#im lowkey proud of this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bastardmandennis · 9 months

Text

even if it’s a false god (marc spector x fem!reader)

Summary: Your neighbor, Steven, asks you to feed his fish for him while he's away. Instead, you meet who you think is his brother, Marc.

Word Count: 6.9k (nice)

Warnings: oh boy. SMUT! (literally get out of here if you're not 18+ pls), afab reader, no y/n, brief mentions of a wound/blood, mentions of Steven/reader friendship, no layla (devastating tbh), men begging (woo), PIV sex, creampie, unsafe sex (wrap it before you tap it). riding, mentions of masturbation, oral (f receiving). one (1) singular slap. vague allusions to the moon knight system/konshu but not really important tbh, drinking of alcohol, i think that's it but pls let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: good lord. this has been drumming around in my head for TOO LONG. i just wanted an excuse to use ^this gif (only slightly joking). title comes from the song false god by tswift (even tho im mad at her rn) bc i am just a simple uncreative girl, okay? pls enjoy and let me know what you think!! xoxo

There in the low light, sitting at your kitchen table, is–fuck, it’s Steven. He doesn’t look good, sweaty and dirty and tired. He doesn’t notice you at first, too busy trying to reach over his shoulder for something. His shirt is on the floor, shredded, along with the bottle of vodka you keep for “emergencies.” What the fuck? “What the fuck?” you echo and he finally looks up at you. You drop the shoe and kick it to the side. “Steven, are you–what happened?” “Not Steven,” he grunts, and oh the sound of his gruff voice should not be turning you on right now. “Marc,” you breathe. His dark eyes snap to yours, hand paused awkwardly over his shoulder. You can’t even be too mad at him for breaking in here in the middle of the night, not when he’s looking at you like that, all broody eyes and pouty lips. Fuck, he’s pretty.

All day, there’s been a nagging feeling in the back of your mind that there was something important you forgot to do. At work, you go through your emails, your calendar–nothing there. On the bus ride home, you stare out at the passing scenery, wracking your brain trying to figure out what the hell you’re forgetting. It’s driving you crazy.

It’s not until you reach your apartment door, digging through your bag for your keys, that you realize what it is. You pull out a second set of keys, this one with a small teddy bear charm dangling, and it hits you like a ton of bricks. Fuck. You were supposed to feed your neighbor’s fish for him while he was away.

You drop your work bag and sprint up the stairs to Steven’s apartment. Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead. You don’t think you’d be able to handle the disappointed puppy dog look he’d give you when he comes back and you have to tell him you killed his beloved fish. The way his arms would wrap around himself in comfort, sleeves covering his hands, the way he always did when he was upset. Upset because of you this time.

Your heart sinks when you make it to his door, panting. Oh this is not good. You can’t remember when exactly he’d said he’d be back–in your defense, he did call you at 2am on a Monday, his voice uncharacteristically gruff as he’d asked you to take care of Stev-my fish for me, apparently taking your mumbled mhm as a concrete sign of agreement. When you’d woken up for real later that day, his keys were sitting on your kitchen table, a note reading Thanks. scrawled out in unfamiliar handwriting. Weird, but Steven was a bit of an odd duck, popping in and out to say hey at all hours, whenever he was awake (which seemed like all the time). The man either slept like the dead or not at all, no inbetween.

You quickly go through his keys, unlocking the top two deadbolts before reaching the main door lock. This one sticks–you shove your shoulder against the door and it bursts open. You tumble into the apartment.

And right into Steven. He’s bare chested, a pair of pajama pants slung low on his hips. Holy shit, since when was Steven ripped? He’s got a few days’ worth of stubble covering his clenched jaw and dark circles under his eyes. His hair is gelled down carefully instead of in its usual wild fluffy curls.

“Steven,” you whisper. He’s still gripping your elbow and you quickly straighten up. “What are you do–”

“Should be asking you that,” he says. His voice is flat, no trace of his usual cheery accent to be seen.

You blink. Study his face, the scowl etched there, the pull of his brows. This isn’t the Steven you know–the one who always greets you with a smile and a quiet heya when you pass each other in the hallway. The one who knocks on your door in the middle of the night with some ancient translation he’s finally figured out, waving his notes excitedly at you. The one who brings you a doughnut on his way home from work sometimes. It’s Steven’s face, for sure, but you’ve never seen this angry expression twisting his features. It feels wrong, it feels…dangerous.

You nod toward the fish tank, where Gus is still swimming happily. Thank god. “Steven didn’t tell me his…brother…was coming to feed Gus,” you say. “I’ve been, um, watching him?”

He takes a step back, not meeting your eyes. “Right, he–he told me you’d be here.” A beat, and then, “Did you need something else?”

You can’t stop staring at him, how familiar yet alien the man standing in front of you is. You see glimpses of Steven, when he crosses his arms across his chest, but then he speaks, his voice gruff, flat, American, and the illusion is broken. He raises an eyebrow and you shake your head.

“Sorry, it’s just…Steven didn’t tell me he had a brother,” you say. “Not that–I mean, not that we’re super close, you know. I just moved in like, three–no, four months ago now, so we see each other around. Sometimes.”

You want to slap yourself for babbling–something about his intense stare, the way his dark eyes roam your face, makes you want to run and never come back. You feel rooted in place, waiting for him to pounce, and you don’t fully hate it.

His lips twitch. You want to see him smile, see if it’s the same crooked grin Steven usually sports. “Ok-ay, well, I’ll just go now,” you finally say when he doesn’t answer.

You spin around, eager to get as far away as possible when you hear him call out to you.

“Marc,” he says. “I’ll see you around.” The smile he gives you is small, more tightly controlled than Steven’s, but it still makes your heart race. Get it together.

You wave and practically sprint back to your apartment, slamming the door and leaning back against it. That could not have gone any worse. Your heart won’t stop pounding and you try to convince yourself it’s just from all the running, not the way you felt Marc’s eyes follow you out the door.

—-

You don’t see Marc–or Steven–for the next few days. You set alarms now, one before work and one at night, as a reminder to feed Gus. And if you make sure you look extra presentable when you get to Steven’s apartment, an extra coat of gloss and mascara thrown on, it’s definitely not because of Marc.

Right.

But each time you’re let down, the apartment as empty as you left it the time before, no sign of either Marc or Steven. You find yourself taking a few minutes every visit to straighten up some of the many books scattered around, pointedly avoiding the half-made bed in the middle of the room.

One time you’d dropped the can of fish food and it had rolled over to the bed, getting caught in the pile of–what is that, sand?–scattered around the edges. You’d huffed, crouching down to get it, only to come face to face with a long ankle restraint tied to one leg of the bed. Your face heated, even though no one was there to see you.

You tried not to think of Steven using it on someone—poor, sweet Steven, who you’ve known for three months now and will barely make eye contact with you. No, this seemed like something more up Marc’s alley, and you can’t help imagine his rough hands tightening the restraints across your ankles, holding your legs spread open for him as he kissed and bit his way up to your–

No. This is so wrong.

But it wasn’t wrong enough to stop the heat pooling in your stomach, the damp spot on your panties you tried to ignore. And if you touched yourself later that night, made yourself come imagining big hands and a harsh voice in your ear, well. That’s no one’s business.

Another three days pass, and you’re starting to get worried. There’s still no sign of Steven, and you don’t think he’s ever been gone this long–what is he even doing? It’s not like this is a work trip, right? Do museum gift shop workers even get leave from work? There’s mail beginning to pile up outside his door, and when you deposit the stack on the kitchen counter during your next visit a small envelope catches your attention.

Marc Spector is written on the front. There’s no return address. Weird–you’d just assumed he and Steven would have the same last name. You quickly place the envelope back with the rest of the mail. It’s not your business, you scold yourself. But that doesn’t stop you from googling Marc Spector when you get home and–nothing. Not even the usual abandoned Facebook page, the years-old photo tag from some distant relatives. A search of Steven Grant brings you to the wiki page for some Indiana Jones-style 80s movie. Another dead end, of course.

You consider calling the police, reporting Steven (and Marc) missing, but what could you even say? Hey, my neighbor and his mysterious secret twin brother are missing, no I don’t know where they could be, I’m just here to feed his fish, I don’t even have either of their phone numbers. It sounds crazy just thinking about it. Jesus. You toss and turn that night, finally telling yourself that if you don’t hear from Steven by the morning, you’ll go back to his apartment and look for a number for someone to call for help. You slip into a restless sleep soon after, images of Steven’s big puppy eyes and Marc’s scowling face flashing through your mind.

Bang.

Something scrapes across the floor and then you hear a muffled curse. Your eyes spring open, heart practically beating its way out of your chest as you try to orient yourself in the dark room. You fumble for your phone on the nightstand–dead, because of course you forgot to plug it in last night. A loud crash from the kitchen has you shooting up out of bed, grabbing for the only weapon-like thing available. You grip a high heel in your hand, ready to stab whoever decided to make the mistake of breaking into your apartment and interrupting your sleep.

“What the fuck?” you echo and he finally looks up at you. You drop the shoe and kick it to the side. “Steven, are you–what happened?”

“Not Steven,” he grunts, and oh the sound of his gruff voice should not be turning you on right now.

“Marc,” you breathe. His dark eyes snap to yours, hand paused awkwardly over his shoulder. You can’t even be too mad at him for breaking in here in the middle of the night, not when he’s looking at you like that, all broody eyes and pouty lips. Fuck, he’s pretty.

“Can you–” he gestures impatiently to his shoulder. You walk over in a trance, trying not to feel self-conscious in your sleep shorts and tank top, coming to a hesitant stop behind him. There’s a gash running across his shoulder blade and you gasp. A trickle of blood rolls down his back.

You flutter your hand around the makeshift rag he has pressed there. You can’t stop staring at his back, the shift of muscles as he tries to hold his other hand in place to stop the bleeding. He’s so broad and warm, heat radiating off of him into the chilly air around you. You make a noise in your throat and he huffs.

“Oh fuck, what–what is this?” you ask. Stupid question. You press down on the rag–is that one of your shirts? that fucker–and he groans, shifting in the chair.

“Just–can you just help,” Marc rasps. He twists around to meet your eyes, careful not to jostle your hand on his shoulder. “Please.”

Yeah, you’re fucked. It shouldn’t be this attractive, listening to him beg for your help, twisting in your kitchen chair in the middle of the night. You can’t help but think of other places you want to hear him beg and a flush creeps up your face.

“Okay, yeah,” you finally say. Clear your throat and think of the bare bones first aid kit underneath your bathroom sink. “But maybe you should just go to the hospital–”

“No!” His voice booms through the room and you freeze. “No, it’s–it’s not that bad, please.” His voice is soft, pleading. “Just a scratch, promise.”

A scratch? But he looks so confident–“okay,” you whisper against your better judgment. “Stay here, let me get my, uh, kit.”

His shoulders slump in relief. “Didn’t have anywhere else to go or I would’ve. I didn’t want to bother you but, Steven–” He pauses. “Steven clearly trusts you, so I figured…you’re my best option here.”

His words send butterflies through your stomach. You tear your eyes away from his clenched jaw, mumble something again about getting the kit. You’re relieved to find everything you need tucked away, praying it’s not as bad as it looks. You couldn’t sew to save your life, but for Marc you’d try. And if it’s really bad, well tough shit—you’d find some way to drag him to the hospital.

He’s drinking from the bottle of vodka when you come back, head tilted back as he swallows deeply. A drop escapes from the corner of his mouth and you track it down his neck until it disappears beneath his tank top. You clear your throat and he turns to look at you, hissing when the movement pulls his wound open.

“Stop moving,” you scold, ripping the bottle from his hand and placing it on the table next to you.

You’ve seen enough survival movies to know that disinfecting the wound is the basic first step, but really, what the hell can you do after that? You don’t have any medical experience, can barely handle your own papercuts–let alone a huge open wound on someone else. You take a shaky breath, feeling slightly hysterical; here’s this man you barely know practically bleeding out in your kitchen in the middle of the night, waiting for your help, instead of going to the hospital like a normal person. Plenty of time to freak out later, once Marc is gone, you remind yourself.

He’s silent in the chair, shoulders tense. His tank top flaps open where his skin is split–oh Marc, what have you gotten yourself into?

“I’m gonna,” you clear your throat. “Can you, um, take your shirt off? I can’t see.”

“Sure, doc,” he grumbles. You roll your eyes at the jab–you are technically a doctor, of philosophy though, not medicine, but you’re not sure if he knows that. You help him lift the shirt from his back, making sure it doesn’t catch on the edges of the cut. Thankfully he’s right, it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s shallow enough that you’re pretty sure you can get away with just cleaning it up and covering it with gauze, no sewing necessary.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn. He grits his teeth and nods, turning his head away to stare out into the living room.

You grab a clean piece of gauze, douse it in vodka–no rubbing alcohol in the first aid kit, but this’ll be better than nothing. Your other hand runs down the non-injured side of his back, hoping to soothe him a little. Instead he tenses up even more, spits out get on with it. So you do, pressing the vodka-soaked gauze right onto the cut, ignoring his groan of pain. Wipe away the smears of blood left behind–thank god it wasn’t still actively bleeding, just needed to be cleaned and wrapped up.

He hisses when you dab the edges of the cut, reaching his hand out behind him. You pass him the bottle silently, trying to ignore the pull of his throat, the way his thick fingers grip the bottle. Steven would never drink with you, no matter how many times you’d offered. Marc doesn’t even flinch at the sting of vodka, and you wonder idly if this was some parent trap twin situation–they really couldn’t be more different.

You pull the bottle out of his hands, placing your lips where his just were, ignoring the bite of the still-cold vodka. The alcohol rushes through you, warming your veins and settling low in your stomach.

“Should you be drinking on the job?” He sounds amused. You scoff.

“Not even my job,” you mumble. Press a little too hard on the edge of his cut with the gauze accidentally-on-purpose, just to hear him bite back a whimper and pull away from you. You grab his shoulders and manhandle him back into the seat. “Hold still, ’m almost done.”

It’s silent besides the sound of you cutting the medical tape and Marc’s labored breathing. There’s so many questions brewing in your mind, but you bite your tongue and keep working, not wanting to upset him again. You press one last piece of tape to his back, hoping your patch job will last until–if–he finally decides to go to the doctor.

“All done,” you finally say, tapping his non-injured shoulder. Marc grunts and twists around to try to see what you’ve done.

You shove him back into the chair. “Don’t, you’ll undo all my hard work.”

“Thanks, doc,” he mumbles. Then he sits up straight like he’s going to get up and leave, without any sort of explanation for what the hell is going on. A flash of anger rises in you and you try to bite it back.

“Why?” you ask. He stops lacing his boots and stares at you. His eyes are just a little darker than Steven’s, you notice, a little sharper–more wolf than puppy. You shake the thought away.

“You gonna tell me what happened? Where Steven is?” You throw your hands up in frustration, letting them land on your bare thighs with a smack. His eyes drop to your legs and back to your face so quickly you almost miss it.

Marc runs a hand through his hair, disrupting his neatly gelled curls even more. “Steven is…away.”

“Away,” you repeat. He nods quickly, inching towards the door like he wants to make a run for it.

“But you know when he’ll be back.” It’s not a question.

He pauses, brows scrunched. A scowl pulls at his lips. “Yeah, I do.”

He makes another move to the door and your anger rises again–how dare he come into your house, uninvited, in the middle of the night, to demand your help, and give you vague non-answers to what you think should be pretty simple questions. You move quickly to stand in front of the door, stopping him with a hand to his chest. His heart beats quickly beneath your palm.

“I don’t get to know that? I’ve been here, waiting, taking care of poor Gus for what, almost two weeks now? I should’ve never said yes, should’ve never got–”

His lips, warm and firm against yours, stop your train of thought. Your eyes fly open in shock, mouth frozen, before he runs his tongue over the seam of your lips and you melt into his embrace. Stupid traitor body.

You twirl your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck and yank and he groans, pulling you even closer as his chapped lips meet yours again. You can feel him harden against your thigh and that snaps you out of it. You pull back, ignoring the question on his face, and slap him. Hard.

The only sound in the room is both of your heavy breathing, and then:

“What the fuck?” He looks confused, bringing a hand up to touch his cheek. “What–”

“Doesn’t feel good, does it,” you say bitterly. “Being lied to. Not getting a straight answer.” You can’t look at his stupid, kissable face right now. You don’t even know him really, this stranger with your cute neighbor’s face. How stupid of you to even get involved.

“Oh honey, I–you don’t,” he takes a deep breath and grabs your limp hand. “Look at me, please? I’d tell you if I could, promise, I don’t–don’t want you to get hurt, understand?”

Your mind whirls, trying to process the kiss and his words and the kiss. He smells so good somehow, despite everything, a little sweaty and a little smoky. You exhale shakily and he steps closer, nudging your chin up to look at him. His brow furrows as he searches your face. When he swipes his thumb across your cheekbone your pulse leaps.

“Are you…in danger? Did you bring who-whoever did that to you back here?” You should be angry at him but you’re just bone-tired, now that the adrenaline is fading.

“No, no, of course not,” he says. He notices your hesitation and adds, “But I could…stay with you tonight, if you want? Just to, you know, make sure. Least I can do.”

His eyes are huge, pleading–even if you wanted to say no, you know you couldn’t.

“Fine,” you say, like you’re doing him a favor. You point to the mess of bloody gauze and assorted clothing strewn across the kitchen. “But you’re cleaning this up tomorrow.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t worry about it.” His face is soft in the early morning lighting, a little sleepy. A little more like Steven. You want to run your hands through his hair again, mess it up even more.

Marc is a silent shadow as you lead him to your bedroom, kicking a random shirt under the bed as you go. You sink down to the mattress with a groan and he watches with sharp eyes from the doorway.

You want to be mean, tell him since this is his mess he’s gotten you into, he can stand there all night for all you care. But then you notice how dark the circles under his eyes are, the way he sways in place, leaning heavily on the door frame–when’s the last time he had a good night’s sleep? you wonder–and a pang of guilt hits you.

Heart pounding, you pull the blanket up beside you, scooting to one side to make room for him behind you. When he doesn’t move you pat the empty space, gesturing for him to get over here.

He hesitates, until you snap get in already, before i change my mind, and he finally lowers himself down next to you with a grunt, careful to avoid pulling his bad shoulder. It’s quiet, the occasional sounds of the city outside filtering through the open window. You close your eyes and try to relax, try to ignore the fact that Marc is here in your bed. With you. He fidgets, fingers brushing the side of your bare thigh and you freeze.

Just when you think he’s finally asleep, his voice breaks the silence with a low whisper. “Thanks, doc. Really.”

“Of course.” Your voice is just as hushed as his. You reach out in the dark for his hand, brushing his pinky with yours. He links his finger with yours and that’s how you finally fall asleep, Marc’s warm body next to yours and a small smile on your face.

—-

He’s gone the next morning of course–it’s almost noon when you finally drag yourself out of bed, the spot next to you cold and vacant. The kitchen is spotless, no sign of any of last night’s struggle, and a box of donuts from your favorite cafe sits on the table. A note is shoved under the box in what you recognize as Marc’s messy scrawl: Steven told me these are your favorite. Thank you.

It shouldn’t make your stomach swoop, this little act of kindness, but it does. You think about Marc while you get ready to go out, staring at your messy sheets where you can imagine the imprint of his body lingers. You think about him during dinner with your friends, when you see a man with dark curly hair at the table behind you kissing his date. You think of the long line of Marc’s throat when you take shot after shot at the bar, pretending the heat in your stomach is just from the alcohol. You think of him when you crawl into bed afterwards, a little tipsy, and imagine you can still smell him on your pillow. You fall asleep too quickly, with your hand down your pants and his name on your lips.

You wake up the next morning to a (thankfully) manageable hangover and a text from an unknown local number:

Be back soon! Thank you again for watching Gus! xx

The reminder of Gus makes you groan; if it was anyone else, you would’ve given up by now, pawned the fish off to someone else to worry about, but then you think of Steven’s happy little smile for you (if he ever comes back) and later that night you trudge your way up to his apartment.

The bottom lock sticks, again, but this time there’s no shirtless Marc there to catch you on the other side–you stumble in and kick the door shut angrily behind you. And then you notice someone in Steven’s bed.

He’s kicked the covers off, a thin sheet crumpled around his bare waist and a hand resting just above the waistband of his briefs. The ankle strap is tied tightly around his leg and you feel your cheeks heat up. Stop being a perv and just leave, jesus–you’re just turning to quietly slink back to your apartment when you hear it: he murmurs your name, brow furrowed even in sleep.

You stop, thinking you’ve been caught creeping. “Steven?” you whisper. “Marc?”

He turns, thrashing around with a low whimper. The sheet drags even lower and you avert your eyes. You should leave for real, he’s definitely not awake, and you don’t even want to think about trying to explain yourself when he wakes up and sees you just standing there looking at him.

And then you step on a creaky spot on the floor and he bolts upright. He’s sweating, bare chest glinting in the low light as he looks around, wild eyes finally landing on you hovering in the doorway.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” you joke. A scowl pulls his features–okay, definitely Marc.

“How–but you…” he trails off. He looks around, disoriented, and then he drags his gaze back to you sharply. “Did you see Steven at all?”

“N-no,” you stammer. “He’s okay though, right?”

“He’s fine,” Marc promises. “Should be back, uh, soon?”

“Yeah, that’s what he said last week,” you mutter. He just looks at you helplessly, and you take that as your cue to leave.

“As fun as this has been,” you say, “I’m gonna…go. I’ll leave the keys, since you’re here. Tell Steven I said hey, whenever you see him.” You run your fingers along the fluffy bear on Steven’s keychain one last time before turning towards the door.

Then, in a voice so low you almost miss it, Marc says, “Wait, please. You can–you can stay, if you want.”

“Stay and…?” you trail off. “What, to watch you sleep?” He looks at you again, eyes so wide and pleading and so much like Steven it makes your heart break. “You’re serious.”

“I, um.” he rubs a hand across his jaw, scratching the thick stubble. “Had a nightmare. It’s usually better when there’s someone here, with me.”

You feel a spark of jealousy at his words, imagining the revolving door of different girls he’s probably gotten into his bed with that cheesy line, how many he’d sweet-talked into giving it up for him. Girls like the brooding angsty thing, right? But then you look at him a little longer, see the sheen of sweat sticking his curls to the side of his head. The perpetual dark shadows under his eyes. The way he’d called your name in his sleep. So you agree.

It’s dark, the light of the moon outside guiding you towards the bed. He’s laying on his back watching you with an arm behind his head, the picture of relaxation, and you can’t help the pulse of desire you feel. Stop it, stop it, stop it. You stand awkwardly at the edge of the bed, unsure how much or how little you should keep on. What’s the protocol for sleeping in bed with a guy you barely know for the second time?

Marc solves the dilemma for you–he reaches for a shirt on the side of the bed, passes it to you without a word. You recognize it as one of Steven’s museum shirts, the Really Makes You Sphinx one with the faded cartoon sphinx in the middle. Your fingers brush his as you reach for it and you shudder, quickly pulling the t-shirt over your head, shucking your pants and socks off as you do, and climb in next to him.

His fingers brush your bare thigh as he turns to look at you. You shift and he just looks at you, dark eyes watching your every move like a hawk. That feeling of danger is back, every instinct telling you to get out of there, now, but this time instead of running away from it, you want to run to him. You want to let him ruin you.

“Alright?” he murmurs softly and you nod.

“How’s your shoulder?” you finally ask. He turns to let you see it, the barely-healed scar that he’d sloppily taped over. You run your fingers around the edges of the tape, then down his spine, notch by notch, and he shivers.

“All good thanks to you, doc,” he says. You hum and he turns to look at you, tracing the knuckles of your hand mindlessly.

“Do you want to talk about it? The nightmare?” you blurt out.

His face hardens and he pulls his hand back to pick at a loose thread in the sheets. You miss the warmth immediately. “Not particularly,” he says after a moment, and you don’t push it.

“Yeah, okay,” you whisper. “Let’s just–here, lay down.”

You stretch your arms above your head, listening to the crack of your joints–you really hadn’t slept well last night, between the drinking and thinking about Marc…you’d been sloppy, too uncoordinated to get the angle of your fingers right and you’d fallen asleep even more frustrated. It all comes rushing back now, seeing him in person, rumpled and sleepy and dangerous but–vulnerable. It’s intoxicating and you shift to rub your thighs together, hoping for even a little bit of friction.

If Marc notices, he doesn’t say anything. Maybe you’re only imagining his heated gaze on your bare skin, the way your shirt–Steven’s shirt–lifts as you stretch. And maybe you can blame the sudden perking of your nipples on the chilly room, definitely nothing to do with Marc. Nope.

He leans back with a grunt, waving off your concern when you look at his injured shoulder. You hesitate, just for a second, but then your desire to sleep–just sleep–with him wins out. He watches you crawl over with half-lidded eyes, dragging a hand around your waist to pull you in even closer. He settles over you with a sigh, one arm right under your breasts, so close you can feel the steady thumping of his heart against your back. His breath is warm against the back of your neck, and when he whispers you okay? in your ear you nod and hope he can’t see the goosebumps there.

At first you’re stiff, not used to being this close to someone, and then his breathing evens out and he–he presses a kiss to the side of your neck, barely a brush of lips but it sets you on fire. You feel his lips pull into a smile against your neck as you fidget in his grasp.

“Go to sleep,” he groans. “’M tired, know you are too.”

You whine, pushing yourself back into him, hoping to change his mind, to get him to do something, but he just kisses your neck again, says nope, goodnight, and that’s that. You try to ignore the throbbing of your clit, the way your panties are sticking uncomfortably to your body and focus on the deep pulls of his breath behind you. Eventually you settle, lulled to sleep by Marc’s warm body behind you, holding on to you so tightly like he’s scared that’ll you’ll disappear when he wakes up.

—-

You were cold when you left your apartment, but you’re suddenly warm, almost uncomfortably so. Light streams through the curtains and you crack an eye open. There’s not much noise outside yet–it must still be early. You just settle back down into the bed, and then you hear a light snore behind you and remember where you are.

Your eyes fly open. Steven’s apartment. With Marc.

He’s even a cute sleeper, mouth open slightly as he snores. His brow is still slightly furrowed, even in his sleep–jesus, does he ever relax? His usual slicked-back curls are all over the place, fluffy and mussed from moving around. If you squint, he looks just like Steven. You resist the urge to smooth a piece of hair back from his face, laying back down and staring at a small crack in the ceiling.

Marc makes a noise and you think you’ve woken him up but he’s still sleeping, arms reaching out for you. You scoot closer and he yanks you back against him, throws a leg over yours to hold you there (as if you’d even want to leave) and that’s how you fall back asleep, cuddled up to Marc as the early morning sunlight streaks in through the window.

The next time you wake up, it’s to Marc’s hard cock pressing against your back.

It takes you a moment to process what’s happening. Steven’s apartment. Steven’s bed. Marc. Nightmare. Cuddling. And–

The desire from last night comes flooding back in a rush–you wiggle back just a little, just to see what’ll happen. You can feel the wet spot on the front of his boxers as it drags along your exposed skin. You’re so warm, bursting into flames just at this simple contact.

Marc grunts, shifts again so his arm is around your chest, fingers grazing your nipple. You whimper at the light contact and roll your hips back again, intentionally. He’s so hard and firm and you try to shift to get the angle just right when you feel his breathing change. He’s awake now.

“Marc,” you whimper, and he noses along the back of your neck, tweaking your nipple.

“G’morning to you, too,” he says, voice rough with sleep. He grips your hips tightly and rolls his hips, letting you feel how hard he is. Even through your layers of clothes, he feels big.

“Please, Marc,” you whine, reaching back to grab at his hair, and he groans, flipping you over so he can settle on top of you. His hips are perfectly aligned for you to grind up into him, the friction so good but still not enough.

“Driving me fuckin’ crazy, the way you keep saying my name,” he huffs. “First time I saw you, had to stop what I was doing and just fuck my own hand–feel what you do to me, huh baby?”

You’re burning up, at his words, at how close he is, trying to get your shirt off without moving him out of place. He grins, wolfish, and swats your hands away, rolling it up and off your body. His eyes are everywhere on your newly exposed skin, leaning down to mouth at the side of your breast, pressing light kisses as he goes. He bites down lightly and you moan.

His eyes are molten, so dark as he watches your reactions. The way you arch up into his mouth when he sucks a nipple. How your fingers twist in his hair and yank him up to your mouth. He kisses you like he’s on a mission, like he knows exactly what he wants from you. It’s hot, the way he takes control.

“Can I put my mouth on you, please, can I? Been dreaming about getting my mouth on you, on this sweet little pussy. Tell me what you want, baby, please.”

“Yeah, okay,” you croak. As if you’d say no to him. Marc grins, a huge smile that you can feel as he presses one last kiss to your neck before settling down at the foot of the bed. His broad shoulders push your legs open even more and for a moment he just runs his hand up your inner thigh, letting his warm breath fan over you until you’re squirming in his grip.

You reach down and tug his hair when he tries to muffle his whimper in your leg. “Stop teasing.”

And he listens, finally, pausing only to roll your soaked panties down and throw them into the corner of the room. You have a brief moment of panic when you think about Steven finding them later, and then every thought flies out of your head when he leans down and licks a wide stripe from your dripping hole up to your clit. A low moan tears from your throat.

He hums against you when you rake your hands through his hair and pull a little harder this time. He groans, sucking your clit lightly between his lips and you practically leap off the bed. One of his hands comes to hold you down, spreading across your hip and pressing you further into the bed. You can’t escape it, can’t escape him–the rough scrape of his stubble, the steady pressure around your clit, the way he gently presses a finger into you at the same time and rubs at the spongy spot there.

The hand not holding you down is under him, working his boxers off and fisting his cock–he’s flushed, practically dripping and he pulls back to swipe two fingers through your slick and use it to lube himself up. It’s so dirty and hot that you can’t help but grab him, pulling him up to kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips.

“See,” Marc says, smug. “Knew you would taste good. Even better’n I dreamed about.”

You blush and grab at his arms, trying to get him to move, to let you get on top. It’s like trying to move a solid wall, he’s so broad, and he laughs as you struggle. He tucks a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth as he flops back. Marc reaches up to pull you closer and you don’t miss the wince he tries to hide when his shoulder lifts.

You stop moving immediately and he whines. Loudly.

“Thought you said your shoulder was better,” you say faux-seriously. Roll your hips on him slowly, letting his cock settle in between your bare lips. He grips your hips in his sweaty hands.

“It’s fine, you can fix it again after–please, I need you,” he groans. His eyes never leave your cunt, watching as you drag your slick over him again and again. You lift your hips, hovering over him, and he grits his teeth at the loss of contact.

His grip on your hips tightens, trying to pull you back down, but you sit up out of his reach. He thrusts up into you, leaving a smear of precum on the inside of your thigh that glistens in the morning light.

He looks wrecked, flush running down his cheeks to his chest. He can’t sit still, running his hands over your bare skin, pleading with you to do something, please, c’mon. Finally you take mercy on him, gripping the base of his dick and lining it up to where you’re practically dripping. You sink down slowly, feeling the stretch, the way his thighs tense with the effort of holding back.

He bites back a groan and you can’t help but let out a small whimper. He’s so warm and solid and thick inside you–you clench down, just to feel his cock pulse inside you, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass.

“Oh god, please,” he begs. “This’ll be over–fuck–over too quick if you keep doing that.”

“Shit, Marc,” you groan when he shifts his hips, angling the wide head of his cock to catch perfectly on that spongy spot inside you. You roll your hips over him again and again, leaning forward to kiss him. The angle catches your clit just right and you cry out.

“Gonna come on my cock, baby? Go ahead, please, ruin me for anyone else. Never even wanna look at anyone else, yeah, just you. Fuck, you’re–you’re so good to me, feels so good,” he babbles.

Marc shoves his hips up once, twice, reaching down to roll your swollen clit between his fingers. The pressure is so good, exactly what you need and you come with a cry of his name, suddenly.

When you open your eyes again he’s already watching you, a tiny smile on his face that quickly shifts into a look of need when you clench down on him again. You can feel him twitch inside you when you cup your breast in your hand, swirling a finger around your nipple. He groans.

“Please, baby, where do you want it? I can’t–please don’t stop.” He’s staring at the slick leaking out of you onto his dick, the squelch when you lift yourself up and down so loud in the room, a harsh fuck tumbling out of his lips.

“Come in me,” you say, and that’s all it takes for him to throw his head back with a groan, muscles locking as he holds you down on his pulsing cock, letting you feel the surge of warm come deep inside you. You can feel it leak out when you lift yourself with a groan and flop back on the bed.

It’s quiet for a moment as you both catch your breath. He rolls over to face you, cupping your jaw in his hand, kissing you slowly. You melt into his arms, letting his steady breathing lull you back to sleep, and then your eyes fly open and you pull back.

“Maybe don’t, um, tell Steven I was here?”

He gives you a crooked grin, eyes crinkling. “Don’t worry, honey–’m good at keeping secrets.”

masterlist here

#marc spector fic #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector #moon knight #moon knight fic #marvel fic #steven grant #marc spector smut #this was literally 20 pages in google docs im screaming #literally the longest thing ive ever written lowkey proud of it #listen i just KNOW mr people pleaser marc would beg during sex. idc argue with the wall #lexi writes things

824 notes · View notes

saeist · 1 year

Text

best friend’s brother ── S. ITOSHI

synopsis: your long time crush who just so happens to be your best friend's brother just came back from college and you're wondering if things should just be better off unsaid genre: fluff with crack, being rin's only proclaimed friend, typical best friend's brother cliche warnings: cursing, sae might be a bit ooc same with rin, blue lock doesn't exist in this. so sae is just a university soccer player or however yall call that wc: 2.3k a/n: random wip with a trope i only use if the said siblings have a brother complex that i obviously got too carried away with. i think i could explore more into this. lmk if u guys want a part two or something. likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated!

cupid masterlist | next

rin doesn’t understand your crush on his older brother, sae

in fact, it agitates him. so much that you, his best friend, out of all people, “betrayed him like that” (as what rin likes to claim)

“you need to stop that” rin grumbles, eyes boring holes at the side of your head as you have a stupid grin on your face

“stop what?”

“that stupid face you make when sae is around”

you let out a small gasp, a look of disbelief all over your face. “i do not make a face!”

rin rolls his eyes, “you just did. it’s annoying”

“only annoying to you because it’s sae” you snicker, nudging your shoulder with his.

it has always been like this between you and the infamous itoshi brothers. rin being slightly jealous when your attention is at sae's instead of him.

maybe rin is scared that sae would probably take you away from him, as corny as it is. rin treasures you a lot as you are, if not, his only “close” friend that he considers

almost as if the universe was against rin, his infamous brother walks in the room

"mom wants you to defrost the chicken" sae says, not even bothering to look up from his phone. rin grunts, his way of saying that he got the memo

but of course, much to rin's inner protests that you’d just sit there and keep quiet, you just had to greet sae

"hey sae" you chirp, waving shyly at the older male

to your surprise, sae actually looks up for once from his phone and meets your eye. he's not really surprised that you're at their house.. again... for what seems like the nth time... to sae, you're probably at their house more than he is

"oh, hello" sae nods his head up, a simple gesture but enough to send your heart flying

when sae disappears from your line of sight, you turn to rin who had his signature scowling face looking right back at you

"he said hello to me!!" you gush, smacking rin's arm multiple times. even biting his shoulder to control your excitement.

"that's because you greeted him, dumbass" rin smacks your face with a nearby throw pillow, sending you back to the couch.

"did you have to hit me?!" you complain, laying still with the pillow still at your face. you barely hear rin murmur, "you deserve it" before smacking him in return

"don't you have a chicken to defrost?!"

“thank you for having me over, mrs. itoshi, it’s been a while since i stayed over for dinner” you smile at the woman beside you, “but please, the least i could i do is wash the dishes”

mrs. itoshi waves you off with a smile, “don’t be ridiculous, dear. you’re the guest here besides i have two boys who can do it for me as well” she motions behind her, pertaining to both sae and rin washing and drying off the dishes behind her. which in all honesty, was a sight to see.

“hurry up, jackass” sae nags rin, who was in charge of washing the dishes

“then switch places with me, bitch” rin barks back, sending daggers through his eyes

mrs. itoshi smiles apologetically at you, “sorry for the boys. you know how they are sometimes” she shakes her head before calmly lecturing the two boys about cursing each other.

the pair finish up the dishes and everything from the kitchen to the dining room is clean, mr. and mrs. itoshi already went up to their room while you and the brothers are currently in the living room, the tv serving its purpose as background noise as everyone was on their phones.

“ah shit, it’s late” you cursed, realizing the clock was almost at 11 o’clock.

“you dumbass, i’ll walk you home” rin says, getting up from the couch. you also started to gather your things so you could finally go home before sae intervenes.

“i can drive you home” sae stands up, looking between you and his brother.

there was a moment of silence after he said that. rin looking like his eyes were about to pop from his sockets, you looking equally as shocked as rin, and sae who has his usual resting bitch face

“i’m heading over to the convenience store anyway, if you’re that wary of me” sae shrugs, directing the last sentence to rin who now has a dirty look on his face

rin looks at you for your decision. technically, this wasn’t up for their debate. so, do you choose rin, your friend, or sae, your long time crush who just so happens to be rin’s older brother. you know it to your bones that if you choose sae right now, rin might take it negatively and probably ignore you for a while but when will you ever have this kind of opportunity again?

somehow rin already knew what your answer was. he knew that no matter how hard he protests about you liking his brother, there was nothing he could do. probably to ban you from coming over if sae’s home at least

“why won’t you two drop me off instead?” you suggest, trying to win the best of both worlds. sae could drop you off, rin is also with him and they could eventually bond over this and get themselves something at the convenience store. hitting two birds with one stone right? instead you were met with gagging sounds from the pair

“.. ew” sae makes a disgusted face

“and be alone with him?!” rin almost sounded like he was offended with your suggestion (he was)

you rolled your eyes at how dramatic the two were.

“fine. i’m going with sae then” you deadpan, poking your tongue out at rin who was beginning to sulk. sae whistles lowly at your answer, grabbing the car keys just by the door and starts the car.

you walk past rin who didn’t even look at you with yes, you guessed it, another scowl on his face.

“text me when you get home safe at least” he clicks his tongue in annoyance but you know he means well

you laugh, pushing his shoulders lightly. “i owe you for this” you wink, pointing towards the direction where sae was at while wiggling your eyebrows.

rin makes a face and shoos you out of their house.

with that, you rushed towards the black audi rs7 waiting by the driveway. sat at the driver’s seat was no other than sae itoshi. who is leaning next to the window with his free hand tapping random beats at the bottom of the steering wheel.

the sound of the passenger car opening and closing while you got inside broke his trance.

“good to go?” sae merely asks, but it made you jump. you managed to squeak out a small “yes” before he puts the car in reverse. you tried so hard to conceal your squeal when sae unexpectedly had his arm on the back of your headrest as he backs out of their driveway. you steal a glance when he was busy trying not to bump into their other cars.

the way his jaw clenches when he’s concentrating. the way his eyebrows were furrowed as he focuses. the way—

“take a picture, it’d last longer” sae says smugly, not even sparing you a look. you nearly choke on your own spit as that simple sentence sends you into a coughing spree.

“the fuck? you okay?” sae mused, taking a quick look at your slouched figure at the passenger seat as you try to catch your breath.

“i’m fine” you let out, not daring to make another sound.

the car falls silent, much to your relief. you take this opportunity to think about about how you managed to snag an opportunity of a lifetime to be alone with sae. your biggest crush. the sae itoshi who is probably, if not the most famous soccer player at your local college

the silence is cut short when sae suddenly connects his phone to the speakers and starts blasting songs from his playlist.

“the weekend? really sae?” you raised a brow, totally not digging his music taste.

“what about it?”

“nothing. i thought you could do better” you shrug, slumping back to your seat as after hours plays in the background

“get out of the car then” sae threatens but you know he was joking. there was a distinctive tone he uses when he was actually being bitchy or just making a sarcastic remark or as he likes to call em, a “joke”

“okay, pull over”

your response sent sae laughing which was honestly, a rare sight to see. you two shared the same dry humor after all. only you could reply with something witty and not be offended when he starts talking shit.

that’s when you noticed that he was taking another route to your house.

“this isn’t the street to my house..” you say, a bit worried. because one, it was reaching 11:30. second, it was a school night. third, your mom is probably still awake, waiting for your ass to come home from the itoshi’s.

“i know”

you look at him in disbelief, eyes wide and all. sae only gives you his signature half smile.

“i’m just taking a detour to the convenience store, relax”

“but my mom is gonna kill me that i got home so late” you try to reason but sae doesn’t listen. he shrugs and continues to drive at the nearby 7/11 a few blocks from your place.

after what feels like an eternity, you two arrive at the convenience store.

“you coming?” sae unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you. you shake your head no as you were busy to come up with a bullshit excuse to tell your mom on why you’re late

“okay, i’ll be quick” with that, sae closes the door and goes inside to buy his stuff. much like a man of his word, he was in fact quick with his little convenience store run. he came back holding a plastic bag and a lollipop in his mouth

“what’d you get?” you ask, taking a peek at the plastic. inside you notice some canned beers, some junk food and a muffin?

“why did you buy a muffin at this hour?” you ask, trying not to let a giggle escape. sae eats muffins with beer?

“a little present for you mom” he casually says, his head turning both ways as he makes his way out of the 7/11 parking lot

he got a what for you mom?

“a present? what? why?” you blurt out. sae gives you a side glance before taking out the lollipop that was in his mouth.

“for bringing you home so late”

sae has always been a man with little to no words. his replies are always so brief and concise that he leaves you no room to question him whatsoever

shocked by his actions, you sit there stunned and confused. your heart was beating faster than ever and you think you may or may not have just fallen for him a little bit harder

sae parks the car just right in front of your house. it was already 12:03 in the morning and you were probably the most nervous you’ve ever been. sae does the courtesy of ringing your doorbell and waits for your mother to come out and unlock the gate.

you see your mother stomping her way at the front door, causing sae to snicker. even if this was entirely his fault for bringing you home so late.

“you really had the nerve to even come home at this hour you— sae? is that you?” your mom starts to nag but gets cut off when she notices someone familiar standing right next to you.

“hello, mrs. l/n” sae bows in front of your mother. to which the latter comes up and gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“sae it really is you! it’s been so long my dear! how have you been? when did you come back in town?” your mom starts asking him a bunch of questions all at once.

did your mom’s anger really just disappear into mid air the moment she saw sae?

“i actually just got back earlier today, that’s why y/n here came home so late ‘cause we were celebrating back at home” sae sheepishly smiles, hands both resting behind his head.

it was actually weird for you to witness sae to be so.. polite? he usually has an attitude and has no problem treating even older people like shit. so it was actually surprising to see him be so chummy with anyone besides his mom of course, let alone your own mother

“oh and i got you this by the way” sae digs through the plastic bag and fishes out the muffin that he got at 7/11.

what a way to win your mom over, huh?

“oh sae, you didn’t have to” your mom gushes, waving him off but you can see she was really touched by the thoughtfulness behind it.

sae smiles a little before checking the time on his phone. “i’ll get going now mrs. l/n”

your mom agrees and apologizes for keeping him around longer than intended to which sae just shrugs and laughs it off, telling her that he doesn’t mind and that he actually wanted to personally visit her (which was obviously a blatant lie, but at least now you know how much of a smooth talker sae really is)

sae gets inside his car, ready to drive off but before he does. he rolls down his window

“i’ll see you again, y/n” he winks at you before giving your mom a knowing smile as she looks between the two of you.

you are flabbergasted at what he just did. “mom- it’s not what you think-”

“drive safe, sae!” your mom waves goodbye as sae honks his horn before driving away to who knows where.

your mom watches as the car slowly disappears from your street before turning her attention back at you.

“he’s such a sweet boy, no?” she comments as she smiles at the little muffin sae just gifted her.

you don’t even know how to react with everything that just happened. cause you only had one question in mind.

what the fuck was that about?

#blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #sae imagines #sae x reader #itoshi sae imagines #itoshi sae x reader #blue lock scenarios #bllk scenarios #sae scenarios #itoshi sae scenarios #im lowkey proud about this one.. idkkkk be nice

1K notes · View notes

sukunasdirtylaugh · 3 months

Text

always a god never human II satoru gojo

tags: post shibuya au, alt au where satoru is cursed to be blind, fluff, argument, angst, regret

word count: 4.5k

note: I wanted to write something that could encapsulate what being human is for satoru in the best worst case scenario. some of you might love this as I do, and thank you for your support. also, I made a reference to odysseus and the cyclops so I think I got it right (I haven't read the odyssey in nearly 10 years). also forgive me and please correct me if I got the kikufuku part wrong. will make a part two if this comes out well (I already have it drafted).

satoru gojo had been exposed to curses for as long as he could remember. first, as a boy, then as a student in jujutsu tech, and finally as a friend and instructor to those around him; but he had never been directly cursed.

not until now.

"you may remain as the strongest, satoru gojo, but your strength will be the only thing to hold you. no one but yourself will disinter it, so don't waste your time searching for something already set as destined." he recalled.

"love will be your salvation yet damnation, for you will cry for your shortcomings and failures. no one but you will carry this burden. let it remind you of this day, of the battle in which you never, truly won."

he always wakes up in a cold sweat afterwards. with the erratic beating of his heart and the tears running down his cheeks, satoru clings to himself, pressing a hand to his heart so as to remind himself of his current position. the back of his throat feels rough like sandpaper, and he licks his lips before reaching for the glass of water he's reserved for nights like these.

he drinks nearly all of it, his heart heavy before his fingers fish for his phone by his bedside.

"hey siri," he speaks, voice hoarse, "what time is it?"

"it's 3:24am."

with an exhaled huff, he puts his phone to the side, making note to remember where it is in the morning. as he lays his head down and focuses on the feeling of blood rushing to his fingertips, arms laid out side by side and fists clenching and unclenching, he sighs.

tomorrow will be better, he tells himself, but it has to change, whispers the other.

"now listen, don't give me that look, it's serious!" your frown causes utahime, your longtime friend of 4 years to shake her hands out to grab your attention, causing you to stifle a smile from your face as you hide your lips behind your cup of tea. "I have a job proposal for you, from a friend. and I think you'd like the pay."

utahime had always been sensible on the topic of money. knowing your constant struggles as a college student and now graduate, seeking to find new sources of income to keep up with bills and student loans, the sorceress felt compassion for you, a friend of hers who has grounded and guided her through frustration after frustration; work and romance related. she's never had the luxury of normalcy to a life like yours, she knows, so doing this was in her best interest for your benefit.

she tells you she has a friend who has decided to take up reading. problem is, he's blind.

"he's not a child, though he acts like it sometimes, but he's not some prune old man either. he's around your age so I'm sure talking to him along with your patience won't be an issue."

besides the generous pay for your time, 6 hours a week for $500 as a starting salary, there was something about this arrangement that left you with a good feeling in your heart. and it wasn't because your client was blind, no. it was the sheer opportunity for growth, in doing something you loved and doing something someone wanted to partake in. so on the day of your arrival you dress your best, hair neatly combed with a pearl diadem and academia as your outfit inspiration for the occasion. "he lives in a secluded home," you recall utahime's words, "up on a hill, or cliff. I don't know. it's always cloudy over there," and you can make out the home on the hill. it's quaint, and you feel thankful for having picked the clothes adequate for the weather.

it surely looked like it was going to rain, so you quicken your pace until you're at the front door, standing still as you swallow the lump at the back of your throat. you were no psychic, but the way your heart churned and palpitated let you know something was about to change your life forever.

"you must be the girl utahime sent, I'm satoru. please step inside," you absentmindedly take in the smile he gives you, taking no answer from you before he opens the door to let you in. he wears a pair of black glasses, contrasting to his snowy hair and porcelain skin. wearing casual loungewear neither of you dare to touch one another in the sense of exchanging a handshake out of respect, or fear. it all feels formal, too formal as if this were a job interview or more.

"it's quite cold outside, isn't it?" after you step inside and change into a pair of slippers that are slightly too big for you, satoru shows you to where you would read to him.

he makes conversation rather well, you find, but there is slight awkwardness in the interactions but not in the way he moves around the house. as he moves up the stairs, he has a hand against the wall as he takes each step with precision, knowing when and where to step. you're fairly quiet, but polite in your conversation with him, until you reach the space he calls his 'study' which is just a room with a large window accompanied by books and belongings.

"you're probably wondering how on earth a blind guy has a clean place, right? well to answer your question, housekeeping."

"I wasn't thinking about that," you answer softly biting the inside of your cheek, "I was just admiring the window."

there's a momentary silence between the two of you. either satoru is surprised by your reply, unrelated to his blindness, or you have struck a sensitive chord, however, his nod makes you think otherwise.

"it is. before I was blind, I'd come here as a teen. house is mine, so even the doors are nice in here." and when he hears you agree, he smiles. "anyways, I'm sure utahime told you the basics about this, yeah?"

"yes."

"great. there's a book on that table to your right. you can start reading that one." as he walks, he takes a seat on a chair across from you. he patiently waits until you sit down again to ask, "before we start, would you like some water?"

"yeah," you breathe, "that'd be great actually."

"there's a few water bottles under the table next to you," he informs, making himself comfortable on the chair, limbs spreading comfortably as you take out a water bottle and glance at the book in your lap.

"this book is about malaysia," you read the title, "is that somewhere you'd like to visit one day?"

"maybe," he says, "it was from a friend of mine."

"did he go to malaysia?"

there's a long silence in between the innocence your question and his answer.

"he did," he answers slowly. "it was always a dream of his to go, so that's why I've kept the book." you don't press him further, instead nodding and suggesting on starting.

when you open the book, you don't miss the elegant cursive writing at the top right of the page.

n. kento

you frequent satoru's home every monday, wednesday, and friday for 3 hours every day. the pay is more than what you expect the first week, $750, but you wonder how this man can easily afford your services.

the bigger question, is how can he live alone in such a home like that? does he ever get hurt? what does he do then?

"yeah, I live here by myself." he answers your question on the third week of your employment. "it's pretty neat though. I don't have to worry about anyone misplacing anything I leave, you know?" his attempt at a joke makes you chuckle and walk up the steps behind him to his study. "are we reading something new today?"

"there's something different I want to try," he tells you, "last night, on the news, I heard there was a feud over some meso-american statue. something to do with jade material being one of the few in existence. I know this is beyond what we agreed, but do you think you can find an article on it?" you nod, affirming his request.

"great!" he smiles, relieved, "my laptop is on the desk. feel free to use it."

you wanted to say that was the last time he asked you for a favor like that, but it was you who fueled his interest. that day, you ended up finding 4 articles, and playing 2 videos about the subject. and as a result, both you and satoru engaged in related conversation until the end of your assigned time.

every few days, satoru would inform you on something (practically asking) and you'd reply by responding, researching the questions he ached to know. it went such way that you were reading him books less and less and more article, media coverage, and conversation.

"did you hear about the experiment trials being conducted by this company called oceangate?" satoru asks, interest laced in his voice, "they're thinking about sending people to view the titanic shipwreck."

and quickly enough, so were you.

"yeah, I also heard about it. I couldn't help but read an article about it. apparently, they've done a few trials, but the company is independent, so I don't know how safe it is or if they have government members involved..."

one of satoru's favorite moments consist of the following.

"did you hear about the crime case that just happened last week? the one with the girl who survived the car accident."

"I did!" you answer eagerly, "I heard her stepdad was the last person to talk to her boyfriend."

"do you think he murdered him?"

"it's tough to say," you bite your bottom lip in contemplation, "I knew he didn't approve of him because he was an aspiring musician, but these texts came out saying he wrote to his brother, 'that man better stay away from my daughter or else I don't know what I'll do',""

"no way."

"and that's not even the worst part," you adjust yourself on your seat, criss cross applesauce. "they found dna remains in his car before his death, hair. right before the car accident. there's speculation they argued before..."

"the accident." satoru nods.

as the weeks progressed, so did your conversations with satoru. the two of you had a knack for being adaptable in your interactions with one another. you could reach a book for an hour, then talk about some recent story or just spend a whole session talking, with the mention of an article or some source always being mentioned.

and satoru burned for that. with every interaction, he found himself looking forward to what else he could bring up, and so did you, even spending time of your own researching things he might be interested in learning about.

things the both of you turned out interested learning about.

"here," satoru could feel the warmth emanate from your body (or his) as you sat next to him, your body scooting closer to his, "hold your hands, yeah, like that," placing a small statue, no bigger than the size of a wine bottle, satoru freezes slightly as you guide his fingers to glide along the edges of the statue.

"my friend managed to get this one out of the archives," you explain, "of course, I just had to bring this to you too. can you sense the material?" the corner of satoru's lips tug upwards in acknowledgement of your excitement. it makes his heart squeeze and pulse in ways that felt familiarly unfamiliar. in a good way, of course. everything you brought in his life was good. whether he could see it or not, you were always so welcoming and sweet.

"is this... legal?" he out of everyone finds himself whispering. as if the authorities could be outside his door. you giggle.

"yes," you smile, "I asked my friend if she could let me borrow this for the day, to take 'pictures'." you chuckle, "obviously that's not what we're doing, is it?" a warmth follows satoru's cheeks as he shakes his head and you smile. "this mesoamerican statue is the same material as the one we read the other week, remember?"

we, satoru's words echo in his head as he nods. "y-yeah. thank you for doing this, you know."

"of course," you smile kindly, "I figured, out of everyone who could be here, I figured you deserve this."

deserve.

"open your hands for me, satoru." your soft voice speaks as you cup his hands, the ocean waves crash from afar. after much convincing, you managed to pull satoru out of his comfort zone. what's the point of going to the ocean if I can't see it? he asks.

well, what's the point of me reading to you and us interacting if you can't see me? you counter. and he realizes you've won.

he can smell the saltwater, can feel the wind blow through his hair and let his feet sink into the sand, but that's not what makes his heart skip a beat. your hands shouldn't feel this soft, he thinks. the way you allow grains of sand to fall in his hands feel otherworldly, holy. the way he senses you smile at him and place a shell on his palm, letting him trace the surface with his finger as you guide him makes him feel as the most enlightened man alive.

he can sense you're close, not by strands of your hair slapping his cheek as the wind blows, but by the warmth of your body. suddenly, he does not feel he is at the beach, but with the beach guiding her hands with his and feeling the warmth of what he feels is your smile.

he remains silent, you're looking at him, and he's looking at you underneath his shades. he's frozen. waiting for you to say something, to break this off as if this would never, by any of his wildest dreams, occur in any universe.

but you don't.

satoru feels his pulse quicken, breathing deepen as the point of your feet slot themselves to his, your nose barely brushes his own, causing the six eyed user to forget everything he once thought he knew of limits and boundaries. kiss me, he thinks, take me, he begs to the heavens. satoru thinks he could be captivated, deeper than any spell odysseus and his men were under at sea, but they were cursed by calypso's beauty, and he felt blessed by the touch of an angel. your touch enviable to the gods above.

when you kiss him, he feels like he just made the greatest discovery to mankind, like he's waited his whole life for this, a feeling that greatly surpasses galileo's lifelong accomplishments and napoleon's combined. no feeling, word, or sight could transcribe what it feels to have your lips slide through his, to have you softly gasp against his lips, and to have your body close to his. satoru is convinced that he has reborn, become whole by the touch of your lips which have sweetly imprinted themselves throughout everything he is.

he holds the back of your neck gently, so as to remind himself that you are here, not a dream but here with him. flesh against flesh, man and woman who share one breath.

when you both pull away, satoru feels himself begging to pull you closer, but the hands that push him from you let him know you need to breathe. and although his body cries otherwise, you speak breathlessly, a hint of a smile in your tone, "did you feel that shell? it was my favorite kind to collect growing up," and he smiles because he learns what it is to collect something as valuable as the shells, your lips.

with nearly 3 months of knowing you, there was a shift in satoru's chest one wednesday morning as you excused yourself for a call.

"...of course I don't! you think I want to live with him?" you ask, voice laced with disgust, "I won't be tied down like that again and you know it, Kiro. I'll be cursed if I have to be with someone like him again. you know I'd never stay for someone like that. It's dead weight on my shoulders, and I won't have anything but pity on him." your words, from the end of the hallway send daggers at satoru's heart.

"yes, I'm at work, what else do you want me to do? It's not like I can just fly my way to you in such a short amount of time. you should have told me..." a long pause, "yes... he's blind," another long pause, "I get paid on the 26th, but my boss won't let me work on the 25th, so you can sleep in my bed while I get home. and wear something under the covers, okay?" somewhere, somehow satoru wanted to tell himself he was not hearing things correctly, that you were still the same girl he knew to be around, but when you returned after your call, something was definitely wrong with you.

"so, how was you call?" he asks, feigning interest, "everything ok?"

"yeah, fine, thanks." you breathe, tired, opening the book in your hands, "chapter 21, the last spring."

one week later.

as much as he wanted to deny it, satoru was beginning to think you had changed. what was it? was it him? the kiss? the way he grabbed you? or have you finally had enough of these little visits that could have been masked as pity for a young man like him?

when the 26th passes, he does not ask what your plans are. as much as he wants to ask, he thinks it's not of his place to ask. is he doing the right thing? he doesn't know. it certainly doesn't ease the unpleasant feeling bubbling in his stomach.

"do you have a favorite treat?" you ask. caught off guard, he nods.

"kikufuku," he tells you, "when I was in high school, there was this elderly couple that had a kikufuku stand and they used to have the best ice cream fillings."

"I thought kikufuku was cream based?"

"It was, but not to them. their ice cream filling was one of a kind."

"when was the last time you had some?"

he laughs, "years ago. I'm pretty sure they ended up closing because the wife died, and she was the only living relative who knew how to make it."

"that's too bad."

"I know, but at least they were happy doing what they did." satoru then changes the subject, shifting the focus to a lighter topic.

on december 6th, satoru recieves a call.

"I told you, you don't have to call me sensei anymore," satoru groans, throwing a wooden sword towards yuuta, catching it flawlessly.

"why not? you've always been my sensei. or would you rather us call eachother cousins?"

"you're right," answered satoru adter a long moment, earning a laugh from his former student. "so what was it you wanted to talk about? clearly it was not to train, so what is it?"

"I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"well you could've just called..."

"you haven't trained with us in a while," yuuta sighs, "everyone. we don't really know what you're up to these days."

and he was right, but satoru would never admit it.

"what?" he asks, almost faking offense, "can't your sensei go on vacat-"

"-utahime sensei says you've been in your home a lot," he clarifies, "only few of us know. toge, panda, yuuji and I."

"what about megumi?"

"he's kind of in his own world," yuuta sighs, placing his weapon down before taking a seat next to gojo in the training room. "he knows things haven't been easy."

"you've kept an eye on him and yuuji like I asked, right?''

"to a degree," he admits, "I can't have them open up so freely because I'll always be their upperclassmen, but you... you're..."

"I get what you're trying to say." he answers flatly.

"you do?"

he nods.

"can I walk with you to your home?" yuuta asks, "there's another thing I'd like to ask, personally this time."

satoru finds himself agreeing with his younger student, what else could he do besides that? as the two walk, satoru finds himself giving advice he didn't think he could give, advising the student on what shall become of him now that he's already over age and in his own right to choose his destiny.

as he advises his pupil, satoru finds himself wondering the same for himself. he's turning a year older in 2 more days, what will become of him? what will he do? what does this mean in relation to kenjaku's damned curse? it aggravated him. upset him how everything felt so secure, almost ideal weeks ago, but now his life felt back in square one, returning to his home that he had grown used to be alo-

"surprise!"

not one, nor two, but several familiar voices called from the inside of his open, making satoru freeze in shock.

"surprise! we thought we'd surprise you sensei" panda's voice rang.

"he's right!" another voice, yuuji's appears, "we thought about making a little get together with our favorite sensei..."

"obviously someone had to plan this," satoru turned, stunned when shoko's voice came into play. "you?"

"no," she chuckles, turning to you but you quickly shake your head, reaching for utahime, "it was utahime!" you call, "she wanted to plan something nice for you."

"aww well aren't you sweet?" he grins tauntingly at utahime who can't help but send daggers your way as shoko muffles her laugh.

for the duration of the party, satoru is accompanied by his co-workers, friends, and students. he hears more about what they've done. what travels they have accomplished, and what romances some of them have experienced all while they share laughs. all while satoru searches for yours.

you stand a respectable distance away from him, deciding it would be best to let his friends and students take over since he hasn't seen them in so long. you weren't as special as they were, only having known satoru for the least amount of time, a part of you felt like a stranger. not that anyone made you feel left out, no. everyone was kind to you and even appreciative for your presence. however, you spent a whole majority of the party not talking to satoru, as if you weren't there.

when it came time to cut the cake, everyone who was an adult was nearly drunk. the students, all joyously supervised by ichiji laughed as they shared a group photo. yuuji, satoru's student mentioned something about adding the photo as his lockscreen, causing everyone to burst out laughing from ichiji's protests. everyone looked happy, with a twinkle in their eyes as the end to the party came to an end.

the students and ichiji were the first to leave, then shoko and utahime finding balance in one another, leaving you alone with satoru in his home.

"you didn't drink, huh."

"I don't really drink in social events." you shyly admit, scratching the back of your neck as satoru does not face you, looking towards the door where utahime and shoko left not long ago.

"you thought you were social?" his words take you by surprise.

"I, um.... I talked to your friends." you say, "they were very nice."

"I barely heard you."

"that's because you were probably occupied talking to the others-"

"-you didn't talk to me." he finds himself saying in annoyance.

"I didn't want to take your day away,"

"from who?"

"you."

"there's nothing to take from me."

"yes there is," you tell him. "your attention. you haven't seen your friends in-"

“they all pity me.”

“what? no they don-”

“-you’re not blind. people don’t… they don’t look at you like some pity animal, just waiting for you to fuck up.”

“you are not a pity....”

“oh yeah?” he breathes, ragged. “then why the fuck did you agree to read to a blind man?”

there was some silence, regret pooled at the back of your throat and then a shift in your weight as you stood.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. I like you, “I- I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,”

“I- are we…?”

“I don’t think we should be seeing each other,” he expresses. “not for a while,”

“a while?”

“yeah, a while.’’

“do you… want me to leave?”

“I think it’s for the best.”

“Do you want me to come back monday?”

“I don’t think so,”

when you left, satoru's jaw tightened, hands now fisted by his sides and a body so rigid one might think he were frozen in place. satoru stays like that for several moments, eyes nearing a burning sensation as he focuses on where he would imagine the door is, almost expectantly waiting for your return as if this were a dream.

but it wasn't.

and as the minutes pass, he paces his living room. hands running over his hair.

he had done wrong.

"ichiji," his voice almost broke, dry and borderline desperate. “I…” I think I fucked up, “I want you to pick up y/n. She just left my place, but she doesn’t have a car.”

"I already did," he says, "she said just that."

“Did she tell you anything?” he finds himself expecting.

“not really..."

“how did she look?”

normal? Ichiji wanted to say, didn't you just see her? but the tone in satoru’s voice confirmed that he did something to leave you so quiet after the party.

“she was quiet,” he tells him, “...maybe she was tired from the party. you know, she organized it herself.”

“she... what?”

“yeah. utahime helped her bring the cake. she needed someone to drive while she carried the cake because she didn't trust anyone to hold it the 20 something minutes it took to get to your house. she told me she was trying to look for someone who knew how to make ice cream kikufuku and ended up finding the niece of the old owners of a shop she said you used to frequent. after long convincing, she was able to get the niece to help. I’m pretty sure she made the cake, with the help of the niece of course. she also made the dinner, and even had shoko bring in the drinks along with candles that your friend forgot to bring, — so I guess she was just tired, right?”

Satoru was speechless. unsure if it was the fact that you did so much for him or the fact that he had never heard, in his entire life, hear ichiji speak for so long with such conviction, it was everything he needed to hear.

right? the words in satoru's mind, head pounding with everything and anything relating you. and on the other side of the line stood a confused yet almost concerned ichiji.

"hello? are you still there?"

"yeah," he answered dryly, "is... is she home safe?"

"of course, I dropped her off." but it sounded like, why wouldn't she be? to which satoru felt like it wasn't a good enough answer. he needed to see, hear that you were okay. and he was afraid that he was regretting his words so easily.

"satoru," now serious, ichiji's words pulled him from his thoughts, "are you still there? what happen-"

"-I fucked up," he choked, "I... I said things I shouldn't have..."

127 notes · View notes