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nageill · 1 year

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dlz ; jake lockley.

track ten of DEAR SCIENCE.

pairing ; jake lockley x gn!reader

synopsis ; jake lockley wasn't your husband. steven and marc were. jake was just... he was just there. a ghost living in your house.

words ; 3.5k

themes ; angst, mild fluff, married au

warnings / includes ; suggestive, implications of sex, jake is a rough kisser e_e, mentions of injury/blood, mild cursing, marc and steven both have appearances, jake is emotionally constipated, jake calls reader peach !! reader is a sweetheart <3

main masterlist.

Jake Lockley didn’t like your perfume—it was almost nauseatingly fresh and its smell permeated through his own clothes so that he’d often walk out smelling like he had doused himself in Febreze.

He didn’t like the way you’d hum to his favorite songs while doing the dishes. Nirvana, Muse, Nothing But Thieves, Radiohead—were you singing them on purpose just to annoy him? Nearly every night, he could hear your faint voice drift into the living room, where he was reading the same three sentences of the daily paper over and over and over again because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your endearingly inconsistent mutters to the music.

He especially hated when you’d walk out of the bedroom in nothing but Steven’s shirt loosely draped over your form, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your heavy-lidded eyes. There was just something about seeing you at your most vulnerable. You were comfortable around him, and that made Jake uneasy.

When Jake fronted, he slept in the guest room. Marc had convinced him not to blow more money staying at a hotel—and Steven was trying to persuade him to at least sleep in the same bed as you. After all, they were married to you.

But Jake wasn’t your husband. Steven and Marc were. Jake was just… he was just there. A ghost living in your house.

The very thought of sharing a bed with you made a chill dance down Jake’s spine. He could never. As appealing as the thought of having you slotted between his arms, sleepily recounting how your day went to him, sounded, he couldn’t ever have that. Jake Lockley wasn’t a domestic man.

His hands would always be dripping with blood that wasn’t his, no matter how hard he tried scrubbing it away.

There were times Jake felt a morsel of regret. He was nowhere near nice to you, and yet you still spared him that infuriatingly patient, sweet smile, always telling him to stay safe before he left to drive his cab around (or do Khonshu’s dirty work), and never failing to whisper good night before slipping into your bedroom.

Sometimes he had a queer, niggling feeling scratching at the pits of his stomach one would commonly refer to as jealousy. He knew that Marc and Steven got to hold you, kiss you, tell you they loved you as they pleased.

Jake couldn’t do that. Jake wasn’t even entirely sure he was capable of loving someone.

What made it even worse was that Jake learned about you through them—not because he ever actually tried to get closer to you.

He knew you loved apricots, but not as much as peaches. He knew you loved lighting scented candles whenever it rained. He knew you named each one of your house plants. He knew you were only slightly ticklish. He knew you had a tell; your nose would twitch and your eyebrows would quirk upwards whenever you lied. He knew from Steven to kiss just above your pulse point against the column of your throat to make you melt into him. He knew you had a birthmark between your thighs from when Marc—

Yeah, he’d rather not think about that one.

Jake knew you cried a lot—that one he learned on his own. He could hear you through the walls, but you probably weren’t aware of that fact.

One night, Jake sat in the living room, staring into nothing, heart twisting angrily at himself until he couldn’t take it anymore, storming out of the apartment after shoving his hat onto his head and grabbing his cab’s keys. Steven and Marc had yelled angrily at him the whole time, but he learned to block their voices out.

He wasn’t very good in the emotional department, that was abundantly clear.

When he came back home hours later, having driven around the city several times to clear his head, he tried to be as quiet as possible. At an hour as late as this, you were bound to be asleep, right?

But alas, there you were, curled into the corner of the couch, head uncomfortably lolled onto your shoulder. The house was entirely dark save for the dim glow of the television, casting a blue luminescence over your dozing form. Long shadows kissed the slopes of your features, softened with sleep. He noticed that there were tear tracks faintly outlined over the skin of your cheekbones.

Jake froze at the doorway for a moment. Were you waiting for him to come home?

He pushed down any and all intrusive thoughts, begrudgingly shrugging off his coat and hanging up his hat. A calloused palm carded through messy, coffee-hued curls.

Heart dipping heavy within his chest, Jake stalked forward to turn the TV off, setting the remote down on the coffee table. He stood over you for a moment. A frown twisted at the corner of his lips, drawing his brows together.

Jaw clenching, Jake stepped away from you, slipping into the hall. He leaned against the door to the guest room for a moment, huffing out a low groan. Gods, what in the hell was he doing?

After another minute of frustrated hesitation, Jake willed himself to make his way back into the living room. You were twitching in your sleep, eyelids fluttering with what he could guess were the beginnings of a harsh nightmare.

Gently—or, as gentle as a highly-skilled mercenary could be—Jake hooked an arm beneath the crook of your knee, the other looping over your shoulders and neck. When you stirred, Jake could only quietly make hushing noises, wincing at himself. Thankfully, you didn’t fully awaken, a soft noise falling from your lips as your nose turned to press against the fabric of his shirt obscuring his chest, just above where his heart scratched at the walls of his ribcage.

He kicked the door to your bedroom open none too silently, eager to set you down. Get as far away from you as possible. The sound of the doorknob thwacking against the wall behind it made your lids shoot open, and you groggily mumbled incoherent phrases under your breath before peering up at him with confused, watery eyes. He cursed internally.

“You’re back,” you said, voice hoarse with disuse. “You okay?”

There were lots of things Jake wanted to say to you at that moment.

No, I’m not okay. Were you waiting for me to get home? I’m sorry if I made you worry. I’m sorry I’m such an asshole. Am I an asshole? You shouldn’t ever wait for me again. What were you dreaming of? Was it a nightmare about me?

Instead of any of that, Jake merely set you down onto the mattress with a grunt, dusting his hands onto his pants. He glared down at you as if he was angry—and he was, but not necessarily at you.

But wasn’t he, though? He was angry that you were just so… so kind to him. He was angry that you were patient. He was angry that you were so easy to love.

“Go to sleep, peach,” he gruffed. A hot flush coursed over his face at the nickname that had unintentionally slipped out. To his relief, you didn’t seem to notice.

Your sleepy expression seemed to cave in on itself and you dazedly nodded, head falling back into the pillow.

If only he could slip in beside you, entangle his legs with yours as you kissed softly over his tense face, call you his.

Jake nearly slapped himself to get his head screwed on straight. He spared your already-sleeping form one last glance before trudging out of your room. Hurriedly, he threw himself into the guestroom, ripping off his shirt and pressing a palm flat against his chest to quell the racing thunder of his heart.

You were not good news for him.

You didn’t see Jake for weeks after that incident.

A part of you was glad—you were beginning to miss the sound of Steven’s sweet voice, his tender touches, his passionate kisses. You missed Marc’s back hugs, his strange fixation with your bare legs, his lopsided smiles.

The other part of you, however, wondered about Jake.

“Does Jake ever… say anything to the two of you?” you asked Steven one day, stirring sugar into your steaming tea as you leaned against the kitchen counter. Your husband looked up from the novel he was reading, pushing his glasses up his nose while considering your question.

“Sometimes. Mostly stays to himself—quite the quiet bloke, innhe? Why, love?”

Your bottom lip trembled as you glared into your tea, as if it was the source of all your troubles. Steven was immediately out of his seat, tugging you close until your forehead rested upon his clavicle bone. You sniffled into him, crushing your eyes shut with shame.

“Does he hate me?” you asked, voice cracking. “I don’t… I don’t know what I did to make him—”

Steven immediately held you all the closer, crooning out, “No! No, of course not, silly. He’s just… he’s just having trouble with himself, that’s all. Doesn’t really talk to us much, either. It’s not you, love, I promise. In fact, I’m nearly certain he fancies you.”

“You’re not just saying that?” you said, scrutinizing him with wide, glassy eyes. “I don’t need him to love me like you and Marc do. I just… it’s hard when it feels like a man with the same face as your husband hates you.”

Steven’s expression crumbled, and he kissed over your left eyelid softly. “I know. I’m sorry, darling, I can’t imagine what that’s like.” Rubbing soothing circles over your back, he urged you to take a seat next to him, leaning over to move your mug of tea from the counter to the kitchen table. “Come on, I’ve got an amazing poem I want you to read.”

It was only two days later that you saw Jake again. You strode through the door, juggling grocery bags in one hand and a stack of books you borrowed from the library in the other. With a huff, you set the groceries down in the kitchen, turning around to see Jake quietly observing you, leaning against the fridge. You bit down a startled scream, flinching at his unexpected presence.

“Oh,” you said after a second of flustered silence. “Hi, Jake. Didn’t see you there.”

He was observing you with such a sharp gaze that it felt like his irises were cutting straight through your flesh. Finally, he pushed away from the fridge, slowly moving towards you until he stood just in front of you, about an arm’s length away.

“Jake, what are you—?”

“I don’t hate you, peach,” the man said, all gravelly and brusque.

It took you a moment to fully register what he was saying. “Oh,” was all you said, parroting yourself from five seconds ago in a rather poignant manner. “Well… I don’t hate you, either, Jake. Far from that.”

You could see the struggle in the dark depths of his irises. Turmoil raged behind those narrowed lids, and you couldn’t bring it in yourself to look away, not even if you tried.

Feeling bold, you shuffled forward to slowly raise your hands, cupping Jake’s face within your palms. His glare seemed to harden at first, always so angry at things for not going the way he expected it to go, muscles tensing beneath your touch—but when your fingers gently scraped over his stubble, he could feel himself letting go, practically liquefying into you.

“Why are you like this, Jake Lockley?” you murmured, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. The action made his eyelids flutter shut. He’d never let himself be this vulnerable in front of you before. He wasn’t prepared for his walls to come crashing down around him so quickly—so easily. “Did I do something to upset you?”

All previous inhibitions thrown out the window, Jake grumbled out a small, “Yeah. All the fuckin’ time, peach.”

You quirked a brow. “Go on, then.”

One of his eyes opened before sliding closed again. “Where do I start? You smell too good—I can never concentrate around you. You’re always singing my favorite songs and it’s buggin’ the hell outta me. You’re always so nice to me—even though you know I’m not like your precious Steven and Marc.”

Something akin to a guffaw fell from your lips. “Well, first of all, thank you? Somehow you managed to compliment me in the rudest way possible, and I commend you for that. Second, I know you’re not like Steven and Marc. But I still love you all the same.”

The kitchen grew so quiet, Jake could’ve sworn he’d be able to hear a pin drop.

His heart began tripping over its own gallop of a pace. You’d said it so easily, so swiftly, as if loving him came as naturally as breathing.

Jake found his eyes falling to your mouth, slightly puckered to the side in thought.

Noticing his sudden change in demeanor, you started saying, “Jake—?”

“Can I kiss you?” he interrupted, glowering at you with a newfound fire crackling behind his eyes.

You blinked once, then twice. Then you nodded.

A small sigh of content that made Jake far too excited for his own good escaped your lungs as he dove forward and melded his lips with yours, dipping you backward ever so slightly in the midst of his vigor.

He kissed differently than Steven or Marc did. Steven was languid, careful, and tender whilst Marc was feverish, calculated, and explorative.

Jake Lockley, however, kissed like a mad man. He was all tongue and teeth, desperately furious with his motions, kissing you as if it was the very last time he’d have the chance to do so. His nose slotted against yours, brushing against your cheek as you caved into him, arms winding over his neck to pull him ever so close.

His fingers immediately clutched at your waist, one moving upwards beneath your (Marc’s) shirt to lightly scratch over the skin of your ribcage and the other shifting lower to tug over the back of your thigh.

Gods, you just felt so right.

“Mmh, peach,” Jake growled into your skin as he traversed down your neck, biting at the spot just above your pulse point, which made a low, desperate noise scratch at the back of your throat. He’d do anything to hear that noise over and over again.

“Why do you call me that?” you panted out, fingers threading through his haphazard curls to haul him away from your neck and back onto your lips.

“You like peaches,” he breathed into you, a groan of agony rumbling from his chest when you nipped at his bottom lip with a hum of approval. “Don’t you?”

A choked sound was all you could let out when he shoved you none-too-gently against the counter, bending over to accommodate for his eager lips over yours.

“I love them,” you whispered once he parted away to catch his breath.

There it was again. The L word.

Fuck, he couldn’t do this.

Suddenly, as if snapped back into reality, Jake halted any and all ministrations, nose only a hair's breadth away from your neck. You smelled so damn good, so tantalizingly tempting, lips raw-bitten and skin flushed with heat.

But Jake couldn’t. You didn’t belong with a person like him. With Steven? Yeah, of course. With Marc? The idiot loved you too much to ever let you go, even if he tried to.

Jake would bring you nothing but pain and misery and the thinly-veiled threat of danger.

“This is a mistake,” he said, voice rough with tremendous restraint.

He thought that if he kissed you, all these stupid feelings would wash down the drain, as if you’d be able to suck it all out of him like a goddamn love vacuum. But, no, it was as if just having a taste wasn’t enough. He needed the rest of you. He needed all of you.

But he couldn’t.

“Jake…” Your voice was quiet, breaking off slightly when he let go of you, stepping back while glaring a hole into the ground.

With the maturity equivalent to that of a prepubescent teenager, Jake stormed out of the kitchen and into the hall, slamming the guest room door behind him so hard that the picture frames of you and Steven and Marc on the walls rattled.

A week passed by until you saw Jake again.

You were in bed with Marc, shivering as he ran his palms down your waist, swatting his hands away while gritting out, “That tickles, Marc!”

He hummed noncommittally, pressing kisses down your shoulder, nosing your cheek affectionately.

“Tell me about this one,” he whispered into you, taking your hand to trace a thin scar over the inside of your wrist.

“I was seven,” you whispered. “This boy pushed me off a swing in the playground. I threw my hands out and a rock got me bad—fractured my wrist, too. I don’t remember much, but I remember there was a lot of blood. I’m pretty sure the poor kid was the one that ran screaming for a teacher to come help.”

Marc regarded you with a look of pure adoration, thinly laced with amusement. “Did you really just call the bastard who pushed you a ‘poor kid’?”

You barked out a laugh and he pressed a lasting kiss over your faded scar.

“Alright, your turn. Tell me about this,” you playfully pressed your thumb between his brows. “You got a little divot here. Been furrowing your eyebrows too much, huh? And you wonder why I call you the grumpy eagle muppet.” When he rolled his eyes, you chuckled out, “What? Listen, it’s not my fault Khonshu got rid of all your scars! I gotta work with what I’m given, here!”

“That’s enough out of you,” Marc bit out, though you could tell he wasn’t really being serious with the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Okay, turn around. Sleep time, baby. Love you.”

You hummed in mild contentment, turning around so your back molded perfectly against his chest. “Love you, too, Marc.”

The rise and fall of his chest was deep, rhythmic, so calming that you were just on the brink of sleep—

Until it stopped.

You could feel the body wrapped behind you stiffen. Immediately, you knew this was Jake.

With a lump lodged in your throat, you hesitantly turned around, only to be met with Jake staring back at you, wide-eyed. It was dark, so you could just barely make out the upset tautness of his features.

Jerkily, he started moving to clamber off the bed, all but shaking you off of him like you were a pesky insect.

No. No, you wouldn’t stand for this.

“Jake,” you said firmly, reaching out to wrap your hand around his wrist. “Stay. Please.”

Mute, the man shook his head, legs slipping out from beneath the blanket.

Desperate, you sat up, wrapping your arms around his midriff and pressing your cheek into his back as you said, “You deserve love, Jake. You deserve my love. Please, stay.”

For a moment, you wondered if he’d just push you off again. Disappear into that guestroom you were too scared to venture into when he left for work. Just when you were on the near precipice of relinquishing any and all hope, you could feel Jake’s shoulders sag. His head hung low as he sighed.

Wordless, he shifted around and you let go of him so he could slip back under the covers.

Tentative, you laid down next to him, shifting so your head could rest over his chest. His arm jostled around to rest comfortably beneath your neck.

Jake held you differently from Marc and Steven.

Jake held you as if he was afraid you’d break apart. Jake held you like he had to be ready to let you go at any moment. Jake held you like he was afraid to show you just how much he loved you.

You craned your neck upwards to press a light kiss to his stubbled jaw, then settled back down.

You heard Jake sigh, but this time, it was one of pure relief—utter bliss. It was quiet, but it was there.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, nose tucked into your hair. “I’ll try to be better with you. I’ll try, peach.”

Nodding minutely, you intertwined your hand with his free one, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. “I know.”

Just before your breaths evened with sleep, Jake could only barely hear you drowsily mumble out, “I love you, Lockley.”

He knew you were already asleep, which made the feat of saying it back somewhat easier for him.

“Love you, too, peach.”

#Fic rec #Moon Knight fanfic #Marc Spector x reader #Steven Grant x reader #Jake Lockley x reader #Moon boys x reader #ichorai #(I didn't expect to be crying over Jake Lockley today but here we are!)#(very very very well done in exploring Jake trying to navigate a romantic relationship)#10/10 reccommend!#queuing on broken glass

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nageill · 1 year

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Not A Bad Morning

Pairing: Steven Grant x gn!reader (ft. Marc Spector too)

Word Count: 2.5k+

Summary: Steven was just trying to have a stress free morning before his job interview but it just seems like everything’s against him

Warnings/Tags: not a lot of warnings really, it’s fluff. Steven has a little self doubt, reader has a dog, just a little meet cute in the park, Marc being soft and helping Steven

a/n: ohhhh Steven my beloved. Yes it's another Steven fic, sorrrrrrryyy. I promise I am working on other things, specifically a tlou fic if anyone is interested👀 also this is probably terrible but I hope you enjoy anyway

*(I orginally posted this last night but something kept happening to the end of the fic where it just kept deleting the last two paragraphs so we've had to make a new post and hope that works)

**any lines all in italics are Marc talking with Steven in case that isn’t clear

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

The morning had not been kind to Steven.

It had started with him somehow snoozing his alarm without even waking up and the water in his shower had run ice cold. Then all his clothes seemed to be in the laundry pile and he had to borrow a pair of Jake’s trousers that he felt were a little too tight for his liking.

It felt like some sick joke when he’d opened the fridge and it was empty; bar some dodgy-looking carrots, out-of-date oat milk, and a single egg—why is there just one egg?? Is it really that difficult to do a food shop??— so he had no breakfast and very little time. He makes a mental note to berate Marc or Jake the next time they show up on body sharing etiquette and making sure there’s bloody food in the fridge.

Steven was slowly losing hope for the day and it wasn't even 10am. He'd tried his hardest to plan the day to the tee. It’s been all he’s been able to think about since he saw the ad for his dream job and had been lucky enough to get an interview for it. He had wanted to make sure it was the least stressful it could've been but it was as if the universe wasn't on his side today.

Now he’s impatiently waiting in line at a local coffee shop, his foot incessantly taps against the floor as he anxiously checks his watch every few seconds.

You have plenty of time.

“Shut up,” Steven mutters quietly, looking off to the side into a mirror where he can see his own—slightly disheveled—reflection. A stranger gives him an offended look as they walk past, “not you-I-sorry!” He turns around to stare at the back of the person in fronts head and tries to act somewhat normal, giving Marc a cold shoulder in the process.

Stop stressing out.

Steven rubs at his temple while willing the queue to move even a fraction of a second quicker.

You’re going to get the job.

This time Steven sighs, this is one of those times he wishes he could just stick his fingers in his ears and hum a tune to drown out Marc’s voice.

Even if you don’t, it’s not the end of the world. We can go somewhere else. It’d be their loss.

There are just two more people in front, he can ignore him just a little longer.

You can’t ignore me forever.

A little more passive-aggressively than he’d normally be, Steven, rummages in his bag for his phone. Then he theatrically pretends to make a phone call.

“Hiya just wanted to let you know I’m fine.” He glances back to the mirror to see Marc with an unamused look and his arms crossed over his chest.

Sure you are.

“No, I’m not stressed.”

Clearly.

“I wish you’d stop saying I was because if anything that stresses me out more yeah?”

The tone in Steven’s voice is one that says he’s on the end of his tether and this time Marc just holds his hands up, not saying a word. Steven softens a little when after a beat Marc just gives him a look that says, ‘you are stressed out and I just want to help.’

“I appreciate you trying to help. I’ll talk to you later.” He pulls the phone away from his ear and gives his alter a final look in the mirror before turning back to see there’s no one in front of him now and the barista is waving their hand at him.

Now, with a fresh cup of tea and a surprisingly good looking vegan blueberry muffin secured, he takes the shortcut through the park to get to the museum on the other side. He went to check his watch, somehow forgetting the cup of hot tea in his hand and almost spilling it on himself. There was plenty of time for him to sit on that bench at the other end of the park, near the lake, where he could calmly enjoy his breakfast before his interview.

The park seems quiet enough that Steven feels comfortable talking with Marc now without worrying about people around hearing him. “You still there?” He asks the question while simultaneously knowing the answer.

Mhmm.

“Do you really think I’ll get the job?” Steven’s anxiety and self-doubt creep out with every word.

I already told you, if you don’t it’s their loss. Marc’s softens after a rather sad-looking Steven catches a glimpse of him in a passing puddle. You’re more knowledgeable on all that stuff than anyone else and you can do that job better than anyone.

“But what if…what if they just don’t like me, like how Donna didn’t?” Steven won’t even look at Marc as he passes another puddle, more interested in the plain-looking pathway below his feet.

Fuck Donna. And fuck them if they don’t like you.

Marc’s voice has an edge to it then before he relaxes again, remembering his goal is to soothe Steven’s anxiety, not make it worse.

Which they will…

…like you I mean!

People find your clumsy nature endearing.

Fuck, I’m not great at this.

The last sentence makes Steven chuckle just a little because Marc may not be the best with words but at least he tries.

As Steven goes to reply his thoughts are interrupted by shouting, for a second he’s so in his head he thinks it’s Marc but it sounds too far away and he looks up just in time to see a big dog bounding towards him. He doesn’t even have a second to react before the dog jumps onto him, knocking his tea completely out of his hand as he falls backward and lands on his ass with a thud. The dog continues to excitedly jump at him and tries to lick at his face despite him squirming as it does so.

“Val!” The shouting continues, this time much closer and it sounds like someone is running, “I’m so sorry! Val get off!” Suddenly the dog is pulled off of him and Steven’s a little dazed by what just happened. He blinks up at you, his eyes squinting because of the sun's brightness. Maybe that’s why he thinks you look like a literal angel standing above him. The sunlight behind you causes your silhouette to be surrounded by a ring of bright yellow light. “I am so so sorry! She’s a friend's dog and she’s just a pup. I’m just walking her while my friend’s away. I’m so sorry the lead slipped out of my hand and she just bolted.”

Either get up or talk please, this is painful to watch.

“Oh.” Steven’s head kicks into gear again and he awkwardly gets back up onto his feet, wincing slightly when he rubs a hand over his now sore lower back. “It’s okay, accidents happen.”

“I’m so sorry, I hope she didn’t hurt you. Shit, you’ve dropped your drink. Here-“ you start rummaging around in your pocket.

“Oh no, it’s okay! Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t a great cup of tea anyway.” That was a lie. It cost about £6 and was actually a pretty good tea that he only got on special occasions, like today when the world seems against him.

“I’m so sorry,” your eyes look so apologetic and Steven still feels a little dazed while looking at you. He thinks you look like you belong in a museum, amongst the marble statues and fancy oil paintings. You’re something that should be admired by everyone.

Steven, the attractive person is talking to you and you need to talk back, like now.

Steven barely has a second to form any thoughts before Marc speaks again.

Let me front.

“No!” It comes out before he even properly thinks about it and he tries his best to play it off, “no don’t be sorry. What kind of dog is it?” He tries to shift the conversation so you hopefully don’t think too much about how weird he is acting.

“Oh… she’s a rescue so they think lurcher but my friend swears she’s part collie too!” You’re fondly looking at the dog while Steven observes you for just a second more, “she usually listens really well but apparently, we need to work on not running off and jumping strangers. Huh, Valkyrie?” Both the dog and you look at each other affectionately as you scratch behind her ear.

“That’s a really nice name, it’s from Norse mythology right?” Steven likes it when you smile right at him, a quiet giggle slipping out.

“Uh, yeah. That and I think my friend is in love with the king of New Asgard.” You both laugh this time and Steven thinks it’s the nicest sound he’s heard in a long time.

Then there’s an awkward moment of silence and Steven just doesn’t know how to keep the conversation going or if you even want to keep the conversation going and now he slightly wishes he’d let Marc front. Marc’s always better at flirting with people in regular conversation, he can pick up on certain social cues Steven is blind to. Steven wants to flirt with you, he was just immediately drawn to you and he wants to get to know you so badly, he just doesn’t know how.

Ask for their name or introduce yourself.

Marc’s voice filters through Steven’s self doubting thoughts.

“I’m Steven,” it comes out quickly and forcefully before he can overthink it and his hand flies out in your direction. He can barely look at you his eyes flickering anywhere but at you. That is until your hand slips into his, your hand’s a little cold but it feels nice in his slightly clammy one and he watches your smile grow after you say your name. Quietly he repeats it to himself as a way for his brain to better remember it and he really just likes the way it sounds.

“I’m really sorry again, can I buy you another cup of tea? There’s a cart just down this path that sells hot drinks.” He thinks he’s maybe getting ahead of himself or looking too closely into it but he really likes the idea of spending more time with you. Marc catches him just before he ultimately agrees immediately without another thought.

Steven, your interview.

“Oh sh-!” He reluctantly pulls his hand from yours to check his watch only to see time has somehow run away from him. Now he suddenly has very little time to get to the museum. “I’m sorry I have an interview for this dream job of mine in like ten minutes and it’s probably going to take me that long to run there!”

“Oh.” Is that disappointment seeping into your features? “That’s okay,” just like that it’s gone and you’re smiling at him again, “I owe you a cup of tea then Steven.”

“After?” It comes out a little more like a forceful statement rather than a polite question. He just had to say it before his brain chickened out. Now you’re looking at him confused, quietly repeating the word he just uttered.

Steven, buddy, you gotta say a little more.

“I’m trying,” he quickly mumbles to the side before turning back to you and more cautiously speaking this time, “maybe we could- if you want to-maybe you’d want to-"

Steven, calm, breathe.

He pauses and takes a deep breath, his eyes falling closed for just a second. When they open you’re still there. You’re real and you’re still standing in front of him, curiously waiting on him to speak again. That beautiful smile still gracing your face and he’s lost again, lost in the calm of your eyes on him.

Steven.

“Do you want to meet after?” Marc’s voice reminds him of what he was trying to say and it comes out more smoothly than he expected. Maybe that’s down to Marc being even closer to the front, almost slipping into control of the body for just a moment.

“Oh.” Steven thinks he’s misread the situation—it wouldn’t be the first time—because you look surprised. Just as he opens his mouth to rescind the offer and apologise profusely you speak again. “I-I’d love that,” Steven watches as a grin spreads across your face and he mirrors your expression.

As much as I want to see how this pans out, we’re late.

“Shi-!” Steven checks his watch just to confirm even though he already knows he’s more than late at this point, “I have to go!”

The last thing he wants to do is leave and he awkwardly moves to do so before something else inside him fights it. If this wasn’t his dream job he’d forget all about the interview and just stay here in the park with you. Maybe you could walk around the water and sit with a cup of tea on a bench, and get to know each other better.

“Go! Go!” You’re gently shooing him off so he listens, and forces his feet to move but he keeps looking back at you as he takes the first few steps. Val tugs on the end of her lead, a little cry escaping as she looks at Steven and then back to you.

Wait!

Steven halts abruptly almost falling over his own feet.

Give them your number!

Frantically Steven rushes back over to you, Val now pulling you almost off your feet as she excitedly taps her paws on the ground. How did he somehow forget a crucial part?! He quickly rummages in his bag and pulls out the receipt from the coffee shop, a loose pen, and some crumbs from his forgotten, now squished muffin.

“Here,” he messily scribbles down something that resembles his phone number and quickly decides to add a little note on the end. You delicately take the note when he offers it, smiling as you glance over it before looking at Steven again. His face hurts from how much he’s smiling, “see you later then?” When you excitedly nod he adorably waves as he starts to back away again. Steven walks backward for a second longer than he probably should just so he can admire the way you’re still standing smiling at him too. Reluctantly he pulls his eyes away from you and turns, breaking into a light jog as Marc reminds him they're late once again. Steven takes one last look at you, he’s surprised you’re still standing there reading over his little note with a large smile still plastered to your face.

You did a good job back there.

The small compliment makes Steven feel good. He'd been working hard with Marc on communication. Learning to breathe and formulate his words better in conversation and it seems the hard work is paying off.

Steven takes one final look at you before he speeds into more of a run, his heart now racing for another reason. Even now when he nervously answers the interviewer's question his mind stays stuck on you. He can't stop thinking about how nice you looked or the way you smiled so brightly-

Steven, focus!

#Fic rec #Moon Knight fanfic #Steven Grant x reader #phantomspiderr #Not a Bad Morning #(just a really cute and well done meet cute fic)#(and a nice job tying any part of MK into the rest of the MCU!)#(this is a well-done piece so if you like Steven Grant give it a read!)#queuing on broken glass

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nageill · 1 year

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When I'm Not Quite Myself

Pairing: Steven Grant x reader, Marc Spector x reader, Jake Lockley x reader

Summary: On your wedding day, each of you share something special to the other

a/n: a film that makes me ugly sob is "A Star is Born" and I was inspired to write something. My fav song from the soundtrack was Is That Alright?

Tonight was the night of your wedding to the men you fell in love with: Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, and Marc Spector. It was small as you didn't want to have a big celebration. All you wanted was each other, and that's what mattered.

You were in the car with Jake as he drove you two back home. You were still in your wedding dress as your hands were intertwined in the middle. He smiles at you, thinking how lucky he was to have you in his life.

You look back at the road, noticing that you passed your shared apartment.

"Tesoro, we just passed the apartment." You said, thinking he was distracted.

Jake just smirks as he takes your hand up and kisses it.

"Don't worry, Mi Cielito, we wanna show you something."

You didn't understand what he was telling until you two drove out of the city. Then, you finally understood.

You were now in a quaint neighborhood, as you saw families at each house and old couples walking by the sidewalks, waiving to you two. Jake pulled over to a house that didn't look occupied.

Your eyes widen as you twirl around to him, your hand placed on your beating heart.

"Is this what I think it is?" You ask, your voice hitched.

Jake smiles and takes your free hand, kissing it.

"Si, it's our home."

The boys and you always talked about moving out of the dungy apartment as you all wanted to find a bigger space. You were expecting to go house hunting in the following year, but you had no idea that they were already looking. You started to tear up and hugged him tightly, already flying to the door handle.

"Aye, no wife of mine will be opening doors." Marc called out. You roll your eyes as he got out and opened your door, offering a hand. You took it as he unexpectedly took you off your feet as he scooped you up.

"Marc!" You yelled.

"Hey, let me do this for you. Please." Marc begged with his soft, brown eyes.

"Okay, baby, take me home." You said.

Marc broke out of a grin and carried you to the doorstep. He dug into his pocket and found the key and unlocked it. He walked in with you, giving you a loving gaze.

"Welcome home."

He helped you to your feet as you walked along the house. Marc decided to explain.

"The boys and I knew that we wanted to give you a real home after we proposed. Steven did most of the searching and found this place through a catalog, Jake did the payments, and I repaired some things around the place."

There was an empty hallway where you were envisioning picture frames along the walls. By the living room, you saw the fireplace where you knew you'd be cuddling with the boys. The kitchen was the perfect size for you to cook and bake. Often times it will all go in disarray as everyone would be throwing flour, but you had fun doing the small things.

"It's perfect," You said, looking out of the glass door to see a backyard, already envisioning children running around as their dads chase them.

"There's actually um, one place I'd like to show you." Steven stuttered out. You turned around and see how nervous he was, shifting his feet up and down.

You walk up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Steven, darling, it's just us. No need to get nervous around your wife." You said.

Steven holds you by your waist.

"I'll forever be nervous. You make my heart beat faster every time you walk into the room."

You start blushing as you give him a sweet kiss as you tuck in a strand that was out of place. He smiles at you as he kisses the back of your hand.

"Come, I think you'll like this surprise." He said guiding you in the house. you turn into another hallway as he leads you to a closed door. He turns the knob and opens it, motioning you to go in first.

Once you see what's inside, you gasped as you cover your mouth.

The room was small with white walls. In the corner, you saw a guitar on a stand and a desk. But what you reacted most was the black piano that you had your eye on for some time.

You were a musician, and you were singing covers at a local cafe where you first met Steven who was there to buy some pastries. Once he heard your voice and saw how beautiful you were, he knew he was a goner.

On your dates, each boy loved at how you were passionate about performing and that you wanted to write your own music. Renting a studio was pricey, so you were often found in the cramped kitchen table trying to write.

And now, your husbands made you your own studio.

"Do you like it? Oh no, you're crying. See, I knew that we should've stuck with the white piano, but no, Marc wanted black because it's 'classic'- "

"Steven... it's wonderful. Thank you." You said, running towards him as you held onto him tightly.

He was shocked, but he held onto you tightly as he closed his eyes, leaning in your shoulder.

"We wanted you to be happy." He whispered.

When you started off, it was hard to book gigs or have meetings with record labels. The boys were your number one supporter, as they went to every gig you performed.

You break apart as you give a tearful smile.

"What do you mean? I'm always happy when I'm with you three." You said.

Now it was Marc who was staring at you, as he tried to not to cry.

"Me and the boys just want you to continue what you love."

You look back at the piano and an idea popped in your mind. You grab Marc's hand as you two sat on the bench. You played a few keys, hearing that it's in tune.

You turn back to them, feeling the same nerves Steven was talking about.

"I've been trying to find the right words to say when we got married. I wrote my vows and restarted every time. Nothing sounded right. This is me, giving my vow to you. I hope it's okay if I love you forever."

You played a few chords as Marc, Steven, and Jake listened to the words you've been wanting to say.

Life is so simple A little boy, a little girl Laughing and loving Trying to figure out the world It felt like summer When I kissed you in the rain And I know your story But tell me again

Nothing you say wouldn't interest me All of your words are like poems to me I would be honored if you would take me as I am

I want you to look right in my eyes To tell me you love me, to be by my side I want you at the end of my life I wanna see your face, when I fall with grace At the moment I die Is that alright? Is that alright?

Marc was speechless. He was never a perfect man. But in your eyes, he was everything you needed and more. You picked up the broken pieces he had and made him whole.

I hope you're still with me when I'm not quite myself And I pray that you'll lift me when you know I need help It's a warm celebration of all of our years I dream of our story, of our fairy tale

Family dinners and family trees Teaching the kids to say thank you and please Knowing if we stay together that things will be right

Steven couldn't help but smile brightly at you as his eyes brimmed with tears. He always wanted that fairytale life: to fall in love with a beautiful woman and ride away to the sunset. He doesn't know how he got to have such a breathtaking person in his life.

You look over and see Jake now, whose eyes were bloodshot red.

"Tesoro? What's wrong, Jake?" You ask, already wiping his tears.

He stops you as he holds your hand softly and gives you a look that you couldn't describe.

"I thought I was... destined to be alone. All I knew was how to kill, but you've changed our lives. The reason why I call you Mi Cielito is because... You are my little heaven."

You started tearing up, and soon, your lips smashed against his. You hold onto the back of his head as you deepen the kiss. You connect your foreheads together, as both of you were overwhelmed with emotion.

"I love all three of you." you whispered.

Jake smiles as he peppers kisses around your face.

"We love you most."

"That's not possible, I love you all to infinity." You replied.

There was an infectious chuckle that came from Marc.

"There's only one way to settle this." He said, grinning.

You were about to say something until Marc scooped you from your seat and carried you out again.

"Where you taking me now?" You ask, squealing as he carried you upstairs.

"What every bride and groom do on the day of their wedding night." Steven hinted, making your cheeks flush.

You had three men who loved you with every ounce of their body, and swore to protect you as the knights of shining armor they were.

You were always flustered at how the boys treated you so well like a goddamn queen. You found your happily ever after with your knights in shining armor.

#Fic rec #Moon Knight fanfic #Marc Spector x reader #Steven Grant x reader #Jake Lockley x reader #Moon boys x reader #iguana-eyanna #When I’m Not Quite Myself #(never mind me while I gross cry over how beautiful this is!)#(seriously it's fluffy but well-written and each of the boys deserve love okay!)#10/10 reccommend!#queuing on broken glass

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nageill · 1 year

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reblogging this again to A) give this wonderful fic more notes; B) to tell @campingwiththecharmings that they are wonderful and thank you for sharing this piece of lit with us!; and C) just because this is a great fic and I love it.

Night Moves

AN: There's so little plot here it's astounding lmao. Based on a prompt from this list.

(Un-beta'd)

You’re going to kill your neighbor. It’s 3 a.m. 3 a.m. on a Wednesday and this ass hole is blasting fucking Metallica.

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 5,030 Pairing: Santiago "Pope" Garcia x F!Reader Warnings: pwp, cursing, kissing, alcohol consumption, p in v, oral sex (brief), fingering (brief), frottage, strangers to lovers/neighbors to lovers AO3

———

You’re going to kill your neighbor.

It’s 3 a.m. 3 a.m. on a Wednesday and this ass hole is blasting fucking Metallica.

You can hear every lyric through the thin walls of your apartment, every drumbeat, every guitar riff—everything. It’s so loud, it’s almost as if the band is actually there playing live in your living room.

You’d tried just ignoring it at first, hoping they’d get their rage or whatever out and would turn it off. After an hour, you’d tried banging on the wall, but they were either ignoring you or couldn’t hear over the din in their living room. It’s going on hour two now and you’ve had enough.

With a growl, you roll out of your bed, muttering angrily under your breath as you pad barefoot across the hardwood floors of your living room to your front door. After unlocking it, you wrench it open, slamming it shut behind you as you step out into the hall.

You stop short when you reach your neighbor’s door, trying to hold back your rage and go into this confrontation with at least a semi-level head. This’ll be your first time meeting them after all, and if you’re going to continue sharing a wall, it might be the best idea to not come out swinging right off the bat.

So you take a deep breath, willing your frayed nerves to calm as you lift your hand and knock on the door.

No response.

Your lips twist in annoyance. There is a possibility that they hadn’t heard the knock, just as they couldn’t hear you banging on the wall earlier, so you give them the benefit of the doubt. With a sigh, you lift your hand again, this time knocking with the side of your fist. The sound is louder this time, the bangs echoing down the hallway.

Nothing.

“That’s it,” you mutter, balling both of your hands into fists and bringing them down on the door, alternating your knocks so they’re constant.

It’s loud. So loud you’re likely to wake every neighbor on your floor, not just get the attention of this one, but you don’t care. You’re pissed and this jackass needs to know it. You continue banging, your hands starting to get sore from the constant contact with the hard surface of the door, when suddenly (blessedly) the music stops.

Your fists bang on the door one more time as the music cuts, your body tensing a little as you drop your arms back to your side, bracing yourself for the inevitable confrontation. Just as you’re wondering if this ass hole is even going to have the balls to face you, the door opens and—

Oh. Oh no.

There in front of you stands what has to be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life. He’s a literal work of art, standing there framed in the doorway looking like one of those marble sculptures you’ve seen in museums come to life. His brown eyes are warm, but also a little guarded as they meet yours, one thick eyebrow raising in question.

It’s then that you remember to speak, blinking rapidly as if it’ll clear the heavenly image of him that’s likely been forever burned onto your retinas.

“Hi,” you offer finally, your throat suddenly dry.

The corner of his (perfect) mouth twitches a little as he slides his gaze down the length of you. Your skin heats and you’re not sure if it’s him or the embarrassment you’re feeling.

“Hi,” he rasps, eyes meeting yours again as he allows a smile to fully spread across his lips.

You’re staring again and you know he notices, amusement shining in his eyes.

“Something I can help you with?” he prompts, eyebrows raised as he leans his shoulder against the doorframe.

The question snaps your attention back to him and you mentally give yourself a shake. “I’m your neighbor.”

“Oh,” he responds, holding his hand out to you as he continues to gaze at you with amusement. “Nice to meet you, neighbor.”

Your eyes drop to his outstretched hand, gazing at it dumbly for a moment before you take it in yours to give it a shake. A jolt zips through you at the contact, heat flaring in your belly as you will your brain to imagine anything other than having his hands somewhere else on your body.

Jeez. You really need to get a hold of yourself.

“Right, so,” you begin weakly, your hand still loosely clasped in his. “It’s 3 a.m. and, uh, your music. It’s loud.”

His amusement fades instantly at your words and something inside you regrets ever uttering them.

“Oh shit,” he says, reflexively pulling his hand back and glancing at his watch, “I was unpacking and didn’t even realize the time. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say automatically, even though it really isn’t.

He shakes his head, putting his hands up placatingly. “No, it isn’t. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you nod, crossing your arms over your chest as you shift a little awkwardly on your feet. “Well, uh, I’m gonna go then. Nice to meet you—”

“Santiago,” he offers, smile returning to his lips as he holds your gaze.

You give him your name as well, returning his smile with your own as you begin to drift back in the direction of your apartment.

“‘Night,” you mumble, sending him an awkward wave as you open your door and step back inside your apartment.

A soft ‘goodnight’ wafts down the hall in response, reaching your ears just before you close the door and you smile.

—

The next night, you can’t sleep. Why can’t you sleep? You should be exhausted after the day you’ve had, especially after only getting a few hours the night before thanks to your neighbor.

Your gorgeous neighbor.

Santiago, you remind yourself, chewing your lip as your brain immediately conjures up an image of him in that black t-shirt which was just a little too tight, his biceps bulging slightly as he’d crossed his arms over his broad chest. Your breath quickens as your imagination runs rampant with a seemingly endless stream of tantalizing images; Santiago in your living room, in your bedroom, in your bed, his tan skin slick with sweat, chest heaving, his hips snapping against yours as you moan into his neck—

A whine escapes into the darkness of your room and you freeze, eyes wide. You know no one else is there, that he’s not there, but you still can’t help but feel embarrassed. You don’t even know this guy, and here you are fantasizing about him fucking you into oblivion.

“Shit,” you mutter, shaking your head in an effort to clear it.

You swallow thickly, clenching your fingers in your sheets, fingers that itch to slip beneath the waistband of your underwear, to circle your clit, to plunge into your tight, wet channel—

“Fuck,” you groan, jolting up out of the bed.

You walk quickly to your kitchen, grabbing a cup from the cabinet and filling it with water. You chug it, chest heaving as you fill it up again, this time forcing yourself to take sips. As you drink, you lean against the counter, eyes closing as your breathing slows.

When you feel your calm return, you set your cup by the sink and return to your room. You sigh as you slip between the sheets, pulling them up to your chin as you snuggle down into your pillow. Your mind is blessedly quiet as you close your eyes, the heaviness in your limbs now more pronounced than it was a moment ago. Just as you’re about to drift off, he’s there again, this time pressing you against your kitchen counter as he licks into your mouth, his hands on your hips—

“Fuck it,” you grumble tiredly, eyes still closed as you shift, slipping your hand inside your panties.

—

It’s Friday. TGIF, or whatever.

You’re just glad you don’t have to work this weekend; maybe you can catch up on the sleep you’ve missed out on the last two nights. Just as you’re contemplating making it an early night, you hear a knock at your door.

Confused, you shuffle over, lifting the cover over the peephole to look through it.

It’s him.

In your surprise, the cover slips from between your fingers and clatters against the door. You cringe, knowing that you now have no choice but to open the door. You look down at yourself, grumbling when you remember you’re wearing what has to be the most unsexy collection of clothing ever.

“You okay in there?” a muffled voice asks through the door.

Sighing, you hurriedly fasten a few of the buttons on your flannel overshirt, attempting to cover the worn tank top and shorts beneath. It’ll have to do.

You shake yourself in an effort to loosen up a little, and quickly unlock the door.

“Santiago, hi,” you say, perhaps a little too cheerfully, as you pull it open.

His smile makes your insides melt, dark eyes boring into yours. You lean against your doorframe, returning his smile as nonchalantly as you can manage.

“This isn’t a bad time, is it?” he asks, gaze flicking briefly behind you, as if looking to see if someone else is there.

You shrug, shaking your head. “No, not at all. What’s up?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he holds up a bottle of whiskey you hadn’t noticed was in his hand. “It’s a ‘welcome to the building’ gift from a guy down the hall. Wanna help me drink it?”

You hesitate, not wanting to embarrass yourself any more than you already have.

“If nothing else, I figured it might kind of help make up for keeping you up the other night,” he adds, his smile sincere.

Panic slices through you at his words before you realize he means the loud music and not…your thoughts about him. Obviously, ugh.

“Sounds great,” you squeak, stepping aside to let him in. “Sorry about the mess.”

He waves you off, stepping over the threshold and waiting as you close and lock the door behind him. When you turn, you find that he’s closer than you anticipated, so close you can smell him, feel the heat of him even through the flannel.

God, you are so fucked.

“Kitchen,” you say, wondering when your voice got so fucking breathy. “That’s—the glasses are in the kitchen.”

His gaze locks with yours, a heat simmering in his eyes as he smiles. “Lead the way.”

You turn away, swallowing thickly as you try to regain your bearings. You guide him in the direction of the kitchen, mentally giving yourself a pep talk with every step.

“You can have a seat if you want,” you offer, gesturing toward your kitchen table.

He shakes his head though, opting to lean against the counter instead. “I’m good, been sitting all day.”

You hum, pulling open the cabinet and grabbing a couple of glasses. “Desk jockey?”

His sniffed laugh makes you smile as you close the cabinet door and turn to face him again.

“More or less,” he says vaguely, a gentle smile on his lips. “How about you?”

You tell him what you do for a living as you make your way back over to him with the glasses. He nods, watching as you pull the bottle to you across the countertop.

“May I?”

“Have at it,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

The action causes his lean muscles to strain against the material of his shirt. Your gaze lingers there for longer than it should as you absently work to pull the cork from the bottle. Eventually, it comes out, a satisfying pop echoing through the room. You pour a little in each glass, the amber liquid swirling a little before settling at the bottom.

“Ice?” you ask, holding one of the glasses up.

You hold the glass out to him when he shakes his head, his fingers grazing yours as he takes it.

“Salud,” he says, his eyes locked with yours as he tips back the glass.

You raise your own glass in agreement, bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm and rich as it slides down your throat. You hum at the sensation, closing your eyes briefly in contentment, the oaky flavor making your taste buds sing.

“Good?” he rasps, his breath puffing against your cheek.

You open your eyes, lashes fluttering; goddamn it, why was he so pretty?

“Mhmm,” you respond, not confident your mouth would be capable of forming words right now.

He steps in closer, reaching past you and pulling the bottle toward him, his arm brushing against your side.

“Want more?” he asks softly, eyes locked with yours as he holds up the bottle.

You can tell by the look in his eyes that he’s not just talking about the whiskey and it sends a shiver down your spine. You nod, sliding your glass toward him. He looks away to fill it and you force yourself to take a breath.

“Thanks,” you say as he offers the glass back to you

He nods, leaning his hip against the side of the counter. “So, how long have you been in this building?”

Grateful for a benign topic to ease some of the tension, you smile. “About two years.”

“You like it?”

You shrug, swirling the liquid around your glass. “It’s a place to live.”

He chuckles and the sound makes something warm unfurl in your chest.

“How are you liking it so far?” you ask, stealing another sip of your drink.

“It’s a place to live,” he responds, raising a teasing brow at you.

You roll your eyes. “Come on.”

He smiles, shrugging as he drains the rest of his drink. “It’s alright. Most people seem decent so far.”

You sniff, taking another swig from your glass. “Don’t let them fool you.”

Santiago sets his glass down, his arm braced against the counter as he leans toward you. “So who should I steer clear of then?”

“Well,” You sigh, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth in contemplation. “Mrs. Sacks in 5B for one, she’s a gossipy bitch; Jay in 2C for another—”

His eyes flick up to yours from where they’re staring at your mouth. “2C? Really? He’s the one who gave me the whiskey.”

“Yeah well, he’s an ass hole,” you grunt, throwing your head back a bit as you drain your glass.

After studying you quietly for a moment he asks, “Ex?”

“Please,” you scoff, setting your glass on the counter. “Want another?”

He nods, eyes roving your face as you pour more liquid into his waiting glass.

“And what about you?” he asks as you raise your refilled glass to your lips.

Brow furrowed, you ask, “What about me?”

“If I asked Mrs. Sacks about you, what would she say?”

You chuckle, twisting your lips in thought. “Honestly? Probably that I’m too loud.”

His eyes darken a little, a shiver running up your spine. “Yeah? And how would she know?”

“Well, we do share a wall,” you say, swallowing thickly.

Santiago leans in closer, his voice low when he asks, “Which one?”

He knows the answer, he must since you only have two neighbors with whom you share a wall, one of which is him. Nevertheless, you respond.

“That one,” you whisper, pointing toward your bedroom.

His eyes briefly flick in the direction you’re pointing before returning to yours, humming contemplatively.

“Wanna give her something to talk about?” he asks, leaning in close, his breath mixing with yours.

You nod, breath catching as he cages you against the counter between his arms, his body pressing against the length of you. He holds your gaze for a moment, giving you a chance to push him away, breath fanning across your cheek as he hovers. Then he leans in slowly, his nose nudging yours before he tilts his head just enough to meet your lips. They’re warm as they press against yours, stealing the air from your lungs with every soft caress. He licks into your mouth with a hum, one of his hands coming up to cradle your face. He tastes like the whiskey you were just drinking, and something else, something richer, something him. You want more, can’t get enough as you push your tongue between his lips. He groans into your mouth as you taste him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his t-shirt, holding his body against yours.

When air becomes a necessity, he breaks, trailing his lips down over your chin to mouth at your neck. His hand follows, ghosting over your chest down to the buttons of the overshirt you’d hastily fastened before you’d let him inside. He nips at your collar bone, tongue laving at the base of your neck as he undoes them, his hand slipping inside to settle on your waist. You breathe his name as he sucks a mark into your skin, fingers winding themselves into his hair. You tug at the graying strands, his groan vibrating against your chest before you pull him back up, reattaching your mouth to his.

The kiss is messy and frantic this time, your lips catching on any patch of skin they can reach. You suck on his tongue when he slips it into your mouth again and he groans, his hands reaching up to push the flannel overshirt from your shoulders. His fingers drag lightly over every inch of skin revealed to him, raising goosebumps all over your body. Your hands are everywhere; moving up his arms to his neck, down his back, clutching his plump ass through his jeans—

When your hands snake beneath his shirt, he growls against your lips, lifting you up to sit on the edge of the counter. He fits his body between your legs, hands skating up the outside of your thighs and slipping his fingers beneath the hem of your shorts. You gasp, scooting closer to the edge, to him, encouraging his touch. He groans as you pull him flush against you, wrapping your legs around his torso as you continue to attack each other’s mouths.

You feel hot, like you’re burning up from the inside, like you’re going to explode into a ball of fire any minute now. His fingers tease you, dragging along the seams of your panties, tickling the sensitive skin there, but never slipping underneath. You grind yourself against his abdomen, desperate for relief, and moan into his mouth when he presses his thumb to your clit through your shorts, the fabric of your panties creating a delicious friction. He kisses down your neck again, worrying a mark at the base of your jaw before soothing it with his warm, wet tongue. Your fingers slip back into his hair, holding his face against you as you continue to absently grind against him.

“Bedroom?” he breathes, bringing his mouth back to yours.

“Please,” you plead, locking your feet together at his lower back as he lifts you from the counter.

He grunts as he walks, mumbling something about his knees. You’re not sure if he trips, or if his knees are really just that bad, but the next thing you know, you’re on the couch, your legs on either side of his torso. His hands are on your hips, encouraging you to grind down onto his lap. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans and it makes you shiver with anticipation. The friction is delicious, better than anything you’ve ever felt. You’re not sure if it’s just been a while or if Santiago is just that good, but at the moment, you don’t really care. You feel his hands slip beneath your tank top as you shift, surprising yourself with a moan as the zipper of his pants catches against your clit perfectly.

“That’s it, baby,” he mumbles, pushing your shirt up and pulling it over your head as you continue to undulate in his lap. “Take what you need.”

He leans forward, mouthing at the swell of your breasts, groaning against your chest as you chase your release. You’re so close, can feel the heat pooling in your belly, the fire spreading beneath your skin. When he pulls the cups of your bra down and takes your nipple in his warm, wet mouth, you come with a gasp, hips stuttering against him as you try in vain to prolong the euphoria. Santiago groans as you continue to grind against him, your nipple still between his lips. You cup the back of his head, encouraging him to keep going as you slow your pace, breath shaky as you come down from your high.

“Fuck, you are incredible,” he praises before languidly swirling his tongue around your neglected nipple.

You moan, heat flaring across your skin at his words; you’re already drunk on him and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

“Look gorgeous when you come,” he continues, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbs teasing their peaks. “Can’t wait to feel you come around my cock.”

You whimper at his words, leaning over to capture his lips again in a slow, sensual kiss.

“You can’t wait either can you, hermosa,” he pants against your lips, unable to keep quiet, it seems, even when you’re kissing him. “Bet you’d let me fuck you right here on this couch, wouldn’t you?”

A moan escapes you at the mental image your brain conjures at his words and he smirks. “Another time, I promise.”

You silence him with your tongue, slipping it into his mouth again with a hum. He groans, his fingers fumbling behind you to unclasp your bra. Once you’re free, he tosses it away, hands roaming unimpeded across the expanse of your back, fingers soothing the indentations left behind by the garment.

He takes you in his arms again, standing to his feet, your legs wrapped around his hips. You make it to the bedroom this time, and he lays you out beneath him, pressing you into the bed as he covers your neck and chest with licks and kisses. You whine when he begins to pull away, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him on top of you. He chuckles, gently unwinding your arms before leaning in to press a soft, reassuring kiss against your lips.

He crawls back down your body and off the bed, and it’s then that you realize he’s still completely clothed. He pulls his shirt off first, revealing his toned chest to your gaze, then toes off his shoes and unbuckles his belt. You chew your lip as you watch him, eyes devouring every inch that’s revealed to you. He shucks his pants next, letting them drop to the floor unceremoniously and stepping out of them. His boxers are last, but he drags it out, a teasing smile on his lips. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, and suddenly you want nothing more than to take him between your lips and make him come down your throat.

Another time, perhaps.

He crawls back onto the bed, stopping at your torso to place a kiss against your belly. His fingers find the waistbands of your shorts and panties, and you lift your hips as he pulls them down your legs. After tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor, he pushes open your thighs, settling himself between them. You bite your lip as he drags the pads of his fingers through your soaked slit, gazing at you with a knowing smirk as he circles your clit. You moan when he dips them inside, stretching you, massaging your inner walls. He can’t seem to help it when he leans forward, lightly licking at you with the tip of his tongue. He hums at the taste of you, licking his lips as he pulls away, his fingers soaked from your cunt.

He moves back up your body, his wet fingers settling on your hip as he claims your mouth once more. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue, grabbing at him, trying to bring him closer somehow. His cock slips between the lips of your sex and he grinds it against your clit, dragging another moan from you. He keeps kissing you, smiling against your mouth as he continues driving you up the wall with pleasure. But it’s not enough for you to come, and by the time he’s telling you to get on your stomach for him, you’re more than eager to comply.

“You ready for me, querida?” he rasps, breath fanning against your ear as he presses himself against your back.

“Yes,” you moan, pushing your hips up off of the bed, the tip of his cock bumping against your center.

He hums, pulling back a little to situate himself, and when he enters you, he does it slowly, hissing as you engulf him in your tight heat. You press your face into the bedspread, moaning as he pushes his thick cock into you, stretching you, your fingers clenching into fists at the delicious burn; you’re so full, and every inch of him feels exquisite.

He grips your hips, calloused fingers digging into your skin as he pulls back, dragging his length slowly against your sensitive walls. He groans when you flutter around him, your body still acclimating to his girth. You whimper when he snaps his hips back into yours, the tip of his cock just hitting your cervix. He pulls back again, almost all the way out, before slamming into you again, this time adjusting the angle slightly. He does it again, and again, each time hitting a different spot inside you, as if searching for something specific, something special.

When he finds it, you gasp, your back bowing as his cock hits a spot inside you that makes you see stars. You clench around him and he groans, hands gripping your hips like a vice.

“You feel so good,” he groans again, his hips snapping hard against yours. “So good.”

You can’t do much more than moan in agreement, the pleasure coursing through you almost overwhelming. He hunches over you, chest pressed against your back as he speeds up his thrusts, his cock still brushing that special spot.

“You gonna come for me, baby?” he rasps, his breath hot against your ear.

You moan again, your walls fluttering around him as his pace starts to falter.

“So tight, so warm, fuck,” he slurs, slamming into you harder, burying his face in the back of your neck. “Wanna feel you squeeze me.

Callused fingertips brush your clit a moment later and you gasp, a shiver wracking your body.

“Santi,” you plead, grinding yourself against his fingers. “Please, I’m so close.”

“I’ve got you, hermosa,” he whispers, pinching your clit and dragging another moan from you. “Let go for me.”

At his words, you come with a choked moan, relief and pleasure rolling through your body in waves.

“Oh, good girl,” Santiago groans, fucking you through your orgasm, his thrusts sloppy as he nears his own peak. “So fucking good.”

You shiver a little as your pleasure subsides, brain still buzzing when you feel him pull out of you, moaning as he spills himself on your lower back. His seed is warm and sticky on your skin and you hum, relishing the feel of it. He’s still panting behind you, trying to catch his breath as his fingers brush soothingly over your skin, smearing his cum. After a moment, he leans in, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades, and your chest aches a little at the unexpected sweetness of it.

“You okay?” he asks, breath tickling your ear as he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

“Mhmm,” you hum, stretching a little, your body feeling pleasantly loose.

He mumbles something that sounds like ‘good’ before pressing another kiss into your neck. Then he pulls away, the bed shifting as he stands to his feet. You steal a glance over your shoulder, dread settling in your belly—Where was he going? He wasn’t leaving, was he? A moment later, he returns, washcloth in hand, and you relax, your panic draining away as he meets your gaze with a smile.

An hour or so later, you’re both in the kitchen again, sitting side-by-side on the counter laughing, half-eaten takeout containers strewn around you.

“So then he says, ‘no, it’s European,” Santi says, chuckling as you double-over with laughter.

“No way, he did not,” you laugh, hand covering your mouth.

Santiago nods, an amused smile on his lips as he swallows another mouthful of whiskey. “He did.”

“Shit,” you chuckle, leaning back on your hands as you shake your head. “What an ass hole.”

He hums, eyeing you appreciatively as he sets his glass back on the counter. You’re naked beneath the overshirt currently slipping down your shoulder, only a few buttons and some flannel between you and his hands, his lips, his tongue, and he’s looking at you like you're the dessert table at a buffet. You chew your lip, heat already pooling again in your belly.

Guess once wasn’t enough.

“So…neighbor,” he begins, his eyes teasing as he drags his tongue over his bottom lip. “Have I done enough to earn your forgiveness for the other night?”

You bite back a smile, tapping your chin as you pretend to contemplate his question. “You know, I’m not sure.”

He raises a playful eyebrow before leaning in, pressing a soft kiss against your lips. “How about now?”

You humming, scrunching up your nose in thought. “Still inconclusive.”

He grunts, capturing your lips again, this time in a deep, languid kiss. His hand skates up your bare thigh and you moan, tangling your fingers in his curls. He pulls back after a moment, raising his eyebrows at you expectantly.

“I guess, you’ll just have to keep trying,” you tease, biting back a smile when he growls, leaning back in to claim your mouth once more, the hand on your thigh finally slipping beneath the hem of your shirt.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

Masterlist 💕Taglist

Tag list: @my-secret-shame @uwiuwi @welcometostayingawake @alexxavicry @m0nster-fvcker @melodygatesauthor @the-little-ewok @annautumnsoul

*If you'd like to be removed/added, please let me know ❤️*

#Fic rec #Triple Frontier fanfic #Triple Frontier smut #Santiago Pope Garcia x reader #Santiago Garcia x reader #Santiago Pope Garcia smut #Santiago Garcia smut #NKF (Not kid friendly)#campingwiththecharmings #Night Moves #(seriously if you are a Pope fan give this a read!)#queuing on broken glass

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nageill · 1 year

Text

Moon Knight System as College Professors headcannons 😜

Warnings: fluffy, in which they boys don't work for Konshu anymore and became professors. No use of y/n, gendered language

For the wonderful @toracainz happy birthday ❤️

...

Steven

Egyptian Mythology Professor!!

Super sweet

Puts all his PowerPoints online so you don't miss a thing

Blushes whenever his students flirt with him

His classes always fill quickly because he's that good of a professor

You have to try hard to fail his class but why would you want too?

If you get less than a stellar grade he writes how you can improve for next time

Marc

Self Defense Professor

Playful but serious when he needs to be

Everyone loves this class because he looks shirtless and sweaty

Properly teaches you how to fight

Lots of people came for his looks but stayed for the techniques

He's tough but fair

Will always ask before touching you to fix your posture or hand work

Instructs you that your hands are a deadly weapon and should only be used for self defense

Jake

Mechanics professor and I'll tell you why

He's always working on his cab when it breaks down, he knows his way around cars.

Doesn't have many women in his classes, but when he does his heart grows a bit, he thinks for women should be in the field.

He brings old classic cars in for the class to work on and restore every semester.

Sometimes on rare occasions, non-mechanical engineering students take his classes

Since he's fluent in Spanish he tutors the Spanish students on the side

All the students swoon at his accent

#Fic rec #Moon Knight headcanons #Marc Spector headcanons #Steven Grant headcanons #Jake Lockley headcanons #college professor AU #college AU #bitchyglitterfox #(okay I can't ever really see Marc or Jake as professors but this is really cute and had a lot of thought put into it!)#queuing on broken glass

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nageill · 1 year

Text

Bonuses For Fifteen Points

Steven Grant X GN!Reader Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Summary: You and Steven settle in for a comfy night in front of the TV watching quiz shows. But it's not too long before your mind starts to… wander.

Warnings: Swearing! Typossss! Fragment sentences! (the big three) oral (m receiving), idiots in love, finger sucking, slighty subby steven?

A/N: ‘Only Connect’ and ‘University Challenge’ are quiz shows that are usually on Monday nights on BBC 1 in the UK. I don’t know why I am obsessed with the idea that Steven regularly watches and enjoys these shows, but I am. So I thought I would make it everyone else’s problem as well.

Word Count: 2818

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem

_______________________________________________

Mondays were always a particularly difficult day. The metaphorical start to the week, the beginning of the grind, the day everyone hated. And even though technically Steven’s rota changed regularly, and he was routinely scheduled in to work weekends, it still felt like Monday was the beginning. It just had that taste to the air.

Monday evenings, however, were a much different story.

A low buzz of excitement settled in his stomach as he busied himself in the kitchen. He had practically run home, (part of him was pretty sure that he would have beaten the bus and the regular dismal London traffic if he had been on foot), showered and quickly hoovered around the flat.

He’s last seen you on Friday morning, not that long ago relatively speaking, a rushed breakfast and quick kisses before both of you had to part ways and make the journeys to work. Hell, Steven had spoken to you on the phone yesterday, you had both sent each other messages today, but still it seemed like an age since he had held you in his arms.

The weekend had dragged. Work on Saturday had moved at a snail’s pace, Sunday had seemingly existed outside of space and time. Perhaps it was because you had been in Lincoln visiting friends, the physical distance between the both of you warping reality itself.

But it wouldn’t be long now before you’d be here. Before he could finally see you in person.

Steven stirred the pasta sauce absentmindedly, trying to focus and not let his mind wander too much. He turned the heat down slightly just as his phone buzzed.

‘Sorry! Running late! ☹’

His heart sank.

It didn’t matter, not really, the dinner would keep. He’d still see you, he’d-

His phone buzzed again: ‘Stupid lift isn’t working. Just taking the stairs.’

Steven frowned. Wait, were you talking about his building's lift?

He turned the hobs off completely and walked to the door, typing as he went.

‘Which lift?’ He deleted the message before he sent it, unhappy with the tone. ‘My lift?’

He deleted it again, one hand on the door latch when there was a knock.

He flinched back ever so slightly at the sudden sound before quickly checking the peep hole, and then promptly flung the door open when he caught a glimpse of you.

“Hello Ste-”

He was on you in a second, squeezing the air out of your lungs with his tight embrace.

You laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m all sweaty!”

“I don’t care.” Steven mumbled against your neck as he hugged you tighter.

You giggled again as you untangled yourself from his limbs, quieting his small wine of protest with kisses.

“Oh love!” He pulled away, his warm hands holding yours. “You’re freezing!”

You shrugged, beaming at him in a dopey lovesick way that you couldn’t help. “I forgot my gloves.”

“No,” he guided you into the flat, closing the door with his hip while he never let go of your hands, placing kisses along your knuckles and holding them as close as he could. Seemingly trying to warm them as quickly as possible by sheer force of will.

“It’s fine, you know me. Sweaty face from walking up some stairs, freezing hands.”

“I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

You shook your head and grinned. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He kissed you again, softer and slower than before.

Steven finished and plated up the pasta, while you showered and changed, before you both ate in front of the television for your traditional Monday night.

Watching Only Connect and University Challenge.

Steven was naturally better at quizzes than you, seeing the patterns in the sequences round with an almost uncanny lightning speed.

You loved it. Loved seeing his nose wrinkle in thought, the way his eyes grew wide and his excited hand movements when the answer came to him. Loved him.

In all honesty, you probably spend more time watching Steven than the shows.

Occasionally you teased him a little about his not so subtle crush on the host, Victoria Coren Mitchell, and giggling when he teased you back about your less than subtle crush on her as well.

“You should go on there you know.”

“What?” He shifted a little so that he could look at you better.

After eating you had both ended up laying on the settee. Your head on his chest with his arm wrapped around you.

You looked up at him. “You could go on Only Connect.”

Steven pulled a face. “Me? A contestant? I don’t think so.”

“You’d be amazing!”

He shook his head, but you could see the hint of pink on the edges of his ears.

You dug him gently in the side. “You would.”

“You need three people.”

“They do that thing where people make teams out of people who want to go on.”

He made a dismissive sound.

You paused and then grinned, leaning a bit closer to his face, all conspiratorial. “You could ask Victoria for a kiss when you win.”

Without warning Steven’s hand that had been resting pleasantly on your side attacked your ribs, tickling you mercilessly. You squealed and swatted him away, still laughing.

As you settled back down on his chest you poked your tongue out at him. He poked his out right back.

“I could ask her to give you a kiss.” He muttered, trying to hide his smile.

You didn’t look up at him. “I think you should.”

Steven giggled loudly.

You didn’t like University Challenge as much as Only Connect. It wasn’t so much the topics of the questions, as much as the matter in which the questions were said were a riddle in themselves.

You often thought teams should get points just for working out what was being asked in the first place.

That was most of the reason why your mind started to... wander a little.

You couldn’t focus on what Jeremy Paxman was saying or what Imperial College and some tiny off branch of Cambridge were replying.

All your mind was filling up with was the fact that you hadn’t held Steven at all over the weekend, hadn’t touched his skin or heard him moan.

Small prickles of heat tiptoed along your skin, you bit your lip and looked up at him.

He was watching, enwrapped, his fingernail between his teeth as he listened intently to the questions being asked.

A wicked little thought crept into your mind.

Slowly, ever so slowly as not to alert Steven to your plan, you inched your way upwards closer to your prize.

He didn’t notice until almost the last second, your mouth tantalisingly close to the sweet spot on Steven’s neck: just below his ear.

“Love, what-”

He cut himself off with a shuddered breath as you pressed your lips against him. Grazing his skin with your teeth before kissing and sucking hard just the way he liked it.

Steven let out a sharp moan, his body instinctively curling in towards you, his left hand gripping hard at your hip.

You put your hand on his face gently. Just enough pressure so that he bared his neck more fully as you continue to kiss and bite.

Arousal shivers down his spine and pools in his abdomen, his cock already half hard.

“Love, oh, fuck.”

You feel his little jolts of pleasure as you suck on his pulse point, bruises already forming under your actions.

He bucks upwards instinctively, trying to reach friction that isn’t there.

Steven doesn’t care about you leaving marks. Wait… that’s actually a lie. He does care. He cares too much. He wants them. Craves them. Needs them so, so much.

The second time you had sex you had apologised for the love bites that you had littered across his neck.

Steven had cut you off as quickly as he could, blurting out his words in a rush for fear you wouldn’t leave them again. He had told you how much he liked them, liked other people seeing them. Especially at work. He liked people knowing he was yours.

He wines, shifting and trying to turn his body towards you more so that he can grind against you. But you lean down against his shoulders, pushing him back against the settee as you continue your onslaught of his senses.

You tilt his jaw even more to the side with your hand and Steven darts out his tongue against your fingertips, unable to keep quiet.

He’s wrecked already, skin flushed and hair a mess. His eyebrows pinched together, eyes screwed shut as he squirms under your touch, desperate for more.

You kiss up to his ear, biting gently at the lobe and he gasps.

“Love, pleaaase.” He draws out the word between pants of breath.

He is achingly hard now, his cock straining against his jogging bottoms. You brush the edge of your thigh against it teasingly and Steven sobs.

“Please!”

You can’t deny him when he asks so prettily. But still you can’t help but tease.

“Please what?” You whisper between slow, light kisses. Barely touching your lips to his skin.

“Pleaaaase,” he moans again as you continue to just rub your leg against him. Enough pressure for him to feel it, but not enough to relieve any of the ache. It burns worse, a fire ignited under his skin.

Steven lets out a choked sob when you suck against his neck once more, the pressure of your teeth sending spikes of heat along his spine.

You push lightly against his jaw, giving yourself easier access and resting your fore and middle fingers on his plump bottom lip.

Steven’s tongue darts out, flicking against the skin between your fingers before taking them mouth into his mouth and moaning around them.

Your actions falter for a second as he sucks on them, spit running down his chin as he takes them as deeply as they can go. Bobbing his head and running his bottom teeth along the underside.

You lick a strip up his neck and nip softly below his ear. “Is that what you want?” You whisper, voice low and molasses slow.

Steven moans low, the vibrations running along your fingertips, his eyes screwed tight as he bucks up towards you.

“Hmmm?” You press your thigh fully against his crouch. “Is that what you need?”

He lets out another choked sob around your fingers, arching his back off the settee into your touch so he can grind himself against you.

You watch him for a moment, savouring the sight of him. His head thrown back, the tension in his neck and the dark bruises on his skin. Before you suddenly move away.

Steven sobs at the loss of contact, his eyes fluttering open.

However he doesn’t get a chance to speak, all too quickly you are just easing up his top so that you can kiss the hot skin just above his jogging bottoms and nuzzle his left hip bone.

He jumps a little at the swipe of your tongue but groans and arches into your touch.

You pull down his waistband just enough so that his cock springs free, slapping against his lower stomach. The sight of it makes your mouth water and Steven sighs as you take him in your hand.

Precome shines in the weak light and you lap it up eagerly, pressing your tongue flat against the tip of him and swiping along his slit achingly slow.

You can feel the tension in his stomach and legs, the small twitches of muscle as he fights to keep himself still as you continue to lick unhurriedly, swirling your tongue around the head and then back to teasing his slit.

The sweet little hitches of Steven’s breath are like music to your ears. You break away from your actions only to better position yourself and lick the long path back from the root of him to the tip, one hand holding his length, the other massaging his balls.

Heat is pooling in his abdomen, the familiar pressure beginning to spike.

Steven shifts onto his elbows so that he can watch as you slowly take him into your mouth, tortuous in your movement as you bob up and down, swallowing more of his cock with each dip.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he doesn’t realise he’s muttering under his breath, swearing as if the words were a prayer.

It’s so warm, so wet, so perfectly overwhelming that it pushes all thoughts out of his head, leaving his mind quiet save for the painfully delicious building of bliss.

You glance up at him, watching him watching you. His eyes are dark, gaze unfocused and mouth open. His chest shudders with each intake of air as he stares at his cock disappearing into you.

You increase your pace, sucking him harder and taking him so deep that tears begin to prick at the corner of your eyes.

Pleasure cracks down on him, flares along his limbs as he moans loudly, swearing and bucking up into your mouth, just managing to stop himself from pushing too far. He falls back, head against the armrest, holding onto the sofa cushions for dear life.

“Love please, oh fuck, oh god,” words pour out of him, “so good, please, you take me so-so, fuck, I,” he’s not paying any attention to what he’s saying, to anything, other than the sweet torment of your mouth and hands.

He’s going to come soon, he can’t help it, his thighs starting to shake.

You can tell by his whimpers, the way his eyes are tight shut in pleasure and-

“Which Egyptian queen of the fourteenth century BCE was the wife of the Pharaoh Akhenaten, and is believed by some scholars to have reigned briefly in her own right after her husband's death?”

“Neferneferuaten Nefertiti...” Steven mutters between a moan, not even realising he’s said it.

“Neferneferuaten Nefertiti.” One of the contestants answers.

“Correct.”

You pull away from Steven with a pop, unable to hold back your laugh.

His eyes snap open, the pleading look on his face quickly jumping to confusion and then, “did- did I just answer a...?”

You nod, grinning wildly.

Red sears into his cheeks and the tops of his ears, panic flooding his features. “Love, I’msosorryIdon’tknowwhyIdidthatIwasjustlostinthemomentI-”

You dive back on him, chasing all other thoughts away as you swallow him down and set a brutal pace.

His hand flies to the back of your head, fingers tight in your hair but not pushing or pulling as his tip hits the back of your throat again and again and again.

Curses race past his lips between the moans and stuttered sorrys.

His orgasm builds ridiculously fast, your mouth bringing him to the edge and threatening to pull him over as Steven tries to retain some control over himself.

He can barely get his words out, “I’m, I’m,”

You hum around him, not slowing for a second, and scratch your nails along his thighs.

Steven comes loudly with a snap of his hips, coming hard into your mouth as you eagerly swallow around him, drinking down every last drop.

All the tension leaves his body at once, leaving him jellified under you.

Slowly you ease off of him, giving the tip of his cock a final lick to make sure you cleaned up all of his release before tucking him back into his jogging bottoms.

You run your hands along his arms as you sit up, gently massaging his muscles as he comes back to himself.

His breathing evens out and he blinks heavily, gazing up at you.

“That was,”

You don’t let him get the words out as you kiss him lightly. Steven moans and moves up with you as you try to move away, cradling the back of your neck with his hands and bringing you back down to his mouth.

You smile and deepen the kiss, letting him taste himself on your tongue.

“I’m sorry I answered a question while you were sucking me off.” He mutters.

The bluntness of his words, and the genuine sincerity behind them, make you giggle. You kiss him again before pressing your forehead against his.

“I think it’s very sexy of you.”

Steven snorts, but at least he’s smiling now.

“I think we’ll have to make it more interesting next time.” You mutter. He gives you a quizzical look and you grin wickedly, a dark light shining in your eyes.

“You’ll answer the questions, and if you get one wrong I’ll slow down.”

Steven stares blankly back at you, and for a moment you think he doesn’t understand. It’s not until you see a familiar flush on his skin and hear the little increase in his breathing that you realise it’s the opposite.

You bite your lip. “You’d like that?”

Steven nods rapidly, so much he almost becomes a blur.

#Fic rec #Moon Knight fanfic #Moon Knight smut #Steven Grant smut #NKF (Not kid friendly)#Steven Grant x reader #my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction #Bonuses For Fifteen Points #oh yes! Get it Steven and the reader!#this was actually pretty cute read #the smut was enjoyable and spicy as always #and um...that one little line from Steven near the end... yup. that seems just like Steven! the quirky little gift shopist we all love #great job!#queuing on broken glass

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nageill · 1 year

Text

More Than I Remember You

Marc Spector X F!Reader Rating: 18+ Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Summary: Steven starts a relationship, Marc tries to stay out of it.

Warnings: typos, masturbation, oral (m recieving), unprotected p in v sex, Soft!Marc, slight panic attack. Please let me know if you think I have missed a warning!

A/N: Set (in a sort of AU) before the events of the series - Steven doesn’t know about Marc, but Marc knows about Steven. (Also I know the gif isn’t Marc, but it’s just so beautiful!)

Please can I just apologise for this in advance. (This is my actual first time writing smut. I’m hoping I will improve in the future.)

Word Count: 5459

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem

_____________________________________________________

It hadn’t started out as a problem. Not really.

An inconvenience certainly. A bit of a predicament. But definitely not a straight problem.

At least that was what he had thought.

Steven had started seeing someone.

Marc hadn’t been close enough to the front, or paying enough attention to work out how the two of you had met. But he knew it was sometime in mid June. He also knew that Steven had been late to your first ‘proper’ date – nothing too serious, just a walk along the Thames.

But at the train station Steven hadn’t realised his oyster card needed to be topped up (something Marc had forgotten to do the last time he’d used it) and he had stepped to the side to find his bank card as the unease crept up his spine.

Steven’s anxiety alone had nearly been enough to force Marc to the front.

In the time it took him to register that he hadn’t lost his card, and it was right there, he had missed the train to your meeting spot.

The second train was delayed and there was no way a bus would get him there on time even without the newly erected road works that littered the route.

He had texted you, afraid of calling and hearing rejection in your voice. But a few seconds after he sent the message your name lit up the screen.

“Hi Steven.”

“Hiya, love, I’m really sorry, I thought I’d put money on my oyster, then I couldn’t find my bank card,” he was talking too quickly, he knew this, it was just so hard to stop.

“It’s alright.” The smile he heard in your voice settled his rapidly beating heart. “Where are you right now?”

Steven had muttered the name of the station.

“Okay, stay right there. I’ll come to you.”

“You, you don’t have to do that-”

“Nah! It’s easy, I’m looking at the times right now, trains coming in four minutes.”

He had laughed at that and you had both stayed on the phone to each other, Steven walking small circles around the station as he listened to you talk, and as Marc watched him from the reflection in the glass doors.

You had given him a kiss on the cheek when you got there, both of you giggling when you realised you were still on the phone to each other.

Marc had tried to stay away after that. Tried to recede back as far as he could. He wanted Steven to have a life after all. It wasn’t his place to be anywhere near it.

The first time he had been pulled to the front was in the cinema. Marc still didn’t know what had caused it. A sound. A phrase. It was a sickening sensation, similar to falling and jumping awake from a dream, but heavier. Far too real.

All he knew was that suddenly he was staring at the screen, garbled lines of dialogue quickly forming into words, his heart beating too fast. He glanced to his side and saw you sitting there, could feel Steven’s shirt on his skin. There was a popcorn kernel stuck near his back molars and a sweet cold surgery taste of a slushy on his tongue.

“Are you okay?” You whispered, leaning close to him and lightly touching his forearm with your fingers.

It took all of Marc’s hard earned self control not to flinch. Everything was too much. It was too much.

But he could feel himself calming as he looked at you, the pressure easing as his muscles began to untense.

It was just an underlying Steven reaction, he told himself. It was just because their body recognised you on a basic level. Nothing more.

Marc swallowed and nodded. He looked down, blinking hard, before trying to focus back on the screen.

You moved a little closer again, your hand slipping into his and tightening and, oh, if it just didn’t feel like the best thing in the world.

“We can go, if you’re not feeling okay?”

The concern in your eyes for him was- no. The concern was for Steven. Steven.

Marc shook his head and turned his body back to face forward. He closed his eyes, using every ounce of strength he could to fall back. To push Steven forward. He kept a tight hold of your hand.

It was the last thing he felt before he woke at home. And alone.

After that, it started to happen more frequently. Never for too long, but undeniable all the same. Small moments of jumping to the front when he shouldn’t, when he had no control, the only constant being you.

Each time pulling Steven back seemed to take longer, even if it really was no time at all, the idea of you noticing something, noticing him filled Marc with a sickening dread.

He practised in the bathroom, staring at his reflection and trying to coax his face into a Steven-esque expression. He listened to the voice messages he left for Wendy on repeat, trying to form his words into a similar sound.

He read through all of your communications, messages, voice notes, photos and videos.

At first, it was just so that if an emergency arose he would know what pet name to call you, what inside jokes you had. But soon, it became more, a need. An obsession almost. Something he had to check on first at the start of his day.

He was just keeping up to date, he told himself. Just making sure everything was okay.

You both started to stay around each other’s homes more and more. Your things began to appear in the flat. It was small, at first. But had been no less of a surprise.

Another toothbrush in the bathroom. Another pair of slippers by Steven’s at the door. (Yours were zombie shaped, the foot hole gaping mouths, and one soft eye partially dangling from the socket. They were hard to miss and had brought a smile to Marc's face. An expression he had quickly shied away from.)

One day he had gone to put on one of Steven’s shirts in preparation and found that the inside of the drawer had been changed completely. Your clothes looking back at him.

He had fronted once while cooking. You and Steven had been making bao buns and for some reason he had awoken to find himself holding the lid of the bamboo steamer. It had taken a few precious seconds for Marc to realise his hand was in the wrong place, the steam burning his little finger.

“Fuck!” He dropped the lid and cursed again, holding his hand tightly.

You rushed in, “you okay?” The panic on your face was like a knife to his guts. You quickly took in the scene. “Did you burn yourself?”

Marc bit his lips together, not trusting his voice, and nodded.

“Awww, sweetheart!” You took a hold of his hand, your skin soft. “Can I see?”

He nodded again and you gently inspected the redness. He watched you carefully, the way you moved, the slight furrow of your brow. The way your scent seemed to fill his lungs like the freshest air, like he had never truly been able to breathe before now.

You winced and sucked in breath through your teeth. “Ow, you poor thing.”

Marc let you lead him to the sink, to put his hand under the tap and turn on the cold water. He hissed as it hit, the burning dulling only slightly. His hand cold when you let go of him to put the lid back on the steamer.

He watched after you, his bottom lip between his teeth. He needed to step back, needed to pull Steven forward.

His breath hitched when you came close again, rubbing your hand soothingly along his back, concern in your eyes.

“You okay?”

Marc nodded.

You mistook his apprehension for pain. “Aww, baby.” You arched upwards on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek before laying your head on his shoulder, still rubbing his back.

That kiss. Marc held onto the sensation as he faded back. That kiss was for him.

More scattered moments here and there, and for a while, Marc tried to work out a pattern. A reason. He even kept a sort of diary for a time, rushed scribbles of what had happened hidden beneath the floorboards under the bed. There was never an answer that seemed to make sense.

All he knew was that it never happened if he was watching, if he was close to the front.

You and Steven had been dating for almost five months the first time it happened. Marc would like to think it was an accident. An unintentional thing.

He had woken up hard and alone, rolling over on his stomach as he thrusted into his hand and buried his face into your pillow. It still smelt like you. He came faster than he normally did, muffling his moans as best he could.

It started to become as routine as checking yours and Steven’s messages. Marc wouldn’t let himself dwell on it. It meant nothing. It was nothing.

It got worse one early morning. Your pyjama top was half hanging out of the laundry basket. He hadn’t meant to take it out, to hold it against his face and breathe in. He hadn’t planned on taking it with him to the bathroom, to come with it pressed tightly over his mouth.

The guilt had been overwhelming. All consuming. Disgusted with himself the second he came down from his high.

Marc had lasted a few days before he did it again. And again.

Always following the same pattern of build up and self hatred.

He found himself in front of a buffet, though it had taken him a moment to realise what it was. Loud music. Laughter. People talking. He was in a dark blue suit and ti-

“This is Steven!” Your voice was grounding even though Steven’s name made him flinch for a moment. Your hand was on his arm, an anchor to the world, as he turned around to face you.

You looked beautiful. Stunning. A vision in baby blue.

He remembered that dress, you talking to Steven about it, unsure if you could ‘make it work for the wedding’. Your cousin’s wedding, that was it, that was where you must be.

He stared at you for a moment too long, but all you did was give him a bashful smile.

“Sweetheart, this is Paul and Dianne.” You raised your eyebrow a little at the end; there was something Marc must be missing. Something Steven wouldn’t have.

He nodded quickly and turned to the couple at your side.

“Hello.” He said, quietly, clearing his throat after what was probably the best Steven impression he could muster. He waved at them, hunching his shoulders slightly and smiled.

“Nice to meet you.” Paul said as he shook Marc’s hand.

“We have heard so much about you!” Dianne added.

He tried to keep the Steven-like smile across his face while simultaneously trying to fade back. It was too loud in here, the lights too low. It seemed to make the sounds grow, to echo with more force.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see you. The smallest frown on your face.

Marc realised a second too late that he hadn’t been listening to what Paul had been saying, that it was his turn to speak.

“...I...”

“Oh fuck,” you exclaimed, grabbing hold of the side of your head while slipping your arm through Marc’s. “Sorry guys, I’ve just started to get a migraine and my medication is in the car.” You turned fully to him. “Steven, can you help me go get it?”

He nodded quickly.

You gave your friends an apologetic smile as they voiced their sympathies. “We’ll be right back!” You reassured them before you practically pulled Marc out of the hall. Which he was very thankful for, as he had no idea of where ‘out’ was.

You led him down a quiet corridor, the faint thump of the music beating through the walls. It was colder out here, darker, with dim light from overhead and blackness in the windows. But it was safer, somehow. Comforting.

His heart was beating too fast. Bile at the back of his throat. He tried to push on Steven again, to find wherever he had drifted back to.

You stopped at the end of the corridor and turned to him. “Are you okay?”

Marc nodded. His chest rapidly rising and falling as he leaned back against the wall. He tried to force his features into a Steven expression. He shouldn’t be so difficult, his muscles did it every god forsaken day.

You took a step closer to him, taking his hand in yours and rubbing his fingers soothingly with your thumb. “Are you sure?”

Marc shook his head. Shoulders slumping as he breathed out a long breath through his nose. It was all too much. It was like his head had fractured. Everything was spilling out, running down and slipping through his fingers.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” You moved forward, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him gently closer to you, letting his body weight rest more on you than the wall.

You swayed a little with him, an almost dance as Marc clung onto you tightly, burying his hand into your neck.

“Is this okay?” You whispered. And Marc quickly nodded again, humming as he did. His heart was slowing, returning to something that was closer to normal.

He nearly asked you to hold him tighter, to squeeze on him with all your strength, to crush everything back in, to mould all of him that had spilled out back into his body.

You both stayed like that for a while until Marc mumbled, “your head?” He tried his best at Steven’s accent, but was glad that his voice was muffled by his lips against your skin.

There was a beat, you gave him a brief tighter hug before you pulled back, just enough to look at him in the eyes.

“A clever ruse.” You pulled a silly face as you joked. “To get us out of there.”

A spike of emotion ran through Marc’s veins. You said ‘us’, not ‘you’.

He nodded, once, relieved and closed his eyes. “Thank you.” He whispered and you gently pulled him back into a hug. If you noticed the slightly American twang to his words you didn’t say anything.

When Marc fronted again, it was with a start. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was, or when. The only thoughts of being in your arms.

It was dark, night. He was in bed, Steven’s bed. Marc sighed and rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the weak light from the city outside.

He nearly jumped out of his own skin when your arm wrapped around his side, snuffling closer to him in your sleep.

Marc stayed like that for as long as he could. Not wanting the moment to end, the feeling of you holding him, of your chest pressed against his back. But sleep won out in the end.

“Snack me!”

Your voice made him jump.

Marc was sitting in the passenger seat, you were driving. He silently thanked the universe for Steven never getting his licence. There was no way he could deal with having to suddenly front while behind the wheel.

It took him a moment to realise he was holding a bag of Maltesers, and that even though you were looking ahead at the road (a motorway by the looks of it) you had your mouth open at a comical angle.

He quickly took out a chocolate, nearly dropping it in the process, and held it in front of your face.

You made an exaggerated eating sound as you took the Maltesers from his fingers, your lips just brushing against his skin. The sensation sending a shiver along Marc’s spine.

“Just one?” You said in mock outrage, your voice garbled slightly.

He snorted, but quickly held another one out to you. You were quicker this time, swallowing the sweet and gently biting Marc’s forefinger.

His breath caught in his throat, a spike of arousal shooting straight down and Marc froze, afraid that anything he could do would bring an end to the sight before him.

You swirled your tongue over the tip and dragged your teeth down before letting go with a pop.

Marc shuddered.

You grinned at him and kissed the palm of his hand when he didn’t move away.

There was another second of Marc still not moving, when you laughed.

“Ooooh, I see, so you want to have spity chocolate fingers. I understand.” You made a slow show of pretending to go for his hand again.

Marc laughed and moved away from you before you had the chance.

The weak winter sunshine seemed to dance along your hair as a deep-down sense of peace settled into his bones, lifted the weight from his shoulders.

You both stayed like that for a bit, giggling as Marc fed you more chocolate and eating a couple himself. It took him longer than he wanted to admit to try to bring Steven forward. His alter had completely slipped his mind.

He woke in bed. Your bed. Marc could tell instantly. Your mattress was firmer than Steven’s, didn’t make his old shoulder wound ache. Something before Khonshu’s time that the suit could never seem to fully heal.

The god hadn’t been as demanding recently. Which made Marc more apprehensive than relieved, like something was building, something big.

It was dark, a little after 2am. Weak light from the streetlamps outside leaked through your curtains, just enough to see by. He sighed as he shifted, readying himself to get up as quietly as he could.

He started to sit up slowly, but didn’t get very far.

You let out a small sound of distress, barely audible but echoing loud in the quiet, and snaked your arm over his chest, shifting your whole body closer to him.

Marc froze, afraid to even breathe. If he could just-

“Bad dreams?” You muttered, your words sleep filled and muffled by how your mouth pressed against his shoulder.

Marc shook his head, staring straight at the ceiling, not even knowing if your eyes were open to see the action.

“Good dreams?” You whispered, moving closer to his ear. You sounded more awake now, a mischievous edge to your words.

He took a second longer than he would admit to react. Maybe he could just turn onto his side, hug you until you fell back asleep, maybe if he-

A lightning spike of a shiver ran through him as you nipped at his neck, shifting your weight quickly to get into a better position to kiss and suck at his pulse point.

Marc let out a low moan at the shock and jolt of sensation, his body moving of its own volition as his arms wrapped around you and pressed you closer against him.

Oh this was a bad idea, this was a bad idea, this was a very bad idea. But his mind couldn’t seem to get the message through to the rest of his body.

You smiled against his skin, moving back from his neck slightly, the pause gave Marc a moment to try to think straight. He could pull away now, he could get up, he needed to deny this, to stop. He wasn’t Steven, he couldn’t-

Your lips brushed against his. A small light kiss. And he was gone, drunk on the brief connection, the taste of you and warmth of your skin.

He whined after you, titling his head up and trying to recapture your lips again. Just one more kiss, just one and he would stop.

You chuckled softly as you moved, caging his hips with your legs, before you sunk back down and pressed your lips to his once more.

It was soft, so gentle but so teasing, languid and sweet like you were mapping out every part of him. He rested his hands lightly on your waist as he forced himself not to buck or rut against you.

But it seemed like you had other ideas as your ground down against his quickly hardening dick. He let out a desperate cry at the sensation and you slipped your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss and all Marc could think was, you, you, you.

He couldn’t- he shouldn’t- he wanted-

You took hold of his hand, guiding it under the helm of your top and to your breast. Marc took the hint quickly and squeezed lightly before running his thumb over your nipple. He felt the shiver run across your skin, the hum of approval that echoed into his mouth, and his heart swelled.

He repeated the motion, his other hand tightening on your thigh, when you pulled back suddenly. Your mouth leaving his.

Panic flared through Marc’s chest. A smack of reality to the senses. He opened his mouth to speak, to apologise but he never got the chance.

You kicked away the blankets and pulled his pyjama bottoms off his legs with a practised ease. He barely had a moment to register the cool air hitting his skin before you licked a stripe from the base to the top of his semi hard cock.

Marc let out a shamefully loud moan before he bit down on his lips to try to quieten himself. This was a dream, this had to be a dream.

You flicked his inner left thigh playfully to get his attention, and muttered “sound please,” before you lapped at the precome oozing from his tip.

Marc let out a whispered, “sorry,” between pants, his bottom lip still between his teeth. If he bit down any harder he was going to draw blood.

You swirled your tongue down over his balls and Marc gasped, his thighs jolting as the pleasure in his lower stomach began to grow. His toes curled into the mattress as you traced the large vein on the underside of his cock.

You repeated the motions with teasing vigour, eyes closed, one hand firmly on his right thigh to stop his shaking. Your hair fell forward, obscuring his view of your face in the weak light. Without thinking he brushed it back behind your ear, keeping a light almost reverent hold.

He fought the urge to buck up against your mouth, to seek more of that delicious heat. The muscles in his abdomen twitched as he tried to keep some level of control on himself, to simply take what you would give him without asking for more.

You wrapped your hand around the base of him and he couldn’t hold back a choked sob of bliss, nothing could ever feel better than-

He cried out louder, clamping his mouth shut tight but letting the sound rumble out through his chest as you took the tip of him into your mouth. His hand tightened in your hair, tears beginning to form at the corners of his eyes as you pulled away from him with a ‘pop’. Then quickly running your tongue back up the full length of his cock before taking it back into your mouth.

You hollowed your cheeks and eased down slowly. Sucking and sinking and Marc was drowning in pleasure. It was too much. Too much. And Marc didn’t deserve this, he didn’t-

A gasp caught in his throat as you bobbed your head up and down, moving your hand in a perfectly synchronised rhythm.

“Fuck...” He hissed and you hummed in response, the vibrations dancing along his skin as you pushed your head down lower, lower. The tip of his cock just hitting the back of your throat.

You swallowed around him eagerly, easing back up and down. Your mouth was so warm and wet and perfect.

Tingles of pleasure began to run along his spine, pool in his stomach. He fought the urge to close his eyes, to throw his head back, he didn’t want to miss a single second of his, wanted to imbed you worshipping his cock in his mind forever.

The nails of your free hand scraped delicately over the sensitive skin of his inner thigh as you took him particularly deeply and Marc couldn’t help himself as he arched his back, nearly sobbing from the sensation.

He was at the edge, helpless and ready to tumble.

“Wait,” he breathed in deeply, his voice wrecked as he tightened his grip on your face, moving his hand to cup your chin. “Wait, please... love,” the pet name felt weird against his tongue, his accent off, as he pushed you away from his aching cock and sat up.

You moved back off him, staring up at him with your wide eyes. Your lips were parted and swollen as you took in a breath to speak. But Marc didn’t let you.

He covered your mouth with desperate, greedy kisses. Sloppy and wet as he pawed at your waistband.

“Can I?.. I need...” He muttered into your mouth, lost and needy and unable to ask for what he wanted, to form it into words. “Please?”

You smiled and nipped at his lips, running your hands through his hair before you gently pushed him back down against the bed, quickly shedding your clothes and pulling his top away before kissing him again.

Marc whined as you pressed yourself fully against him. The heat of your skin was burning, chasing away any chill that was left in his bones. He tangled one hand in your hair, the other resting on your hip, tracing delicate circles, frantic to touch you further but holding himself back. Afraid the smallest wrong move would take all of this away.

You rose off of him quickly, but Marc had little time to lament the loss as you took hold of his cock and rubbed the head of him against your folds.

He gasped loudly, his eyes fluttering closed and missed the wide grin that spread across your face.

“You’re so...” He moaned, his fingers digging into your thighs.

You paused, holding the tip of him against your clit. “So what?”

He bucked upwards without meaning to, whimpering as he breathed heavily before he finally spoke. “So... wet.” He hadn’t even touched you.

You leaned closer, placing feather light kisses against his jaw while gently rocking your hips against him. “All for you.” You whispered as you rolled your hips to position yourself before sinking down onto his cock.

Marc sobbed, a sound so dissolved up in pleasure it was close to pain. He wrapped his arms around your upper back, pulling your chest flush against his as you took him to the hilt. Too much, too good.

He bit his lip sharply between his teeth and screwed up his eyes, forcing his head to the side and against the pillow in a desperate attempt not to come.

You stilled, sensing the tension in his body and slowly cupped his face with your hands, bringing him back up so that your noses were almost touching. You rubbed soothing circles into his temples, kissing his chin and lips before he opened his eyes. Tears that had leaked out of the corners, caught in the weak light.

“You okay?”

He nodded quickly and kissed you again, his muscles relaxing ever so slightly. You rocked against him experimentally, trying not to overwhelm him and gasping when his pubic bone rubbed perfectly against your clit.

Marc swallowed your sounds, groaning as you rocked against him again.

Slowly, you moved, dragging your hips along this body until you were nearly disconnected, before painstakingly slipping all the way back down.

Marc clung onto you, one arm wrapped so tightly around your waist, like he was afraid you would float away if he let go. The other on the very top of your thigh, helping you to ease back up and down his length and pushing down whenever he was fully sheathed inside, canting his hips upwards at the same time to rub against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He kissed your lips, your neck, alternating between burying his head in your shoulder and breathing in your scent to moving back, needing to see your face as you gasped in pleasure.

You groaned, swearing under your breath and began to move faster, moving from leaning on your elbows to your hands as you pushed back down against him. The change in angel hitting a devastating spot inside.

Marc’s grip on you tightened. He wouldn’t last, couldn’t last, didn’t want this to ever end. Pleasure had coiled so tightly in the base of his cock, ready to snap at any moment.

“I’m-fuck-” any resemblance to an English accent had disappeared, he was too far gone. “Please, I’m going to-”

You bounced harder on him, revelling in the gasps and moans escaping his lips. He was so beautiful like this.

You licked a strip along the risen vein in his neck, biting just under his ear before whispering through your own gasps. “Come for me.”

That was nearly all it took, nearly enough for Marc to give in to the sweet torture and fall off the edge into bliss.

He shook his head rapidly from side to side, eyes tight shut, afraid the sight of you above him would make him lose what little control he had left.

“Need you to-” he gasped as you rolled your hips, your walls fluttering around him as he hit a particularly sensitive part. “Need you baby... need you to...”

You moaned, arching your back ever so slightly. Your thrusts were getting sloppy, desperate and out of rhythm as you reached your peak.

The slight change in position was too good, your chest thrust forward, your face pinched in pleasure, the mesmerising roll of your hips. He couldn’t last.

With a desperate wine he buried his face into your breast, latching onto your left nipple and sucking hard as his orgasm crested. That little extra stimulation was all it took for you to cry out, one hand buried in his hair as your walls clenched against him. Following him into that mind shattering ecstasy.

Marc’s hips stuttered, his legs shaking as he came harder than he could ever remember, emptying himself deep inside of you and moaning against your skin. All thoughts blissfully quiet for one long moment.

You breathed heavily, your skin covered in a sheen of sweat, feeling boneless. You kissed his neck before propping yourself up on an elbow, gently easing away from his crushing embrace.

“Sorry,” he muttered, wide eyed as he unwrapped his arms, worried he had hurt you.

But you only laughed quietly and peppered his face with more kisses. Gentle touches that made his heart swell against his ribs.

You traced his eyebrows with the tip of your finger before laying your forehead back down against his shoulder and sighing contently.

“That was,” you breathed in heavily, trying and failing to keep your eyes open, “very good.”

“Very good.” Marc whispered, barely making a sound as he kissed your temple and wrapped his arms around you again, enjoying the weight of you against him as his cock slowly softened inside of you.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he woke it was dark, and you were gone.

Pain flared along his chest. Deep and cutting. Marc breathed in, screwing up his eyes and running a hand through his hair, pulling on the roots to give himself a distraction, a different sensation, a-

Footsteps, he snapped his eyes open, almost sitting up when he recognised he was still in your bed, naked and with wetness cooling around his cock.

The bedroom door opened and you tiptoed in wearing a baggy t-shirt. He could see you smile at him in the weak light as you came over and kissed him deeply.

“I thought you’d fallen asleep.” You said tracing your thumb over his bottom lip before kissing him again.

Marc swallowed and shook his head.

You hummed and brought a warm cloth to his skin, gently wiping his dick, lower stomach and upper thighs.

“Sorry, I made a bit of a mess of you.” You said sleepily.

Marc shook his head again, “I don’t mind.”

You kissed him once more, deep and soft as you climbed back into bed, leaving the cloth on the side table to be dealt with in the morning.

He held you close, your fingers stroking his hair, as you both fell back to sleep.

#Fic rec #Moon Knight fanfic #Moon Knight smut #Marc Spector smut #Marc Spector x reader #Steven Grant x reader #NKF (Not kid friendly)#my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction #More Than I Remember You #I'm just convinced you're here to make me cry about the Moon Boys all the time!#but seriously good job #the smut is good and spicy #but it's a good character study into Marc #so if you're a Marc Spector fan--give this a read!#queuing on broken glass

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nageill · 1 year

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Hi bb are you requests open? If so can I creep in here…

Kindly asking for Steven + domesticity aka reader is his cute pretty housewife 🙈💕 only if you’re up to it !!

When I think of pretty housewife, I think of baking, idk why, but sorry this took long and I hope you enjoy <3

Word count: 853

Steven immediately knew what you were up to as soon as he entered his flat. A sweetness was trapped in the air, the familiar smell of homemade blueberry muffins greeting him at the door.

“Dove?” He called out, tossing his satchel aside and toeing off his shoes. He went straight toward the kitchen and was greeted by the sight of you clutching a mixing bowl to your waist as you furiously mixed away at the batter within. You had a pretty dress on, a blue, floral thing that swished around your knees with every movement. It was covered in flour despite the apron you wore—the one that said “What’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

There were trays upon trays of already baked muffins scattered about, along with trays of cookies, and even a pan of sourdough bread. Steven didn’t even know how you’d both get through to eating all of it. He’d have to bring some to work the next day and share with some of his coworkers so that all your hard work wouldn’t go to waste.

Something must have happened—you only baked this much when your day was beyond stressful. The little crease between your brows was enough of an indicator that your work day may have had a toll on you.

“Dove?” He tried again over the blaring music, another indication of your displeasure of the day. Your eyes had been trained on folding the blueberries into the batter that you barely noticed him until he placed his hand on your elbow.

“Oh!” The rubber spatula you’d been using almost flew from your hand had Steven not gripped your wrist to hold it in place. Batter went flying everywhere from the erratic movement, some of it landing in Steven’s hair and face. “Steven! I didn’t hear you come in!” You dropped the bowl on the counter, “I’m sorry, I’ve made a mess of you.”

“It’s okay,” he smiled, letting you fall in his arms as soon as he invited you in, “what’s wrong, love?”

“What makes you think somethings wrong?” You muttered, wiping some batter from his cheek only to pop your finger into your mouth to wipe it clean. Steven did his best to ignore that.

“You only bake like this when something’s wrong. What is it? You know you can tell me, right?” He urged, gently swaying you along to whatever indie track you had playing in the background. You smiled, giving him a quick peck on the lips before sighing.

“My parents.” You muttered.

“What about them?”

“They’re coming to visit in a few weeks.”

“Well, that’s fantastic news, innit?” Steven pulled away to hold you at arm's length, “I finally get to meet them, yeah?” he noted your hesitation, the uncertain look in your eyes, “what’s wrong?” You bit your lip, red and plump from your worrying it so much.

“I’m nervous.” You finally said, turning from him to tend to whatever it was you had baking in the oven.

“Well, that’s normal, it’s been a few years since you’ve visited them,” Steven strode over to hook his chin over your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist as you tested the muffins you pulled out with a toothpick. His hands worked to smooth down the silky fabric of your dress, placing a kiss on the nape of your neck.

“Yeah,” you said, eyes fluttering, “but…they’re complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

“Like, judgy complicated.”

“Oh.” You rarely spoke about your parents. All that he knew was that they did not agree with your decision to go to baking school, nor did they agree with your move to London. But you’ve been successful since then, working as a second in command in one of the top pastry restaurants in the city. How could they judge you when you’ve accomplished so much? “I’m sure they’ll be proud to know how successful you’ve been, love. You know how proud of you I am.”

You hummed, leaning back against him. “Yes, I know.” Steven breathed in the scent of your hair, and you felt his smile through the strands.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” he said, his hold on you tightening, “and if I have to, I’ll remind them of how amazing you are. They’ll be so happy, you’ll see.” You giggled when he nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. You delicately plucked a warm muffin from the tray, breaking a piece off and shifting in his arms to face him.

“Thank you, I love you,” you said with a tiny smile, “here, try this batch, I added Greek yogurt to this recipe.” You pressed the piece past his lips and Steven immediately moans at the sweetness.

“God, your hands are magic.” In more ways than one, he would’ve said, but he left that part out. He really did enjoy your baking skills.

You beamed, taking a piece for yourself and humming in approval.

“Come on,” Steven suddenly said, grabbing your hand.

“Wait,” you giggled as you followed along, “I have more muffins to bake! Where are we going?”

“Bedroom. Gonna make a mess of you.”

#Fic rec #Moon Knight fanfic #Steven Grant x reader #xbellaxcarolinax #AW! this was so cute!#because I too wish I could wear a pretty dress bake some yummy goodies and get kisses and encouragement from Steven Grant #that would be lovely okay thanks #queuing on broken glass

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nageill · 1 year

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Happy 500! 🩵 I feel like "best friend's brother" and the Millers is something smutty just waiting to happen, maybe? 🫢

Best Friend's Brother.

y. Best Friend's Brother

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. thank you for this request!! another one for my will girlies - love you all <3

Pairing - Will Miller x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - smut!! + cursing

Word Count - 900

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

You've known Benjamin Miller since you were a teenager.

He's been there through thick and thin, love and loss, good and bad.

He makes you laugh until you cry, happily watches awful movies with you, and loves to make you breakfast for dinner. He knows you like the back of his hand, and vice versa. He's the best friend you could ever ask for.

He also has the most beautiful brother in the world.

William Miller is the bane of your existence. Golden hair, big blue eyes, gleaming smile. He's aged like a fine wine, and damn have you noticed. You love Benny more than anything, and you'd never do anything to jeopardise that. But my god... it's tempting.

You're one too many tequilas down when you realise you're wobbling. You're holding onto the bar's bathroom sink for balance, attempting to keep yourself upright. You pull out your phone and call Benny, your designated taxi driver.

"Hello?"

"Benny. Baby. I am drunk! So drunk. The room is spinning, actually. Bathrooms don't spin, right?"

"Sweetheart, this is Will. Benny left his phone at my place. Where are you? You need me to come and get you?"

"Will! Hey Will. Wonderful Will. I am drunk. Very drunk."

"You may have mentioned that," he chuckles. "Where are you?"

"O'Lockes, I think. You know the place with the lights? The pretty lights?"

"Yeah, I know the one. Stay there, okay? I'm coming."

He gets to you within 20 minutes, which means he can't possibly have followed any of the speed limits. You're sat on the bench waiting outside when you see his truck pull up.

"Hey, you."

"Hi, William. Beautiful boy. God, you're the best."

"Thank you," he chuckles.

He gets out of the truck and jogs around to the passenger side to help you in.

"Chivalry isn't dead, huh?" you giggle. "Such a gentleman. How are you single? Why are you single? Do you want to be? You don't have to be. Every single girl in that bar would swoon for you, William."

"Alright, this feels like 20 questions. You need help with that seat belt?"

Will reaches over and buckles you in. His face is so close to yours, you can smell his toothpaste. The tiny part of your brain that's still rational begs you not to kiss him.

He jumps into the drivers side and starts up the engine. He turns up the heat so you're warm enough, and turns the music down so it isn't too loud. You curl into the heated seat and sigh contently, sobering up pretty quickly.

By the time he's pulling into your driveway, you can't feel the tequila anymore. You're warm, you're happy, and you're madly in love with the man sitting next you. What could go wrong?

"Hey Will?" you ask when he cuts the engine.

"Yeah, honey?"

"Why are you single? I'm not trying to be nosy. Just curious."

"Curious, huh?" he drawls, smiling gently at you.

"I mean - I've never heard you talk about a girlfriend, or even going on a date. Ever since I've known you, you've been practically always single."

"Yeah. Dating isn't really my thing, I guess. Too much effort."

"Too much effort? Will, I've never heard you say anything is too much effort."

He chuckles, and you laugh along with him.

"I don't know. Maybe I'm just waiting for a certain someone."

Your heart skips a beat.

"Anyone in particular?" you ask, toeing the line.

"Maybe," he mutters. "Maybe."

He leans in over the centre console and presses a sweet kiss to your lips. You thread your hands into his hair and pull him closer, desperately to feel all of him. He grabs your hips and pulls you into his lap, rocking you back and forth.

You whine and the sound shoots straight to his core. He groans in response, tongue licking into your mouth. You shakily unbutton his jeans, pulling your skirt up around your waist.

"Should we go inside?" you pant breathlessly.

"Can't wait that long," he replies quickly. "Need to feel you now."

You pull him out of his underwear and lower yourself down, the both of you moaning in unison. The angle is a little awkward and you accidentally bump your head on the roof of his truck, but neither of you can find it in you to stop.

You set a steady rhythm, rising and falling with determination. Will helps you, grabbing at your hips and moving you as he pleases. You drop your forehead to rest against his, sweat mixing and breaths mingling.

"Oh, fuck," you whine.

"Yeah, baby. Keep going. You're doing so good. Don't stop, yeah?"

"Not stopping," you reply. "Never stopping."

Will moves his thumb to rub circles between your legs, causing you to breathlessly pant his name like a prayer.

"So close, Will. So close."

"Come on, honey. Give it to me. I can feel it. Yeah, that's it."

You fall over the edge with a moan, gripping at his hair. You tug a little harder than intended, but it does the trick, sending him into his own climax. He's groaning your name, and you're convinced the sound will be ingrained in your mind forever.

You're both panting, chests heaving. Then, you burst into a fit of giggles. It seems to be contagious, because Will joins you.

"What?" he asks through the laughter.

"How the fuck are we gonna tell Ben?"

#Fic rec #Triple Frontier fanfic #Triple Frontier smut #William Ironhead Miller x reader #William Miller x reader #William Ironhead Miller smut #NKF (Not kid friendly)#violentdelightsandviolentends #Best Friend's Brother #a little on the short side would have liked to have had more in the lead up but still a good read!#queuing on broken glass

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