperately trying to tick along but it’s not doing a great job at keeping time accurately. 

You really need to fix the bloody thing. Or better yet, get a new one. Everything about it is falling apart. Still you fasten it to your wrist by habit before you move to get out of bed. 

With a heavy sigh, you dip one foot onto the floor, and hiss out an involuntary breath at the chill of it. Your shoulders clutch at the quilt tugging it closer around your shoulder.

Wait, this is…

Real.

The biting cold is definitely real. Not a dream; not your imagination. As fantastical as your dreams can sometimes be, your subconscious wouldn't have the attention to detail to replicate the energy bill crisis. 

Turning your head, your eyes drift to Steven’s side of the bed where he fell asleep curled up next to you. Except, he’s not there anymore. 

You reach out your hand, resting it on the spot of the mattress where he would have been lying. 

Still warm and toasty. 

He must’ve gotten up mere moments ago. The door to the loo is open and dark, so Steven’s not in there. He’s not anywhere, and Steven wouldn’t have left the flat without telling you. Must’ve been Marc then, gone wandering off into the night again.

Your neck prickles.

And all of a sudden you’re wide awake, realisation slamming into you like a runaway lorry.

Oh bloody hell, that wasn’t a dream. It was real. 

Marc was really here. 

He really– 

Oh god!

Shoving the comforter away, you leap to your feet. The cold draft in the room punches the air out of your lungs, but you ignore it and focus on trying to find your clothes and dress as quickly as possible. In your haste, you ricochet off one of the bookcases and have to clumsily pat things back into place to avoid an avalanche of Steven’s mess, picking the first pair of boots that is within reach and your coat. Then you’re out of the front door with a loud slam behind you. 

To be continued.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow @astroboots-writes and turn on notifs 🤡💖🤡

[fettuccin-e]

It's Never Easy

Kinktober Day 24: Edging

Tags: Steven Grant x Reader x Marc Spector x Jake Lockley, yeah that's right they're all here baby, afab!fem!reader, oral and fingering (f!recieving), unprotected piv (wrap it irl I am begging you), edging, crying during sex, orgasm denial (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: Yeah that's right the boys are back in town, and by that I mean all three moonboys. They're all little shits and I adore them (For Kinktober, I've been using this list from flightlessangelwings!)

You think that you’re finally wearing Steven down.

He’s been at this for hours now, you think, burying himself between your thighs and losing himself like he never wants to leave. He’s fucking incessant when he gets you like this, licking at your cunt until his eyes have glazed over and he’s grinding slowly into the bedsheets. He moans when you tug at his hair, the vibrations from it going up your spine.

“Fuck, Steven, I need-” you moan, your chest heaving with the way Steven sucks your clit into his mouth, licking at you in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your hips hump into his face, chasing the sensation. “I can’t, fuck, I’m gonna- think I’m gonna-”

He pulls his face away just like that, watching as you shout, your hips grinding into nothing but air as your pleasure and your orgasm dissipate. He holds your thighs apart and just looks at the way you tremble, his eyes wide and a blush high on his face.

“That’s it, darling, so fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, and you grind your teeth together. This is the third time, the third fucking time, he’s done that. Gotten you so close, your body locking up and threatening to fall off that precipice, before he pulls himself away, leaving you with nothing.

It’s fucking maddening, and Steven just watches, squeezing at his thick cock as it aches between his legs.

“Please, Steven,” you whine, high pitched and needy. “Need you to let me cum, fuck, please let me cum.” You sound so pitiful, so desperate, that Steven’s eyes soften at your begging.

“Oh, I know, love,” he murmurs, sliding a thick finger up the seam of your cunt. “Need it so bad, yeah? It’s okay, darling, I’ll let you cum,”

You nearly sob with relief when he leans back down and sucks your clit into his mouth, sinking two fingers into your entrance. He’s relentless, playing with your clit with his tongue, nudging the tips of his fingers into a little spot inside of you that makes you want to cry. Your orgasm surges back up inside you without warning, and you can’t fucking breathe.

You brace yourself for him to do it again, to pull away when you start babbling, “Gonna cum, fuck, please let me cum,” between heaving moans. But Steven doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow down, and you start to smile with the fact that he’s actually going to let you have it this time without pulling away.

Except, he does pull away.

You cry out as Steven’s head shoots up from between your legs again, but you can only watch as his eyes roll to the back of his head, his jaw clenched.

Marc looks up at you from his place between your thighs, a cocky little smirk playing at his lips. 

“Oh baby,” he says, and his voice is gruff, dark, so unlike Steven’s. “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” You gasp for air as Marc sinks a third finger into you, and he grins. 

“So pretty when you’re almost fucking there, sweetheart,” Marc murmurs, and he leans close to brush his lips against yours in a whisper of a kiss. “Whining, pleading for us to just let you cum. Steven was going to let it happen, put an end to your misery, but me?” He fucks his hand into you so hard that you choke on a moan. “I like seeing you squirm.”

And the process starts over again.

Marc fucks you on his fingers without a hint of remorse, driving into your g-spot in violent, debilitating thrusts that have you reeling.

You get so close so many fucking times, over and over and over again, your body drawn tight with the overwhelming need to cum. You beg, plead, gripping the bedsheets so hard that you fear you might tear them. But Marc. Doesn’t. Stop.

Every time he feels it, that tell-tale tightening of your body, hears the way you start to go quiet as you focus on finally falling over that precipice, he pulls his hand out of you without any finesse, any mercy.

Around the third time he does it, you really do start to cry, sobbing for Marc to finally let you cum, that you need it so bad it hurts.

“Can’t- it’s too much, Marc, please, please let me, need it so ba-ad,” you hiccup through your moans, tears bubbling up in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks.

Marc leans down and kisses them away, cooing at you as he grinds the calloused tips of his fingers into the most sensitive parts of your cunt.

“Okay, sweet girl, I’ve got you, come on,” he murmurs, his thumb coming up to press against your clit, grinding little circles into it and sending you fucking flying. “Don’t cry, baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank-” you’re in the middle of thanking him, practically tasting your orgasm on your desperate tongue, when Marc’s eyes roll back, and his hand rips away from your cunt.

“No,” you whine, choking on your tears as your body quakes beneath his, “no, no, please.” You’re practically hysterical, desperate for it after so fucking long, after Steven and Marc have shredded you apart.

“Princesa,” Jake grins down above you, unmistakable with his dark gaze and a smile that is purely fucking primal, feral. “If you think you’re going to cum on anything but my cock, you’re wrong.”

And you can only gasp at Jake notches the thick, leaking head of his cock against your gaping entrance, and shoves himself in to the hilt.

You scream, your back bending into an obscene arch as he fills you up so perfectly. 

“Jake, Jake,” you sob through labored breaths, “I can’t, it’s been, I don’t know how long it’s been, please, please. I need to cum, fuck, ‘m begging.”

“Oh, my beautiful girl,” Jake croons, “Of course you can.”

Of course you can. Like you’ve had permission all along, like it was that easy. Like you haven’t been broken apart by each of them, over and over again, reduced to a sobbing, shaking mess beneath their body.

He’s only one, two thrusts in, but you’re coming anyway, screaming with it as tears flow down your cheeks. Your entire body locks up with it, your cunt squeezing tight around Jake’s cock in rhythmic pulses that have him clutching painfully at your hips. Sweet, sweet relief fills your body, like water in a desert, the sun after a hurricane. It’s fucking bliss, incomparable, absolutely debilitating.

“Mierda, that’s fucking beautiful, fuck,” Jake growls, and he presses into your body so deep you think you can feel it in your stomach, and pumps you full of his cum. “Good girl,” you hear him mutter, “Good fucking girl,” before darkness grows into the edges of your vision and quickly swallowing it whole, leaving you to fall into pitch black oblivion.

When you finally come back to yourself, you feel warm, safe. It’s no surprise to you, since you usually feel that way in this flat, in this bed.

“I didn’t fucking kill her, Steven,” you hear Jake growl. “She’s breathing just fine. And don’t act innocent, you and I both know that you worked her just as hard as Marc and I did.”

“And you all better pamper me,” you croak, still refusing to open your eyes, “As soon as I take a nap.”

“Hermosa,” you hear Jake breathe, and you feel his lips press to your forehead. You crack open your eyes to meet Jake’s gaze, his eyes wide and more worried than he usually lets on. “Are you alright? You- you passed out.” he asks, and you giggle.

“Never been better,” you murmur. “But any of you try that shit again, it’s no sex for a fucking year.”

Jake grins in that roguish way that makes your heart flutter. "As if you could resist any of us for that long, mi vida."

[januaryembrs]

Any fluffy sweet Drabble about the moon boys 🫡

SWEET MORNINGS | Marc Spector x reader

description: the boys wake up to their girlfriend making breakfast, too bad she has no clue which boy is fronting that morning

length: 1.1k

warnings: representation of DID, Marc's slight self loathing (it's Marc idk what to say). Writer has never experienced DID so I am going off the show

He woke up peacefully, which had once been a fleeting dream in itself for a man like him. He’d spent years jumping at the smallest sounds, flinching at voices and footsteps, ready to be up and out of bed within a moment’s notice. Yet, when his eyes slowly blinked out of the reverie of sleep, he heard her humming along to the radio, already half way through the song, heard her socks sliding against the kitchen floor as she whirled around the stove, and the smell of pancakes and coffee hit him with full force. 

His lips drew into a smile before he even knew it, and he was drawing the covers back, her side of the bed not entirely freezing which told him she’d been up about twenty minutes. Marc grabbed his shirt off the floor, the same one Steven used to sprinkle with sand when he had no idea about their coexistence, only two years later, it was scrubbed clean, even with a pretty, knit rug you’d bought from your apartment when you moved in. 

Tugging it over his head, he padded into the living room, where he could already see your form where you danced around the kitchen, entirely unaware of his approach. He’d been trying to teach you self defence, said you needed to learn to have a sixth sense when it came to people on your tail, because he had a tendency to worry about you more than Steven and Jake did. But maybe it was the fact he had naturally light footsteps, or maybe it was the fact you knew in the comfort of your home he would always be there to protect you, either way your guard was entirely down by the time he swooped behind you, grabbing you in a warm, soft hug, pressing kisses down the side of your bare neck and onto your shoulder. 

“Morning,” His voice was muddied with sleep, and he cleared his throat, hoping to take some of the husk out of it despite the fact you whirled around to look at him with something that told him just what you thought of his rumbling voice. 

“Morning, honey,” You said, pressing a small kiss to his lips, your hand still on the frying pan that he now realised had been filled with mini-chocolate pancakes, the batter sizzling and cracking in the oil, “You hungry?” 

Marc wasn’t really listening as he gave a ‘mhm’, too busy burying his nose in the crook of your neck and jaw, kissing lazily there as he tightened his grip on your waist. 

His gaze fell on the counter after a moment, the blueberry porridge Steven went crazy for already dished up in the little purple bowl you’d painted for him for their birthday, whirled of steam coming off the breakfast that was slowly turning a cornflour colour with the chopped fruit swirling in the centre. 

“Sorry, baby, I think Steven’s still sleeping, I can try ask him-” He started as you used a spatula to quickly flip the pancakes, their underside a golden brown that made his mouth water.

“Oh, don’t worry. I wasn’t sure who was joining me for breakfast, or if all of you wanted something, so I made a bit of everything,” You said, smiling at him as you turned the gas down and spun in his arms, batting your eyes at him with an innocent smile, “Chocolate pancakes for you, blueberry oatmeal for Steven and a black coffee for Jake since I know you guys got mad last time we had bacon together,”

“What a woman,” Jake’s voice was a growl of appreciation that Marc couldn’t help but agree with, and he was quick to lean in to steal a handful of long kisses, grabbing the soft plush of your hips with feather light fingers and pulling you towards him, “Ay, Romeo, your pancakes are burning.”

You sprung away from him like you’d heard the alter yourself, your eyes wide in surprise, “Your pancakes are burning!” 

He heard Jake chuckle and a smile made it’s way onto his face as you fretted over whether the brown was where the chocolate had melted or if the mix had singed, but Marc thought he might just eat anything you gave him because you poured so much love and affection into it he couldn't help but think it tasted divine. 

“Marc, I’m sorry, I know we have the no hogging the body rule and I got to have her all last night, but please let me have just a few bites- o-or atleast ask her to save it for me, that stuff smells delicious,” Steven seemed to be wide awake and kicking at the sight of food, and Marc sighed, reaching out with one hand to swoop your hair off your neck as he kissed the very top of your spine. 

“Steven asks if we could save him the blueberry oatmeal since it’s my turn to spend time with you,” He said gently, and he feels you smile before he sees it, the way your cheeks crinkle and pull tightly. 

“Of course I can, baby, I’ll put it in the fridge,” You said, despite the fact the man was inside the body, scooping the little circular goods onto two plates for both of you. Turning to set the plates on the table, Marc grabbed two glasses out of the cabinet, opening the fridge door with a rattle as the magnets clasped pictures of the two of you to the cooler. 

“Orange or apple juice?” He asked, pulling the former out of the side drawer for himself. 

“Orange, please,” You replied politely, grabbing some cutlery out and laying it beside his plate. 

The two of you sat down finally, Marc sliding the filled glass over to your half of the dinner table and allowing himself to just watch as you picked up your knife and fork, digging into the chocolatey breakfast before it went cold. 

He never deserved any of this, the light touches and the breakfasts and the devotion and the way you put him on a pedestal. But sitting in the slow hum of the radio, the most obscure top hundreds playlist he thinks you could have chosen, he bit into his pancake, his tongue exploding with sugary yumminess, as you told him the weird dream you’d had about him becoming some kind of half horse, centaur type man and how you wondered if he would wear jeans on the front legs, the back legs, or if you would have to have custom, four legged bottoms made for him. 

The two of you laughed, because he didn’t quite understand what had gotten him so lucky as to end up with you. He could get used to all this.

[loserboysandlithium]

Let’s Play Pretend: ex boyfriend Eddie one shot

Minors dni, angst, I haven’t done any angst in a while so I’m sorry if this is shit 😂 I needed a good practice run and hopefully someone will enjoy it 🖤🖤🖤

*******

Okay, I can do this. Just breathe.

Thanksgiving. Your mom expected Eddie to be there. He’s been there by your side for the past three years. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell her about the breakup. It was too hard. You still couldn’t truly wrap your head around it. How did we end up here?

Eddie pulls uncomfortably at the collar of his sweater, borrowed from the one and only Steve Harrington, as you both stand at the door of your mom’s house.

“You didn’t have to wear that.. she knows you Eddie.” you speak for the first time since he picked you up.

“Just wanted to look nice, ya know? Not like the asshole who broke your heart…” Eddie’s voice trails off as his gaze falls to his feet. His big black combat boots a stark contrast to his cream colored sweater. How does he manage to pull even this off?

“We said we weren’t gonna talk about it, Eddie. You promis-”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I’m sorry. I just- this is weird okay?” he mumbles.

He’d agreed, semi reluctantly, to play pretend for one night. Put on a happy face for your mom. Just one night. One dinner. Surely you could make it through, right?

You hear footsteps behind the door and take a deep breath as you reach over, sliding your hand into Eddie’s. The simple gesture making your heart ache. His calloused fingers, the chill of his rings, so familiar to you once. You hear the top lock click just as Eddie’s brown eyes meet yours.

He gives you a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ready, pumpkin?” he whispers, his old nickname for you suddenly sending you into a spiral. Fuck, pull it together. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

The door swings open, revealing your mother and you smile big, probably too big in an attempt to hide your true emotions. Your mind is swirling, flashbacks of you and Eddie filling your thoughts as you try to push them away.

“Are y’all ready to eat?” Your mother’s sweet southern accent easing your racing thoughts just a bit. You nod, releasing Eddie’s hand to embrace your mother.

“I know my boy is ready, and I made your favorite.” your mom smiles warmly as she takes Eddie in her arms next. You watch as he hugs her, squeezing tight. He’s always loved your mom. Always felt right at home. Soaking up the attention she gave him every time he was over.

“Thanks, Ma.” he answers softly, clinging just a little tighter than usual before pulling away. His eyes look glossy. Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He swallows hard, glancing your way once more before he excuses himself to the bathroom, the tear falling down his cheek only spotted by you.

Your mom ushers you into the kitchen as you begin to grab the dishes, carrying them to the large wooden table in the dining room. She’s rambling as usual, “I’ve missed you, baby.” “How are things?” “Eddie looks handsome as ever.” “Is that Steven’s sweater?” “Anything new?” Her last question hits hard as she wiggles her ring finger playfully.

You give her a small smile and a fake giggle as you shake your head no. “Mom, stop.” you groan.

“It’s gonna happen, baby. I just know it.” she reassures, leaning down to kiss your cheek. There was a time where that was all you wanted. You thought about it constantly. What ring would he get? How would he propose? The fantasies had run rampant in your mind. He was the one. He was supposed to be the one.

“Everything looks incredible.” Eddie’s voice appears suddenly from behind you shaking you from your thoughts. Then you feel his touch. His hand resting on your lower back as he pulls you into him slightly.

It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend.

He’s so close. You can smell his cheap cologne mixed with cigarettes and weed. Your favorite combo. You allow yourself to lean in a little closer, your eyes shutting softly as you brush against his chest.

His heart is fucking pounding.

The oven beeps and your mom claps her hands excitedly as she announces that the turkey is done. She disappears into the kitchen, leaving you and Eddie alone for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“You doing okay?” he whispers, gently titling your head to look up at him.

No.

“M’ fine.” you reply instead. You can’t look away. His eyes drawing you in as always. His pretty lips. His brow furrowed slightly. He’s so fucking close.

“I’m not, if it makes you feel any better.” he says bluntly, his eyes still on yours.

“Eddie..”

“Okay kiddos. Time to eat.” your mom sings, placing the small turkey on the table as you all take your seats.

****

You spend the night playing along. Eddie making his usual jokes, your mom smiling and laughing, talking about memories of the past few years. Eddie’s hand rests on your thigh under the table, making your body tingle.

“God, I remember that.” Eddie chuckles, his genuine laugh something you haven’t heard in so long. Now when you talk, it’s always a fight. Screaming and crying. Or just another hate fuck. But it was never just that. And you both knew it.

You look over at his pretty smile, his eyes look light, his body relaxed. Everything felt almost normal again. But it isn’t real. None of it is real anymore.

After dinner, you hug your mom goodbye. Eddie kissing her cheek softly as he promises to see her soon.

Then you’re in his van. The light atmosphere fading back into your bleak reality as he drives you home. He tries to make small talk. Even tries to keep the earlier conversations going. Memories of your good times. They were the best times. But you have to stay strong.

He pulls into your drive, shutting of the van, landing you in a uncomfortable silence. “I should go.” you say quickly before he takes you off guard, leaning down to kiss you. You shove him off, doing your best to control your emotions.

“I just thought maybe we could..”

“I can’t, Eddie. Not tonight. I’m sorry.” you mumble, grabbing your bag from the floorboard of his van.

“Yeah.. yeah okay. Only when you want some dick, right?” he grumbles, his response making all of your feelings from the night explode out of you.

“Did tonight mean nothing to you? Did you not feel it? Do I mean nothing to you?”

“Of course I fucking felt it! My heart feels like it’s being ripped in two. Do you think that was fun for me? Playing pretend? A happy fucking family? I miss you. I miss us. You know that!” Eddie shouts, running his fingers through his dark curls.

“That isn’t fair.” you grit your teeth, begging for the tears to stay in place but it’s too late. They stream down your face in little rivers, blurring your vision as you try to compose yourself but it’s no use.

“I know I fucked up…” he starts and you just shake your head.

“I can’t do this Eddie. Please don’t do this.” you beg, your heart already shattering into a thousand pieces.

His firm hands cup your face, forcing you to look into his eyes. Those pretty eyes. His face matches yours, heartbroken, tears falling onto his chest, silently begging you to give in. To take him back. To forgive and forget.

You close the gap in between you, pressing your lips to his, tasting the salt from his tears as you kiss him gently.

He was supposed to be the one.

You pull back, resting your forehead against his for just a moment before wiping your tears.

“I can’t, Eddie. I’m sorry.”

[starshideurfics]

Little Steve who gets lost on a shopping trip in Chicago once. He’s bored and wanders towards a window display while his mommy is at the perfume counter, everything is so neat and perfectly in place. By the time he turns around, he can’t see his mommy anywhere.

Steve takes a deep breath and starts walking, ready to go looking for her, only to realize just how big the department store is. He’s overwhelmed and ducks into the middle of a clothing rack, curling up into a little ball, his lip wobbling as he makes peace with the fact he will have to live at the department store. He knows there’s food there because they already had lunch, and they walked past a whole department full of candy. There are little beds in the home department that will be just the right size for him, even if Mommy always says he shouldn’t climb on them and not to embarrass her. There’s even a giant teddy bear in the toy department, so really, living here won’t be so bad!

“Steve! Stevie! Oh my god! Steven!”

Steve perks up. That’s his mommy. He crawls out from under the rack, through a curtain of suit coats.

“Mommy!” He runs to her and she crouches down to pull him into her arms.

She cries as she holds him and apologizes, words more for herself than for Steve. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I thought you were right next to me. Oh god! What if something had happened to you?”

He gets a new toy truck, a nice one with working doors, and Mommy holds his hand the rest of the trip. They get ice cream. It’s the best day ever, and Steve was only scared for a minute.

A month later, Steve is bored at home. Daddy is in his office and Mommy is on the phone.

Every time he tries to talk to Mommy she says, “Not now, Steve. Mommy’s busy.” Daddy’s office door is locked.

So, Steve decides to run away. If he’s missing, Mommy will want to find him and hold him close. He puts on his shoes, carefully tying the bows on his laces, and leaves.

The sliding door into the backyard is quiet as he closes it behind himself, and he sets off with a determined gait.

Steve makes it far enough into the woods that he can’t see his house anymore. Then far enough that he comes out on a field that he doesn’t recognize. Another little boy is in the field, very focused as he stares at a patch of clover. “What are you doing?” Steve asks as he approaches.

“Catching moths!” The boy points to an open mason jar with leaves and twigs inside, then to the clover, a handful of white and yellow moths among the plants. He smiles at Steve, a gap where one of his baby teeth has already fallen out, then turns back to the clover, taking slow steps and crouching, trapping a moth between his cupped hands. “Can you grab the jar?”

Steve does, holding it carefully as the older boy places the moth inside, holding a hand over the jar’s mouth. “Thanks! My name’s Eddie, what’s yours?”

“Steve.”

“Wanna help me catch some more?”

“Yeah!”

Together, the boys catch a few more moths (Eddie catches all of them, Steve keeps scaring them by moving too fast). Eddie puts them in the jar, closing the lid, holes already punched in the metal, and they watch the little insects walk along the twigs and languidly flap their wings. Then Eddie unscrews the lid, giggling as the moths fly away.

“Why’d you do that? We worked so hard!”

“Moths can’t live in jars. Mama always says I can look but I can’t keep ‘em,” Eddie answers with a smile. Then Steve’s stomach growls loudly, and Eddie looks up to see how low the sun already is in the sky. “I’m hungry too. It’s almost dinner time, so we should head home.”

“I don’t know how to get home,” Steve says softly, suddenly realizing he got pretty turned around in the woods and home could be anywhere.

Eddie takes Steve’s hand. “That’s okay, you can come with me!” Eddie knows exactly what to do, leading Steve with all the confidence of a six-year-old, ready to start 1st grade next month. They quickly arrive at the trailer park, Eddie knocking at a door before walking straight inside, tugging Steve after him. “Uncle Wayne!”

“Hey there, Bug, who’s your friend?” Eddie’s uncle is tall, with kind eyes. Even if Eddie hadn’t brought him there, Steve’s pretty sure he would like Uncle Wayne.

“This is Steve.”

“Steve’s folks know where he is?”

“He doesn’t know how to get home.”

“Ah, shhh—” Wayne winces, cuts himself short, and Steve’s pretty sure he was gonna say a bad word. “Steve, do ya know your phone number?” Wayne asks, crouching down to be eye-level with the boys.

“No…” That’s a lie. But he needs to make sure Mommy and Daddy are worried about him. If he gets sent home too soon, they’ll just be mad.

“Your address?”

“No.”

“How about your last name?”

Steve just shakes his head, tears welling in his eyes. He had so much fun with Eddie, and now everything is falling apart. He should have stayed home…

Wayne ruffles his hair. “It’ll be okay, kiddo. We’ll get you home.” Steve’s stomach growls again. “How about we have a snack? Everything looks better on a full stomach.”

Eddie is still holding Steve’s hand, and brings him over to the little table, letting go so they can climb onto chairs. Wayne gives them chocolate-covered mini donuts and orange soda, asking them about their afternoon, Eddie doing most of the talking.

Then the phone rings, and Wayne answers. “No, he’s here, Bets, Eddie’s with me. — What?” He turns to look at the boys, staring at Steve, before continuing, “Nope, you saved me some trouble. You know Eddie, he picked up a stray. — Pretty sure it is. Yep, I’ll drop Eddie off after.” He hangs up, smiling again. “Hey, Steve, I think I know how to get you home now, so don’t you worry.”

Wayne loads the boys into his truck. He drives the backroads, quickly arriving outside Steve’s house, his mommy throwing open the door when she notices their arrival. “Thank you,” Steve says quickly, scrambling out of the truck and running to his mother.

She holds him close and cries, yells her thanks. Steve waves goodbye to Eddie as he is carried inside. Mommy kisses his hair and tells him he isn’t allowed to go outside without telling her, that he scared her half to death.

Steve just hides his face against her shoulder, snuggling close.

When Daddy gets home he yells, scolds Steve for causing so much trouble, for scaring Mommy and making them call the police. He gets a spanking before be sent to his room for the night.

Steve never runs away again.

[moonknightsonata]

Acts of Service

pairing: moon system x reader, marc x reader centered

summary: You learn Steven and Jake’s love languages quickly, Marc’s takes a little longer to realize but it doesn’t surprise you.

cw: not many, a brief non-explicit mention of sex, Marc getting anxious about your relationship

wc: 1199

a/n: Happy new year! This is not beta read, my first time writing for the moon boys and also my first time posting and sharing a fic in probably like 5+ years. Please let me know if I’ve missed any warnings, and let me know what you think! I tried keeping the reader as inclusive as I could, but please let me know if I slipped up with anything.

—

When you first started seeing the system, they all showed affection in similar ways. Holding hands, chaste kisses, flowers at the start of dates and walking you home at the end of them. They each had their own ways of going about it, but at the start all 3 of them were stereotypical in their affection.

Now, months later, you could easily tell each of the boy’s love languages.

Steven fluttered between quality time and words of affirmation. He was a romantic at heart, so in reality, he would do anything you asked of him, really. But you could tell he was happiest just being near you, telling you how much he loved you, and hearing the words in return.

Date night with Steven would be art galleries, museum tours, site seeing, or just walking around the markets hand in hand. Cafe’s and bookshops for rainy days, which there were plenty of in London, filled weekends with him where you could just sit in each other’s company and read besides one another.

Jake was the master of physical touch. You think it’s because he didn’t have as much time fronting as the other two, and his only physical touch with humans up until the three started getting along was when he took over the body in emergencies like in Cairo. When Jake was fronting, his hands were always on you.

Jake always had his arm on you when in public. Around your shoulder, or on your waist, he didn’t have a preference as long as he had you in his arm in some way. You liked to compare him to a livestock dog. Not like sheepdogs who herded them, but like a pyrenees that would fight a wolf off a lamb.

He was also the most handsy in the bedroom.

Marc took the longest to pinpoint his love language. Mostly due to the fact that he was the last to open up to a relationship with you.

You had met Steven first, dated Steven first, and then met Jake and Marc along the way. The relationship with Jake blossomed easily, but Marc still had walls he had built standing steady, that he wasn’t ready to break down yet. For a while even, you weren’t sure he liked you. After anxieties about it were aired out, Marc reassured you he did like you, he was “just shit at showing it” as he had put it. He hadn’t wanted to get close, mess things up with you and risk everything Steven and Jake had with you. That was the turning point for you and Marc’s relationship.

You thought it was behind you, until you noticed Marc’s odd behavior one day.

“Marc, baby, are you alright?” You asked him, leaning against the kitchen counter as he washed dishes.

“Hm?” He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, nodding as he kept his attention mostly on the pan he was scrubbing. “Yea, fine, why’d you ask?”

“Because you’ve been scrubbing that pan for about 10 minutes now. I think it’s clean.” You smiled softly, as his brow scrunched when he realized.

“Fine… yeah. I just… you know I love you?” He finished his sentence more like a question.

“Of course I know. I love you too.” You moved closer to him, putting a hand on his cheek to look him in the eyes. “What brought this about?”

“I don’t… I don’t say it enough. When we met you weren’t even sure I liked you, and now I don’t even say I love you as often as Jake or Steven do. So I just…” Marc lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand to his hair, pushing his curls out of his face as he steps away from you. You give him his space, you know when he needs it. To work out emotions without feeling suffocated or closed in.

“Just thought maybe you weren’t sure again.”

Marc avoids looking directly at your face as you look at his. You understand him, more than you probably know, which scares Marc. Not in a bad way, but scares him in a way he can’t believe there was someone out there who could.

Which is why what you say shouldn’t surprise him, but it does anyway.

“You don’t have to say it in the same way Steven or Jake do for me to know.” You start softly. “You have a different way of showing it, than they do.”

Marc’s eyebrows furrow, even more than the wrinkled brow he usually has.

He can only describe the look on your face that you give him as adoring, as you continue.

“The days that you front, you’re always up before me. Whether you’re an early riser or you never really fell asleep that night - you know exactly how to make my coffee in the morning and I always wake up to a cup made the way I like sitting on the counter waiting for me.

“I also know that it isn’t Jake who had my car’s oil changed, or the tires rotated a couple weeks ago.”

Marc shrugs at that one, mumbles something that you think is “That’s not a big deal.”

As you tell him all this, you can’t believe it took you this long to realize that Marc’s love language was acts of service. Because of course it was. Marc, the giver. Marc, who always felt he needed to prove his worth and make up for sins of his past, by any means necessary. Your Marc, who did so much for you without expecting a ‘thank you’ because that was how he showed he cared.

You kept going with more examples.

“Last week I forgot my umbrella and my lunch in the apartment and you came all the way to my job to drop them off for me.” You wrap your arms around Marc’s waist at this, resting your head against him in a hug.

“Or, when it’s cold, you always turn my heated blanket on the bed while I’m doing my night time routine, so that the bed is nice and warm by the time I climb in. And when -“ You could keep going, listing the things you notice Marc does for you, but he stops you with flushed cheeks.

“Okay, okay, I get it. I do a lot for you.” He chuckles, rolling his eyes playfully as he wraps his arms around you to return the hug. “I like taking care of you.”

“You take care of me because you love me.”

Marc nods, kissing your forehead. “Yeah, I do. I’m just sorry I don’t say it more.”

“I don’t need you to. It’s nice to hear, but I still know it. You show me every day.” You smile, leaning in to give him a kiss, which Marc gratefully returns.

“And I’ll continue to show you every day, until you get tired of me.”

“I’d never get tired of you, baby. You, Jake and Steven are all stuck with me.”

Marc laughs. “Stuck with you? Making it sound like that’s a bad thing. Honey, I think you’re the one ‘stuck’ with the three of us.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Having the most hilarious little thoughts about Richard Harrington making a deal with demon!Eddie, trading wealth and success in exchange for his firstborn. 

The Harringtons climb the social ladder, Richard’s business thrives. Little Steven is born, grows up … and nothing ever happens, so they sort of put it out of their minds and never tell him about how they sold him off to a creature from the underworld before he was even conceived. 

The day after Steve’s 18th birthday, they return from a business trip to find their son frantically cleaning up the remains of a party. They’re three minutes into a lecture on how there’s soda and chips all over the expensive carpet when Eddie materializes in the middle of the living room, ready to collect his prize. 

Chaos ensues. 

Steve is freaking out. Why is that red-eyed, black-clad weirdo lounging on their couch, chunky boots up on the table as if he owns the place? Why is he looking at him like he’s a particularly tasty piece of meat? Why does the guy only need to snap his fingers and Steve finds himself straddling his lap, one ring-clad hand groping his ass? What the actual fuck is going on? 

The Harringtons are not amused. They have invested so much money into Steve over the years, thinking that Eddie had forgotten all about them, and NOW he shows up? Eddie just shrugs, idly playing with a lock of Steve’s hair. He never specified WHEN he’d come back, did he? What would he have wanted with a baby, anyhow? What is he, a daycare? 

“We thought you wanted to eat him!” blurts Mrs. Harrington, and Eddie just absolutely loses his shit. 

What the fuck is WRONG with those people? They thought he ATE babies? And they were still fine with giving him theirs? Holy fucking shit, humans are disgusting! This is it, deal’s off, he’s taking their wealth and success away again. No, the boy is still coming with him, do they honestly expect him to just up and leave him in this shithole? No fucking way! Oh, and they better never try and summon him again or those incriminating documents will find their way to the tax authorities! 

And that is how Steve finds himself living with a sassy, strangely kind-hearted demon who may or may not own his soul - they’re still trying to figure out the specifics of that. 

# hype's demon!Eddie fic

Part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

[munsooooon]

Steve hates very much to be called "Steven" not even as a joke, he has not talked about it with anyone but implicitly everyone senses it in some way or another and therefore they do not call him that way, it is always Steve or Harrington or some nickname. That's because when his parents called him that it was because they were incredibly angry or drunk and therefore punished him in horrible ways, when they called him Steven he usually ended up getting beaten up. When they called him Steven in public it was enough to make him freeze and make him shiver, eventually he would be silent and terrified for the rest of the evening.

Now being older if someone calls him Steven, he immediately assumes they are fighting with him or that he did something wrong and depending on the situation or the person he will react with sadness or anger, for example, when Tommy called him Steven, it ended in a awful fist fight. It really makes him feel very bad, in recent years sadness is what he felt the most when he hears his name, because it hurts him too much to disappoint the people he loves.

Eddie doesn't know it, but he doesn't call him Steven either, it's always a nickname or Stevie, or Steve or even Harrington. Until one night, when they were in Steve's room kissing fiercely and passionately, Steve was under him doing whatever it took to feel Eddie rubbing his skin, between gasps and accelerated breaths, every little movement Eddie made or every little touch Steve felt, he reacted effusively with his whole body shuddering, he was and felt hypersensitive, he couldn't keep still.

"Steven" Eddie whispered with softness and a beautiful smile, Steve looked at him surprised. "Stay still, I need to take your clothes off, love"

Steve loved that. It was the first time someone pronounced his name with such love. He stood for a few seconds, processing what was happening. He began to shake in anticipation of what Eddie might give him. His brain was short-circuited, and all he could think of was Eddie calling him "Steven" with that authority and that beautiful softness that only he had. He felt loved.

"Are you okay? Do you want us to stop?"

Steve took a few seconds to appreciate him, ran his face gently, because the words wouldn't come out even though they were in his throat. He was always silent when he shouldn't be but he couldn't help it.

Eddie kissed the hand that was on his face, not intending to go any further, and Steve melted once again, he wanted to speak and express loudly the pleasure the other boy was making him feel but he couldn't. Instead, he took Eddie's hand and directed it to his pants to make him feel what he had provoked, to make him understand that he didn't want to stop.

"No, I don't want to stop" Steve said as he sat on Eddie's lap. "Call me Steven again, just you, just you Eddie, call me love, baby, tell me I'm your princess and never stop"

Steve was incredibly loud that night, moving his hips against Eddie's lap, trying to fuck himself harder, deeper. He spoke his name softly and lovingly, until he began to cry, begged for more as tears flooded his face. Eddie held him tight with his arms to keep him right where he wanted him but also to keep him safe to hold him as he released a weight he seemed to be carrying for years.

Eddie couldn't utter a word, it was unbelievable. Eddie was always loud and Steve was quieter, but in the dark, in the security of their love, Steve could be whatever he wanted and could act however he wanted, so he was being loud as he wished because in Eddie's arms no one could punish him.

"You're such a good boy, don't you?" Eddie says softly.

"Yeah?" Steve asks as he chases Eddie, he moans loudly as Eddie once again hits that place on his body, his mouth stays open as he moves on Eddie, soft sounds keep coming out of his mouth, he closes his eyes, because he can feel Eddie all over his body, even though he moves slowly.

"Yeah. You're so sweet, my baby boy, I can't even explain how much I love you, princess"

Steve smiles with his eyes closed. He looked precious, his cheeks were flushed, his lips red, and somehow the tears made him incredibly beautiful.

....

Steve still hates being called that, he finally confessed it to Eddie but also gave him permission to call him that on special occasions. Plus, he told him that he would love to tell his parents what he does with the traumas they caused him. Because now every time he's called Steven it's because he's loved, because he's revered and because he's being fucked incredibly well.

Steve get his name back, Steven belonged to him and Eddie.

[pygmi-cygni]

couldn't resist - marc spector

cw: failed aftercare/pos, overstim intensely, a bit of begging, desperate moon boys, Bodily Fluid. cnc, both are in a consenting relationship

not...kinktober but definitely something.

You shifted, whining uncomfortably as Marc shifted your knees up to your chest. The muscles in your legs were Useless after Steven had pounded you into a pulp. Reduced to a melted mess, you spread limply over the soaked mattress. Steven had smothered you in kisses for a bit until you were both exhausted. Marc had fronted immediately after, patiently wetting a rag and swiping gently around your folds.

"Lay still," he murmured, stroking your knee comfortingly. "I don't wanna hurt you."

You tried to stop trembling, waves of aftershocks sending occasional shockwaves through your limbs. The torn edges of your focus slowly restitched themselves as the soothing warmth brushed over your raw skin. The rag was gone, and Marc had begun gently rubbing in lotion.

Deliriously, you curled into yourself. A nap sounded wonderful. He grunted and righted you, raising a dark eyebrow.

"Almost done, honey, just wait."

You huffed a petulant sigh. Your pussy ached for a break, even though Marc was being very gentle. Your pink folds were puffy and glistening, leftover arousal still leaking steadily. Steven had sucked you dry but the stimulation was a little too much. Marc hummed quietly, fingers trailing absentmindedly through the mess.

"M-Marc," you hissed, twitching away. He chuckled and the feeling disappeared.

"Sorry, got distracted," he said sheepishly. Carefully, he lowered your legs to the downy blanket. The dirty ones were hastily shoved to the unused side of the bed. Steven fucked you closest to the wall so he'd have something to brace against. How considerate - he'd left half of the bed free from cum.

Your eyelids were heavy while you watched Marc dispose of the rag and lotion. He returned shirtless and dressed for bed. You scrunched up tighter, muscles aching pleasantly.

"Spread your legs, baby, it'll feel better. You're adding to the pressure." Marc gripped your thighs and tugged you down, gently opening you up to the cool night air. You tensed, preparing for another round.

All done, no more teasing. After a moment, you relaxed, realizing he wanted you to calm down. Marc leaned against the bedframe, eyes trained on your blushing, fucked out form.

"You're so pretty," he cooed, a finger tracing your ankle. You smiled blearily and patted the mattress.

"Sleep w' me," you mumbled, tongue thick and throat raw. Marc didn't respond, mouth open slightly as he stared at your ruined cunt. His hand absently began stroking the bedpost, eyes dark and soulful. You whined louder.

"Marc."

His lusty gaze snapped to your face, something warm and hidden glowing inside.

"I love you," he murmured, "you know that?"

Confused, you nodded, still unsure why he hadn't joined you. Marc crawled over the bedframe and knelt over your legs, hands rubbing gently on your waist.

"Sorry, baby," he whispered in your ear, lips brushing your earlobe. Frowning, you tilted to look at him.

"Wha-"

He shucked his shorts and with a massive groan sheathed himself in your warm, abused core. You arched and hollered, nerves reigniting at the sudden sensation. Marc moaned and shuddered, hips pumping slowly as your folds sucked him in.

"I know, I know," he groaned, warm palms groping at your love-bitten breasts. The sticky heat of your pussy gripped him wonderfully, all soft and wet from Steven's round earlier. The whimpers and sobs rolling out of you were music to his ears as he fucked long and hard.

"C-couldn't resist," he hissed, biting back another moan, "you j-just ah looked so p-prettygodfuckuhh," the sudden pulse of your gummy walls made him seize up, shuddering to grip onto the headboard. Marc howled and ground harder, hips jutting into yours.

It was hot, raw pleasure inside. Your body and mind were warring - one drank in the pleasure and the other actively shunned it, twitching and moving away. Marc's strong hands kneaded into your pillowy thighs and you moaned loudly, pulsing around his length.

The hazy grip of pleasure was choking any logic from Marc's mind. He knew you needed rest; Steven had just fucked your brains out for two hours. But god when you stared at him with those big doe eyes and a positively dripping cunt...

He couldn't resist.

A painfully fast climax had you in a headlock, sending searing heat downwards. Waves of hot sticky slick poured out, ruining the fine job Marc had done of cleaning you up. The added heat made him shudder and groan, churning that syrupy mess inside. He wanted to nestle inside as far as he could go, drowning in pleasure and your musky heat. It was an addiction. He needed to feel every velvety smooth stroke inside.

"God, why, ugh, why right n-now?" you moaned, writhing under Marc's strong grip. He didn't respond, laser focused on the heavenly drag of your flesh against his. His thighs were shaking with the force of his pleasure.

"Jus' a little more," he grunted, ravenously devouring your plush lips. The honey-sweetness of your mouth coupled with the succulent feel of your silky cunt was a lethal combination. He'd have to sprint to last long enough.

Even in your state, Marc knew you could take it. Steven was gentle with you even at his worst. Whatever he'd done to you earlier wasn't close to your limit.

So he pounded harder, rocking the mattress with the pistoning of his hips. Each thrust made a loud, wet sound against your raw pussy. The bounce of your tits demanded attention, which he happily provided. The added stimulation sent you spiraling.

You could feel your insides molding around him, gasping deep when he stroked under your sternum. The thick, raw energy that rolled off of your boyfriend had you drooling, slumping into his grip. Marc took the hint and flipped you flat on your back.

The mattress squeaked in protest to his pace, your hips punching into the soft fabric. Any hopes of salvaging the sheets were....not a priority.

Marc whimpered and ground up higher, trying to fuse himself to you. The inebriating heat of your cunt was making him stupid, humping and moaning like a dog. You were divine like this, flushed and utterly ruined underneath him. The stiff peak of your clit flared and pulsed with need.

He dragged a calloused thumb over your pearl, sending another crippling wave of pleasure up your spine. You flexed and gushed around his length, stirring the magma in his stomach. Time was all mushy and Marc struggled to slow himself.

Pace yourself, slow down, he remembered. But it was too much, too hot, too wet and tight and-

"Oh h-hell," he choked, cock pulsing and blushing red as he staved off his climax. He knew you were close, and the thought of finishing together was too good to pass up.

"Come on," he urged, stroking your clit and sucking on your jaw, "you can do it, baby, come on-"

Limbs locking tight with pleasure, you sailed over the hurdle, soaking his lap with your slick. Marc rutted and throbbed into you, muffling his moans in your neck. His aborted thrusts pushed his spend back inside, gushing and sticking obscenely on your thighs.

"Oh, sweet thing made a mess, huh?" his voice teased as you shuddered and hiccupped. Your response was severed by the dragging sensation of him drawing backwards. You wailed, your overstimulated folds weeping his seed and yours. The creamy slick glistened on your red, aching flesh.

Icing on a cake, Marc thought blissfully, mindlessly rolling his hips into a pillow. You saw his slowly hardening length and dragged in a slow breath. A fat, wet tear bubbled down your cheek as you met his dark gaze.

"B-but-"

"M sorry," he breathed, reaching for you, "it's so hard to stop..."

@krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma

@iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world

@ael-xander @to-be-a-sunshine @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @silvernight-m tags! comment to join!

[puppy-stevee]

when they clean the house for the first time after moving in together, steve thinks eddie's gonna put on the same music he's always blaring in his van, but he's surprised when a martina mcbride song starts playing through the speakers they installed throughout the house. he looks over and eddie is dutifully avoiding eye contact, instead choosing to keep his eyes glued to his phone, a light blush dusting his cheeks.

"what's this, eds?" steve asks gently.

eddie shrugs and puts his phone down, pulling a lock of hair in front of his face. " s'what my mom used to put on when i was a kid and we'd clean the house. guess it kinda became a tradition." he picks up his phone again. "i can change it if you want, i know people have strong opinions about country music-"

"no!" steve steps forward and takes eddie's hand that's holding the phone. "no, i-" he gives him a soft smile. "i like it. i just thought you'd play one of those bands you always listen to."

eddie snorts and steps out of his space with a gentle squeeze to steve's hand and grabs a bottle of cleaner and a rag. "i have layers, steven." he lets his accent slip out a little, enjoying the flush on steve's own cheeks. "you know i was raised in kentucky before i came here. i'm just a little country boy at heart."

"yeah," steve agrees. "i just didn’t think you, like, liked any of that stuff, cause of-" he gestures at all of eddie.

a grin sweet as sin slides onto eddie's face easily. "oh baby," he drawls, "if you wanted the full experience, all you had to do was ask."

[little-annie]

Jillian Harrington

She knows she's not the best mother, but she tries, she really does.

She was a business woman first, never expecting to be a mother until it mistakenly happened. Though, she'll tell you to this day, bringing her baby boy into this world was the best day of her life. Steven Joseph Harrington, all eight pounds, six ounces and the largest head of hair she's ever seen on a newborn baby boy.

It was a struggle from the get go, juggling a newborn and her portion of the family business. There were many days that she brought young Steven to work with her, plopping him down in a play pen in her office while she tried to get mountains paperwork done.

Richard was never helpful, the most contribution he provided was financial aid and the conception of the young boy.

Their marriage was one of business, vows filled with falsities, only for the greater good of merging two successful businesses in order to create one mega one. And that's what they did. What they were. All they ever were.

It was a loveless marriage from the start, Richard coming into the thing with a line of women hiding in closets or waiting for him at vacation homes. They were business partners that lived in the same home and occasionally shared the same bed. But they were never husband and wife, maybe occasionally lovers, but never in the emotional sense, if anything they used each other to burn off steam.

And well, that's how they got Steve.

She knows she wasn't as present throughout his childhood as they both wished she'd be. Missing birthdays, ball games and the occasional holiday, but my god did she love that boy.

Truthfully, aside from her late grandfather, Steve was the only other human being on the planet that held a piece of her heart.

Once her little boy reached school age and could no longer spend his days in the office 'helping' his mom, a nanny did most of the raising. Tending to Steve's needs, smothering him with love and affection.

But on the weekends Jillian always made a point to be home. Taking a rosy cheeked, freckle-faced Steven out for ice cream and a movie, to the park or driving up to the Indiana Dunes to spend the weekend at the lake. The times they shared together were always happy, filled with laughter and joy. Always the highlight of her week.

As Steve (I don't like Steven mom, it sounds too formal) aged and grew into his later years, they still carved out time for one another. Maybe missing a weekend or two due to conflicting schedules, but on those days when Steve was travelling for school sports or Jillian was out of State on business, they spoke on the phone in the evenings.

She was there to see the light in his eyes at the mention of the eldest Wheeler, to see the blush on his cheeks as he spoke of brown eyes, curly hair and a strong will.

She was there to see that very light drained and dull, cast over with the weight of something that had him up screaming in the middle of the night and jumping at the drop of a pin.

That was when she started dropping clients and changing her schedule to work from home more often, choosing to set up their guest room as a makeshift office.

Whatever her boy had gone through, he'd gone through it alone and that wasn't going to happen again.

Many mornings did she wake to find her teenage boy curled up in bed only a few inches away, at some point in the night startling awake and coming to seek comfort.

When the mall fire, or so they called it, happened, Steve finally let the floodgates open, spilling every unbelievable detail of what he'd gone through. It was heartbreaking to know the boy had suffered so much and kept it bottled up for such a long time. The horrors he'd seen, the loss he'd witnessed.

She wanted nothing more than to haul them away and say so long to Hawkins and its horrors but it just wasn't in the cards and truthfully, she didn't think Steve would be willing to leave.

Richard was an anomaly, a rarity in the Harrington house and never once did they divulge the going ons of Steve's life to the man. They kept him in the dark, much like he did to them. It's not like he was very present in their lives, either away on business or gone off somewhere with a mistress.

Hawkins cracked open on one of the rare occasions Jillian was away on business, out of state, across the country. She'd seen it on the news first and knew immediately that it was connected to the horrors that kept her boy up at night. She'd cancelled her meetings and flew into Indianapolis only to be stopped by military personnel at the Hawkins city limits. An immediate quarantine they'd said, noxious gas or something of the sort. No one was allowed in as much as no one was allowed out.

The only thing on her mind was her son.

She didn't return to her business trip, getting a motel room in the nearest town until she heard word of Hawkins re-engaging with the world.

It'd been a month and when she got back to her hometown, it was quite literally split into quarters, fissures in the ground, deep and daunting, threatening.

Finally it was at the hospital where she found her son, supposedly visiting a friend, a young man she'd yet to meet. Steve was obviously shaken, skin scarred and healing, eyes bloodshot and an expression on his face as if he'd seen death and maybe be had.

She'd taken him home and did her best to nurse him back to health, helping to maintain maintenance on bandages and be there for those times when his sanity inevitably crumbled.

Months had passed and Steve left the house often, going out to "check on the kids," or "help out at the school" or "see Robin," or, just like clock work, every afternoon, "I'm just gonna go check on Eddie."

She'd known about the kids, had met a handful of them, constantly heard of the Henderson boy and his antics. She knew Robin, quite liked the girl and for the longest time figured she was the new Nancy, but after some very emphasised points on the word "Platonic," she knew better. But Eddie, Eddie she knew nothing about, only heard whispering around town, none of which were good.

But it only took a single conversation with her son to know the truth.

To know Eddie was only a troubled boy, with a town out for his head. To know that he was only a boy and aided in saving the very town that hated him. Risked his life for those with closed minds and torches in hand.

To know that her son held something special in his heart for the boy. Something rare. Though she'd never say, she often saw a familiar light in Steve's eyes when speaking about the other young man.

She'd like to meet him some day.

—-

And there's a few times she comes close. Whether she knows it or not.

[oddballwriter]

Moon Boys with a Pregnant Reader

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy and reader being pregnant 

Author’s Snip: Something wholesome to go with the previous headcanon about calling them your husband.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Steven Grant

Absolutely over the moon

I've said it before I will say it a million times more, Steven wants to be a father SO BAD and he wants as many as you two can manage. So when you're pregnant he shakes with joy

Steven makes it his job to make sure your pregnancy is the easiest it can be

He looks up remedies for any symptoms to help ease them and consults on mom forums to ask for advice on what he should be doing

Steven also researches the development of babies in the womb, like their size at each point in time/stage, what they're able to do, all that

To him, the best and most important part is when they start to kick and hear. Once the baby can hear he makes sure to talk to your bump so that they're used to their voice. It's as wholesome as you think it is, man is just yapping like he always does.

"When you're out here it's going to be great. We have everything ready and set for you."

Steven starts making a picture book so that the baby can look through it when they're older and also have memories. Marc and Jake make fun of him for it but they look through the photos that he's put in already like the first sonogram and the progression of your bump with side notes like "You're about the size of an apple in this one."

Steven gets a bit of a spending addiction once it's time to start buying stuff. He can't help it. He'll be there at the store and passes the baby aisle and he sees all the cute onesies, clothes, mobiles, and the tiny little shoes. My goodness, the tiny little shoes.

You have to tell him no and it breaks your heart a little to say no to him, but you already have like three baby mobiles and plenty of clothes.

Steven is honestly the dream father. All the women in the vicinity of you will see you and him out together and come up saying that it's so nice to see a man taking care of and being so involved in the pregnancy

When you're close to being due Steven can hardly sleep. What if you go into labor right now? Or in the middle of the night when he's out. Or what if you sit down too fast and that triggers it to start. Honestly, you need to tell him to calm down

Marc Spector

Marc makes it his job to take care of you and protect you

You know the deal. Marc's anxious about being a dad and that he's going to do it wrong or not protect them, so he starts being protective of you while pregnant to feed his need to be protective and prepared. It's nice and all but when you first started out he was a bit in your space

Eventually he tones it down but he is still being a bit of a guard dog

He closely checks all the food while you're at the grocery store to make sure nothing is in there that you and the baby aren't meant to have

Also, you will always get the lighter bags. Always. Marc will carry all the heavy ones and no, you can not convince him to let you carry one bag. You're carrying the baby, that's the only 'heavy' thing you should be carrying

He's also very picky and methodical. Steven said that pregnant people 'nest' but it seems like somehow Marc has taken most of that

He cleans everything until he deems it clean enough and places things in spots that "seem right". However, when it comes to the placement of things in the nursery he always asks you for your opinion because you, as the one carrying the baby, get the final say

When your baby starts to kick and your baby bump gets more prominent he gets all soft and mushy, emotional even. He was just preparing for something that he was expecting but now he knows that this is real. You're actually pregnant. You're going to have a baby with them and raise a child together.

It actually makes him cry, in a good way, because this is his chance to prove himself of being worthy of having joy and happiness to himself

For a good long while, Marc spends his free nights laying with his head next to your bump and just basking in the feeling. He talks to them too.

"It's just crazy to me because... you're there. You're actually real. You can hear me and you can kick and all that. And when you come out I can hold you and you can make noise and cry and squirm around. It's crazy. You're real, and I'm your dad and I'll get to see you grow up and teach you how to be a person."

When you're close to being due, he and the boys make a go bag so that you can be ready for when you go into labor but Marc sort of falls back into the intense need for preparation that he gets anxious over it and will check the go bag over and over and over again to make sure everything is in there

You need to tell him that it's alright and that the things in the bag aren't going to sneak off somehow

Jake Lockley

Jake makes sure you're happy

In his mind, there's no need to stress over the baby's growth because the doctors and check-ups take care of that. If something is wrong or needs to be done then they'll tell you and you can do what they said to do. But otherwise, he's more focused on you.

That's not to say he isn't doing anything. Of course not! He makes sure you're comfortable and healthy and that you aren't taking on any stress or workloads that might cause strain

Jake 100% is the one who builds everything, and he's good at it, and fast as hell. He built the whole baby crib in like five minutes and then started the next thing

I do feel like he takes on making the pregnancy more fun though

And by that I mean he makes stupid jokes to make you laugh

He quotes the how is prangent formed video all the time and says "pregananant" and "pregante" regularly

When you're in your final stage of pregnancy and are very pregnant he picks up everything that you drop because he knows you can't do it because the bump makes it impossible to bend down

He's seen you try before, and it's funny to him. You look like Chicha from Emperor's New Groove. That or you sit on the floor to be able to get it and then can't get back up.

He's very wholesome though. He's got the sonogram in his wallet as a keepsake to look at from time to time while he's at work

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[angel-of-the-moons]

Small Surprises Pt. 2

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Single Mother!Reader

TW/CW: None! Well, maybe Marc and Jake being shameless flirts and a little innuendo/implied sexy times but nothing is detailed!

A/N: The amount of love I've gotten for the first part just blew my mind. I'm so happy you guys loved it so much! Have this gift for the holidays!

Taglist: @katitakenway @winniethewife @thisismiku @justafandomgvrl @chrishy973 @stardream14 @moonkxit @kult6 @blackqueengold @bellaramseysbitch @kimmib13 @skarrkiie @thespookywookies @becca-rebel38 @capsiclesworldsblog @phantom-wizard @idkimherebutidk @call-me-cherrry @bluesophia @ilovepurple31 @queerponcho @dahehow @peachyrue-777 @thevintagevictorian @lemongirl5910 @howellatme @giulscomix @kinglokisqueen4ever @katitakenway

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That night, to say you were freaked out to see a nine foot tall bird guy standing in your baby girl's bedroom at almost 9pm was an understatement.

You had immediately grabbed your trusty straw broom and promptly went to beat the shit out of whatever-he-was.

Yeah, you did it mostly because he was a literal god stranger in your daughter's bedroom; but you also were partly venting the frustrations you felt at the things the boys told you Khonshu forced them to do, at times.

And damn, did it feel good. You hadn't snapped like that since you left your ex.

Once Marc recovered enough from dying of laughter at the sight of such a diminutive human wailing on a god with a fucking broom, he grabbed you and convinced you to stop before you had a stroke.

Victoria didn't seem to understand, so the two of you had to explain that Khonshu was a "friend" (In very very loose terms). That's when Marc explained what exactly Khonshu was, and...

To his credit--and despite his reputation--Khonshu was... good with Victoria. Sometimes he would loiter in your flat, and Victoria would practically glue herself to him when the boys weren't around (namely when Steven was working or Jake was busy driving others around in his car) and pester him endlessly about what Egypt was like way back when.

And he literally was a living witness to that history, so she would stare enraptured at him as he would inform her and tell her everything the experts got wrong (you figured he probably got an ego boost to have someone so enthralled in what he had to say, and hanging on his every word).

Despite the things Khonshu had forced the boys to do, despite the things he was capable of, you came to trust him with your precious baby. When you were busy working at your computer or on the phone for your work, Khonshu would keep Victoria occupied, either listening to her chatter like an excitable little squirrel over her toys and games, or she would listen to him tell her stories. You even peeked into her room and saw Khonshu (albeit half-assedly) playing with her toys with her.

You did some research into what the ancient Egyptians believed Khonshu to be, and the whole justice and protection thing checked out, but what surprised you was his association with fertility. On crescent moons it was said that Khonshu blessed, and women could conceive. So maybe him being able to connect with Victoria was in relation to that aspect of his divinity. After all, you can't make a baby without conceiving one first, right?

You had half a mind to ask if, maybe somehow Khonshu had a hand in your pregnancy (or any other god, really) but you decided to let it lie. After all, what's done is done and you had your wonderful daughter to hold and love, what did it matter if a god blessed you to get pregnant in the first place?

The boys didn't like Khonshu being so close to Victoria, fearing that maybe Khonshu was grooming her in some way, perhaps to be a follower, or even a future Moon Knight.

You however, didn't get that feeling from him. Perhaps Victoria's innocence was refreshing to him? Perhaps he merely enjoyed the absolute wonder and curiosity of a child? As long as Khonshu didn't hurt her, you felt at least comfortable with him being around her so much.

If anything, it gave a teeny bit more security to know that in addition to the boys, she had a literal god watching over her.

But the boys on the other hand were incredibly protective (and jealous) of Victoria. Khonshu as well, thankfully knew when to step back and allow the boys their time with her, without his presence. After all, he was sick of arguing with them over simple jobs and targets, and perhaps granting them this sense of normalcy would make them more compliant in the future.

Once Victoria started to call Marc daddy, Jake and Steven were then adamant about getting her to call them a similar title, but unique to themselves.

So, Jake was afterwords known as Apá, and Steven was simply Papa, or rarely "Stevie" (thanks to overhearing Donna call him that.) However, Steven began to like the nickname only when the two of you called him that, because where the two of you used it as a term of endearment, Donna often only used it to irk and annoy him.

Yeah, your newfound family was strange... But you wouldn't trade them for anything. Old bird man included (though you made it pointedly clear he was on very thin ice).

Yeah... Life was strange.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

It had been one whole year since you guys were official. And in February it would be one whole year since Victoria had appointed Marc (and of course Steven and Jake) as daddy.

At some point, you had given the boys your full consent to move in. Or at least mostly. You and Victoria had your own stuff, but when you saw just how much stuff the boys had, Marc sheepishly chuckled and told you they can still help with your bills and afford their flat just fine.

After all, with Steven's income and Jake's, it was relatively easy. Not to mention the money Marc had hidden away in case of emergencies.

But the consecutive days Victoria awoke to find your boys there? Oh, it was like Christmas morning every single time.

Speaking of holidays, learning about the ones that Marc, Steven, and Jake acknowledged was... interesting. (As was Steven's veganism, but that was a whole other tale)

One night, you had just finished sending some spreadsheets to your boss when you decided to call it quits for the night, your eyes exhausted and dry from staring at the screen for too long.

You'd closed your laptop and stood, rubbing your dried eyes while you pushed your chair from the desk. Your fingers ached and your tendons were sore from using them for so long, and you were internally groaning at the time and how dark it had become outside.

But honestly, it all melted away when you walked out of your room to see Marc holding Victoria in his arms, telling her about Hanukkah, and why they were lighting the first candle on the menorah.

He had her small tiny hand wrapped in his as they held the longest candle over the first wick, and Victoria blinked, wide-eyed as the candle flickered to life, the light shining out of your window for all who looked up to see.

You were stealthy enough to snap a few photos and snag a video of Marc having this sweet moment with your daughter, his smile illuminated by the light of the menorah; the corners of his eyes crinkled and his eyes glowing as Victoria asked him this and that, why the candle was shaped funny, why they needed to light eight other candles with the biggest one, why it was celebrated to begin with...

All three men had adapted to her curiosity remarkably quickly. Marc enjoyed teaching her things, doing things with her that he wished his parents did with him after the death of his brother.

Even his father stopped including him in special moments like these after a while. Whenever the menorah was lit, Marc remembered sitting in the pitch blackness of his room, looking out onto the streets below, seeing couples and happy families go about their holiday plans, play, and simply enjoy being around one another.

All the things Marc could no longer enjoy without his mother tainting them with her alcoholism and abuse. His father kept promising to get her help, to make her "better" but he never did.

Marc would always come home from school (or running away for a few hours or days) to the sound of a cracking belt, feeling the welts, the bruises, and even the occasional burns from cigarettes his mother never smoked. No, she wouldn't smoke them recreationally, they were merely another tool to vent her anger and abuse on poor little Marc (and of course Steven and Jake).

And his father still sat by, pretending he didn't hear the snaps, the sound of leather on skin or the crying of his now-only son, and the cruel, hateful words of his wife.

If you buried your head in the sand, you could pretend it wasn't happening at all.

Which is how his poor young mind fractured in the first place...

But no. Marc wouldn't focus on those times, not around Victoria, not with her. Marc vowed that he would be everything he never had as a child, that he would give her his all. Steven and Jake made the same oath; one they took more seriously even than their servitude to Khonshu.

Love could be stronger than fear, if you let it. And your boys were letting it be stronger, for the first time in their lives.

Love and safety.

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"So... You celebrate Christmas but don't celebrate it?" Jake had asked you curiously as he watched you fight to untangle the multi-colored lights you pulled down from the hall closet.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." You say awkwardly, looking at him with a smile on your lips. "I've never attached religious significance to most holidays, honestly. They're just... special days to celebrate for me. And it's a bit more fair to Victoria, because it's hard for her to understand that other people celebrate Christmas or--until recently anyways--Hanukkah."

Jake leaned over, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looked down, "Hmmh. So you just celebrate it for the sake of it?"

"Yeah, plus Victoria loves decorating the tree every year." You sigh, reaching up to comb your fingers through his hair, earning a content hum from him.

He'd decided not to grow out a mustache this time, staying clean-shaven for the time being.

He slipped his arms around your waist, his thumbs brushing your stomach idly as he watched you battle with the stubborn cables.

"...I say we toss those damn things and get new ones." He snorted. "Saves the trouble."

"I know, but Victoria loves this colour, and I can't find them anywhere else in stores this late in the season." You sigh.

"C'mon, amor, sit on the couch and I'll help undo them."

"God, what would I do without you guys?" You groan while you turn your head to kiss his cheek.

He'd pulled you around and tipped your head back to capture your lips with his, of course. Jake was a very adamant kisser; he put his lips and tongue into each second of every kiss.

Marc was gentle, content to give a long kiss comprised of the dancing of lips; Steven was a bit more chaste, he was happy to litter your entire face in sweet, soft kisses.

Your lips broke apart and you leaned in to bite his bottom lip for a moment, tugging as you pulled away in reprimand.

"C'mon, you horny devil. I want these undone before she wakes up from her nap."

Jake grinned widely as you twisted free of his hands, sauntering over to the couch with exaggerated sways of your hips.

Jake would have to ensure that Victoria was deep in sleep, tonight, for sure.

Thankfully you got the lights untangled in time for her to jump to her little feet and rush into Jake's lap--even going so far as to dart between your legs just to get to him faster!

You snickered and feigned a broken heart, sequestering yourself to the kitchen to prep lunch in mock-sadness.

You were busy wrapping the hot dogs in the doughy wrap for Victoria's lunch, and you paused your hands as you lined the tray when you heard Jake talk to Victoria; holding her up in his strong hands as he walked her around the tree, letting her wrap it in the pretty yellow lights.

That's when you heard it: he was singing to her.

It was a song you knew intimately by now: La Vida Es Luna. After she'd watched that Puss in Boots movie, she would play it on her tablet on repeat. Thanks to Jake's knowledge, he was slowly teaching her to flawlessly sing it in Spanish, like he was right now.

Their voices conjoined were sweet, even if Victoria was a little tone-deaf at some parts, and your heart throbbed as Jake would laugh with her and gently correct her pronunciations.

Love and joy.

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Steven had to work hard to earn a favor from Donna, and one of the other managers, but he'd managed to snag permission to bring Victoria to work with him as an early Christmas/Hanukkah present for her.

She was thrilled. Steven thought she was going to vibrate out of her seat on the bus with excitement.

Even if she knew that he would be working most of the time, and they were both stuck in the gift shop, Victoria was just happy to spend time with Steven and talk about their mutual obsession with ancient Egypt.

Donna at first didn't believe Steven when he told her that he was dating a single mother, she even laughed at him and said she'd get off his back if he produced said child.

And boy, seeing the look of horror and recognition on her face as he came in with a little girl dangling off his arm?

Priceless.

"Papa." Victoria asked Steven as he was stocking the front counter.

"What is it, poppet?" Steven smiled at her.

"Why does 'Shu only got the birdy skull?"

Steven always had to suppress the urge to laugh when she called him that. Khonshu wasn't one for nicknames and oh, did it bring him joy to hear him merely be demoted to "'Shu" in the eyes of a child.

"Cause in my books he's got feathers n stuffs, or sometimes he's got blue skin or somefin'."

"I don't rightly know, m'love." Steven said sweetly, booping her nose. "Maybe he thinks it makes him look cooler? Spooky, certainly."

"Mebbe." She sighed, pouting in thought. "But I 'fink it's just cause he's so old." She replied. "Cause he's older than my mommy and you."

Steven finally couldn't hold it in, and busted out into laughter, having to sit on his haunches and hold his gut as his muscles ached from his fit. Victoria tilted her head at him curiously as his laughter died down into choked gasps and he wiped away a small tear from his cheek.

"Oh, oh I just have to tell your mother that." He sighed, looking at her with a grin.

Victoria tilted her head to the other side, her lips pursing. "But papa, I'm serious."

"I know, love." He chuckled, pulling her close to kiss her forehead. "It's just so funny to hear you compare us to that bloody ol' pigeon."

"But he's not a pigeon!"

Steven snickered again as he went back to work.

It was about thirty minutes later when a group of secondary school students came pouring in from their field trip to the museum.

The girls chattering obnoxiously about some topic or another online, the boys being rambunctious. All the sudden loud noises had Steven wanting to chew his nails off, but he resisted the urge hardcore not to do it. He was succeeding, but didn't need much more effort when he looked over and saw Victoria start to squirm from her little box fort behind the counter, frowning and lip wobbling as the students so callously destroyed the organized shop Steven had painstakingly arranged (with her help, in some parts!) and made such a ruckus.

Steven could see she was close to melting down, by how her little hands reached up, one gripping at her hair and the other smacking her leg as she made little noises.

Steven immediately forgot his own discomfort and knelt down in front of her, pulling her hand gently from where it was fisted in her hair and holding it in his larger one, bringing her in to brush his nose against hers a couple of times as she whimpered.

He smiled gingerly and placed her little headphones on her head (the new ones that had stickers of toys called Squishmallows that Victoria had introduced him to. He had even started his own tiny collection of them because of how soft and adorable they were).

He grabbed her tablet and played her usual list of music. It soothed her somewhat as all sound from outside the muffs were bled out thanks to the tunes, but she was still upset at all the people suddenly being around her like buzzing insects.

As ironic as it was, Steven despised large influxes of people. Before, he was too tired to pay them any mind. After he found out about Marc and Jake and they all arranged a better fronting schedule, Steven was given more time to rest as a result and only became far more aware of how large gatherings made him uncomfortable and twitchy.

But right now Victoria was more important than himself, so he scooped her up and held her against him. He knew he could do his job of ringing up customers with one hand while the other held Victoria to comfort her. After all, his body was fit and strong and she was a tiny little thing.

He wagered he's held boxes of stuffed animals heavier than her, before.

Of course, being an attractive man with such a sweet disposition and adorable little girl on his hip... he had become a blip on the radar of the women and teen girls flitting about the shop.

Apparently having good looks and the outward appearance of a man who loved children was attractive to many.

He was mostly clueless to under-the-radar flirting, but right now two of the girls were being positively shameless in how they hung on his every word.

Their voices started to blur together as they took turns speaking, their teacher (whom talked loudly about her divorce to emphasize the fact she was indeed, single) would cut in, tapping her nails on the counter as she leaned in, smiling with her obnoxiously bright scarlet lipstick and batting her heavy mascara'd eyelashes at him.

However, these girls and women seemed to entirely disregard how uncomfortable Victoria was, or how upset she was as she sniffled and rubbed her face on his soft shirt. All that did was earn sweet coos from them as they noted how "affectionate" she was.

He gritted his teeth, wanting so badly to run away from this awkward conversation with Victoria in tow, but his need for this job kept his feet rooted to the ground. That, and his own bubbling upset that was beginning to simmer within him. He could even feel Jake's consciousness begin to float to the surface to see what was happening.

"So, you must be divorced, right?" The teacher laughed as she shoo'd away the younger girls, wanting to circle this kill for herself.

His brow twitched as he reached up to pat Victoria on her back to soothe her with his free hand. "Well, actually--"

"It must be so hard to handle her on your own!" She sighed, finally taking note of the child's discomfort.

"Did her mom leave her? Because she's special?"

Steven felt his eye twinge a bit, and his jaw clenched. "Well, no. Her mom is--"

"Oh, did she cheat or something? I can't help but notice that little thing on your hip doesn't bear any resemblance to you." She interrupted once more.

"No, Victoria isn't mine. Her mother--"

"So she did cheat?! How horrible!" The woman gasped, drawing her own conclusions as she clutched her imaginary pearls.

"I would never do that to a child! If I was her mother--"

No. Nope. That was it. Her first comment about Victoria was enough to bring his rarely seen anger to the surface, but now she was insulting the both of you. That was enough to make the tips of his ears burn.

All because she wanted to flirt with him? No, his family was off limits in any regard.

"Victoria isn't "special" as you mean her to be. She's autistic, like me." Steven huffed, frowning deeply.

The woman clapped her obnoxiously made-up lips shut as Steven continued.

"And Victoria doesn't look like me because she isn't mine. Biologically." He informed, adjusting his hold on her as she continued to rub her face on him.

"Victoria's father abandoned her and her mother before she was born. I am currently dating her mother."

The way this woman deflated filled him with such an ego boost, he finally knew how Jake felt when he'd won an argument over Khonshu. The rush was just that good.

It seemed she wasn't expecting that.

"Oh, so her mother is..."

"Dating me and happily committed." He said with a jerk of his head downwards. "Now, ma'am, do you intend to make a purchase, or do you intend to hold up the line building behind you for this till and cost me my job?"

Her face flushed scarlet and she began to sputter, scowling at Steven as he politely told her to buzz off.

"Have a nice day!" Steven called out as she walked away, her horrible perfume following alongside her.

Steven felt victorious as he gave the little girl in his arms a kiss to her forehead.

Love and loyalty.

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Victoria was happily tucked into her bed, fast asleep thanks to Khonshu regaling her with a story of one of his previous Fists fighting evil doers in the sands of the desert.

He omitted the violence, thankfully, and merely settled for a cliché "the hero scared the villain into being good" trope for the ending, as per your wishes.

He did not want that broom lodged in his eye socket again.

"So... Did Steven tell you some woman tried to hit on him?" Marc asked you as you brushed your teeth, your wonderful skin still dewy from the shower, your body clad only in a fluffy pink and blue striped towel. Christmas day was in the morning and you wanted to look somewhat presentable when you recorded the gift opening when the sun came up.

You almost choked on your toothpaste as you yanked the brush free.

"What?"

"Yeah, some teacher." Marc grinned at you as he ruffled his own damp hair from the towel. He knew your legs were still shaky from your previous romp in the steamy bathroom, but you stood strong until that subject came up.

"What did she say."

"Honestly? From what he said she was being rude. About you, about Victoria, not letting him get a word in..." Marc scoffed as he dropped his towel into his lap.

You spit out the toothpaste and aggressively rinse your mouth out, a pang of jealousy sweeping into you.

"Steven actually told this lady off."

Oh?

"He did? I have a hard time believing Steven can do that..." You murmured, looking at your reflection in the foggy mirror.

"Yeah, but he was insanely passive aggressive with it." Marc laughed, stretching his arms above his head. "Her face got soooo damn red."

You grin as he walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around you, fingers toying with the knot in your towel.

"Hah! Serves her right for talking about my baby." You say triumphantly.

"Serves that woman right for automatically assuming we were into toxic, divorced, Holiday Barbie-looking bimbos." Marc scoffed.

You giggle as he placed kisses to your shoulder, his teeth grazing your damp skin.

"Marc Spector, you are insatiable." You sigh, raking your nails through his damp curls.

"Hey, it's Christmas Eve, don't I get to open a present early?" He murmured into your pulse.

"You're Jewish."

"And I do the work of an Egyptian god and you celebrate Christmas without the religious part." He grinned, tugging on the fluffy towel around you.

"So... do I get to unwrap my present or not?"

[eunoiaastralwings]

Your Baby’s Weird but Amusing Obsession

featuring bucky x wife!reader with their son

fandom mcu- tfatws era ?

a/n dont ask me why i just did - it was too cute not to writ. reader is lowkey my oc - am sorry. . . and btw - you can NOT unconvince me Bucky will not name his son after himself - personal headcanon you can not undo that for me - HE SO WANTS HIS JAMES JR XD

warnings just fluff. just before you read just know am dyslexic

You were playing mat with yours and Bucky’s 2-month baby boy as Bucky came in.

His son immediately looks up at Bucky and chortles a few giggles – seeing his dad and 2-month-old baby holds up his tiny arms at Bucky.

Bucky’s face brightens up when he sees them – and his bright blue eyes soften.

He walks forward and kneels on one knee next to the play mat and carefully picks him up and places him in his arms – before leaning back against the couch while the 3 of them sat on the play mat.

You smile – your heart melting at the exchange.

They had named their son James Steven Barnes, after Bucky’s first name of James and of course Steve, or Cap’s name for his middle name– but you took the liberty of nicknaming your son Jay – while you were at it.

You laugh as just as immediately Bucky had picked up their son, his toothless gums were instantly on Bucky’s vibranium arm.

Jay had a strange obsession with his dad’s metal arm – for some reason or the other he just loved it.

Bucky glances at you – but since you offered no assistance – his eyes then drift back to his son chewing on his arm, brow furrowed in contemplation.

Jay chortles a few giggles at his dad – his saliva dripping having left a slobbery grip on his dad’s arm. You couldn't help but throw you head back and laugh.

Bucky looks a tad bit annoyed and tries to pry the baby off his vibranium arm.

“That's not food, son. It’s metal.”

He says.

You couldn’t help but snicker at the sight.

Bucky sighed and tries to pry off his baby’s slobbery grip – giving you a little scowl.

“Jay, c’mere. Let daddy have his arm back.”

Bucky says – as he tried and cooed a little to Jay.

Jay only chortles a few giggles – his bright blue eyes looking up at his dad as if he as content in this manner.

You couldn't help but snicker again as Jay refused to let go – the kid was too strong.

This happened every time, Bucky picked him up.

“Give me my arm back, Jay.”

Bucky says – this time, his tone of voice was a little sterner – but low not wanting to scare his baby, of course.

The baby only giggles and chortles – but still doesn’t let go.

“You’re son’s so weird!"

You giggled – now finally leaning to help get your 2-month son’s toothless gums off your husband’s metal arm – but Jay continued to leave a slobbery grip on his dad’s vibranium arm.

Bucky chuckles – despite his annoyance.

“He got that from his mother.”

He teases.

He then reaches down and attempts to pry Jay off his metal arm again.

You raised an eyebrow taking your hands away.

“Do you want my help or not?”

You smirked.

Bucky shakes his head – smiling.

“No, I’ve got this.”

He then tries again to pry your son off his arm – but still fails.

“Ok!”

You shrugged leaning back to watch as your 2-month son continued to leave his slobbery grip his dad’s metal arm.

“Jay, c’mon. Give back daddy’s arm.”

Bucky asks – sounding a little frustrated now.

“Jay, be nice.”

Bucky says.

The baby still doesn’t let go of his dad’s arm.

“C’mon, Jay.”

He says -  trying once again to pry him off.

After a minute – you amusedly shakes your head.

“Hey, my baby, come here!”

You cooed softly holding out your hands to your little son – as you puckered your lips to kiss his cheek as you gently picked up your 2-month baby off Bucky.

Bucky laughs – watching the scene, shaking his head as he wipes off Jay’s saliva off his metal arm with a tissue.

“So, the kid will give me a hard time but listen to you?”

He puts his arm on your shoulder.

You smirked.

 “I’m the favorite!”

You say – blowing raspberry kisses on Jay’s cheek.

The baby giggles and blows raspberries back.

“Yeah, I guess you are. Can’t blame the kid, though. You’re pretty great.”

Bucky says – smiling at his wife.

Once again – he puts his arm on your shoulder, hugging you to his side.

You giggled and cooed your little 2-month baby.

“Mama’s the best!”

You say.

Your baby stares at you for a moment – then chortles and giggles, blowing more raspberries at you.

“See?”

You smirk – turning to your husband.

"Yeah, I get it.”

Bucky sighs, rolling his eyes and chuckles

Jay blows more raspberries at you – and you respond by blowing more raspberries at him.

Bucky laughs.

“You two are adorable.”

He says – watching his little family.

@winterarmyy-too - if you're interested <3

[romanarose]

Misunderstanding

Marc Spector x fem!reader

Join my taglist! Masterlist Read on ao3

Summary: When the boys come home early and see boxes all packed and furniture on the street, Marc jumps to the worst option. Clearly, you're leaving him.

Warnings: PIV sex, wall sex, oral f!recieving, manhandling, rough needy smut but loving and passionate, anxiety attack, Marc's self loathing but reader adores him. Calling Marc all kinda of cute nick names.

Immersability: Reader is fem, afab. Reader can be largly supported against the wall by Marc's strong arms <3

A/N: Commission done for @minigirl87 thank you SOOOOOOO much for your patience!!! Next time I do commissions i need to not do them right before moving. Left me quite behind. Anyway appreciate you so much!

Support creators! Reblog!

2.2k words

********************

Chaos made Marc anxious.

So, that’s why you decided to do spring cleaning while he and the boys were at work, hoping to get most of it done before the boys returned from work. What threw all your plans out of whack was a chance spotting on facebook marketplace. The prettiest furniture you’ve ever seen in your life was for fucking free. The owners were cleaning out the house from their mom who just passed, and just wanted the furniture to go to someone who’d love it like their mom did. And boy did you love it. The style was French Louis XVI. Fucking beautiful. So, you were making room. 

A lot was going to be given away with permission from your boys, and you’d be doing a lot of reorganizing of Steven’s books. A lot of trash, oh my god so much trash. Marc sure did love take out, even if it drove Jakey crazy. Then your old furniture was hauled out into the street for the garbage on tuesday, or some desperate soul. You hadn’t quite gotten to organizing Steven’s books and papers, but the trash was picked up, floors swept and mopped, and the old furniture was out. You needed to pick up your dream furniture, so you hopped into your car.

Steven was elated he got to go home early. It was only an hour, but that’s an hour more with you!!! You loved extra time with you!! There was a spring in his step, happily humming along to some song on Jake’s playlist on their phone. 

Until he saw it.

‘Aye, ¿que es?’ Jak asked, interrupting Steven’s happy thoughts.

Marc. ‘Is that… our furniture?’ 

“Oh my god…” Steven murmurs, slowing his steps. All their things were on the street.

‘She’s leaving us.’

“Oh, will you calm the hell down.” But Steven was a little nervous. He walks up the apartment stairs, ready to find you and get it all sorted out but… you weren’t there. The place looked so bare, so empty… The pictures on the walls were taken down, all the memories together, clothes were half-sorted in the bedroom and sheets off the bed…

You were gone. You didn’t want them anymore.

Marc took the body, pulling out his phone and calling you multiple times, but you went straight to voicemail.

“She’s done with us” Marc groans, backing against the wall. “I knew it was too good to be true.”

‘Mate, you need to calm down’ Steven tried to assure Marc, but he was nervous too.

Marc slid down the wall, beginning to panic. “Not this again…”

Jake and Steven attempted to tell him there’s another reason, logically.

‘She wouldn't just us… leave us’ Jake insisted. ‘She’s not like that. She’d tell us if there was an issue.’

None of this helped calm Marc, and he mentally checked out, sitting against the wall on the floor staring out the window.

That’s how you found Marc, dissociating and mentally checked out when you got home.

“Marcy Marc? Baby? Are you okay?” You toss your keys onto the counter and approach him, but stop when he suddenly jerks towards you like a scared animal.

Marc looks up, eyes wide and mouth agape as he scrambles to stand up. “Holy shit, you’re here…” He mutters, dashing over to you. “Baby, whatever it is, I swear to god I’ll fix it-” Marc hugs you so tightly it knocks the breath out of you with the force of him, strong arms wrapped tightly around you. Normally, you loved his bear hugs, they made you feel safe and oh-so loved, but right now his actions warned you he was upset. You always knew when your man was in distress, even when he tried to hide it. He wasn’t as slick as he thought he was. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry-”

You hug him right back. “Marc, honey, what’s going on? You didn’t do anything wrong.” That you know of, but honestly you couldn’t foresee Marc, Jake or Steven doing anything bad enough for you to be upset about. Only thing would be… Gently, so he knows you aren’t rejecting his affection, you nudge him away so you can look in his eyes. However, you keep hold on his arms. Marc’s love language was physical touch, so you always showed your love to him this way.

“Baby…” You look into his eyes, keeping your tone and facial expressions soft. “Have you heard from Khonshu lately?”

Confusion spreads on Marc’s face, his already large eyes widening. “No! Nonononono is that what this is about? You thought I was with Khonshu again?”

You were confused too. “I didn’t think anything was happening until I came home and you were against the wall. Marc, sweetheart.” You search his face for answers. “Can you just tell me what’s going on? I’m confused.”

He sputters a bit, trying to find the words. “Y-you’re leaving! You’re leaving us…”

You blink at him. “Huh? I’m not leaving you, god Marc, whatever got you this worked up? Sweetie, I’ve never been happier than with you three…”

“The furniture is on the street… Things are packed up… And, and and- the pictures! The pictures, they’re are taken down, our whole life together is off the walls-”

Ah. “Marc…” You realize what happened now. “Oh sweetheart, sweetie pie… I’m not leaving you. I’m doing spring cleaning. Remember, last week we went over what I could give away?”

The recognition slowly starts to spread across his face. “But… the pictures…”

“I took them down to wash the walls.”

“Oh… and the furniture?” It was beginning to click for him. This was all a misunderstanding.

You smile softly. “I found the coolest furniture. Steven will love it.”

He blinked. And again. “So… you don’t hate me?”

Your heart nearly broke at his words. “Oh Marc, no!” You gather him up in your arms again. “My sweet, sweet man I could never!”

You see his lip quiver a bit, but instead of crying Marc crashes his mouth into yours, large hands groping at your body with a fevur, like he couldn't believe you were real, that you were still here, still wanted him.

And he needed you.

“C’mere-” He grunted, gripping your asscheeks and pulling you towards him as he kisses you, mouth claiming yours in desperation.

Instantly you were filled with desire; Marc tended to do that to you. He was so handsome, so kind, so gentle you couldn’t help giving your all to him right away. Marc backed you up against the wall, the hand behind your head preventing you from smacking it against the plaster. He always looked out for you like that. You could feel his hardness as his wide hips ground into you, his plump pressed stomach against yours. You love how he’s softened, still so strong, but the safety of your home and the very idea that he wasn’t on the run and living in storage units… His body felt as safe as his mind did.

Marc’s mouth consumed you, licking into your mouth as his knee rid up between your legs. In loose, thin basketball shorts you felt his thick, manly thighs and sigh and pleasure.

“Marc…” You moan for him, unable to control the sounds of pleasure from escaping your mouth as you work yourself on his body. Hitching a leg up against his side, you cling to Marc for stability as he uses his grip on your ass for leverage, dragging you up and down on him. Marc’s kisses are insatiable, you feel as if he is attempting to breathe you in with heavy pants, kissing your lips and neck. Your face is wet from the open-mouth kisses.

Suddenly, and without warning, just as you are approaching the precipice humping his thigh, Marc pulls away and for a moment you think he got in his own head again, but then you are turned, face pressed against the wall but not painfully. Marc pulls your hips out, bends down to pull down your shorts and fucking picks you up by your pressed together legs to pull the shorts away. If that wasn’t sexy enough, he then kicks apart your ankles forcing your legs open. You aren’t even sure when Marc undid his pants, but before you know it, he is thrusting into your pliant and waiting body.

“M-Marc…” You repeat, his name the only thing on your mind is his name and his cock. Okay and maybe his hand wrapping around your front and snaking up your body. He plays with your grunts, grunting with his breaths hot against your ear and in time to the slamming thrusts of his hips. You brace against the wall, pushing your ass out more to take more of his length inside you.

“Thought I lost you…” He mutters, face tucked into your neck. 

“Never, never Ma- AH!” You cry out when he  squeezes a tit hard, pressing bruises through your shirt. “You-mmmph-you’re stuck with me.”

He pounds your core, rough thrusts mixed with soft kisses. You tilt your head back, desperate for his mouth, his love, his affection yours. He obliges, always knowing what you need and meeting your mouth to sloppily make out with you like horny teenagers. It was needy, it was desperate, it was Marc’s complete and utter relief that he was not going to be left shattered. He filled you over and over and again, the fat tip of his cock pressing up against that beautiful spot inside you. When you came, it was hard, pulsing on his cock again and again and again. Marc wrapped his arm under your middle as your legs began to feel like jell-o. 

“Mine.” He growls, spilling his cum inside you. “Fucking mine. Don’t every fucking scare me like that again.”

You want to tell him you didn’t that he jumped to his own conclusions but you were barely standing when he twirled you around again. Dropping to his knees, Marc looked up at you, large and wet brown eyes gazing at you in adoration. He was beautiful, so fucking beautiful…

“I won’t…” You whisper down to his hopeful face. “I promise. I love you so much.”

With a relieved look on his face, Marc smiles at you and god is it nice to see him smile. “I love you too, baby.” With that, he hitches a leg over his shoulder and dives into your pussy. Between his cum and yours, it’s a mess down there and that’s further evidenced by the absolutely obscene sounds coming from his mouth as he sluuuurped up the evidence of your time together. Marc was eager, eating his own cum out of you while keeping your supported against the wall. You knew he wouldn’t let you fall. His tongue swirled against your clit, making you buck against him so one hand pinned your hips to the wall. He ate like this was his last meal, like his salvation came from your pleasure.

When he sucked on the sensitive nub, you cry out his name and dig your fingers into Marc’s dark curls, keeping him close to you. As if he’d ever leave. You were close again, the whirling swirling feeling deep inside you continuing to build like a twister into a tornado as you chant Marc, Marc, Marc like the repetition of a Rosary. His tongue flicked inside you, one hand keeping you upright against the wall and the other playing with your clit, making you come apart directly into his mouth.

You pull on his hair so hard you worry you’re hurting him but the way Marc shoves his face into you even harder spurs you on. You can hear and feel him moaning into you as he laps up your release, a soft mmmmmm reverbating against your pussy and prolonging it as you ride his face. Your left leg is so tired, so sore, starting to wobble and Marc notices as he finally pulls away. Marc helps you slide down the wall, landing you safely on your bottom.

On his hands and knees, Marc Spector crawls to you, kissing your lips tenderly but you can see his own exhaustion too. Cupping his face in both your hands, you kiss Marc as you lay him down on your naked lap. You’re surprised with how quickly Marc’s full lashes flutter closed, his head resting between the crux of your thigh and stomach.

You play with his hair. He seems so tired, today must’ve taken it out of him. After a whole day of work, coming home to thinking you were gone. You know how anxiety can physically drain you.

“That really scared you, huh?” You say, petting him like a cat. You swear you can hear him pur.

Marc talks soft, sleepy, eyes never opening. “Yeah. Thought I lost you… I can’t do that.”

“I’ll never leave you, sweetie. And I’d certainly never leave like that… But I know how anxiety can be.”

His voice was groggy with sleep, quiet and muttered. “Yeah, it fuck’n sucks.” 

You can’t help but chuckle. “It does, baby, it does. But I’m here, and I ain’t going nowhere. Can’t get rid of me if you tried, Spector.”

He hums constantly, and in another moment, Marc is snoring softly. He’s so cute.

Then, he’s snoring loudly.

Why didn’t Steven and Jake snore? Made no fucking sense.

Sighing, you settle back against the wall and maneuver enough to grab your shorts without waking your sleeping, tuckered out little boyfriend. You pull out your phone, take a few cute pictures (some with flowery or silly snapchat filters) then go play Candy Crush. He needed to rest.

Mostly, because he had a long day and was so so adorable when he was sleeping even if he was loud as all goddamn hell.

But also, you still had several pieces of furniture sitting in your car and there was no way you were going to move all of them yourself.

*************

We love a reader who can take care of an anxious baby <3

Thank you so much for reading!!!! This is my first marc, or any moon knight in a few months. I MISSED HIIIIIIMMMMMMMM

My beloved one <3

MY MOON KNIGHT RETURN IS HERE!!!!!!

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