#jake lockely x female reader

[bit-dodgy-innit]

The Shape of You

Summary: Steven loves your boobs. A story of his devotion to them pre, during, and post-pregnancy as you welcome your first child together.

Pairing: Steven x afab!Reader, with some minor Marc x afab!Reader and Jake x afab!Reader. Reader is married to the system and all three alters are no longer working for Khonshu 

Rating: Tré Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 9.4k (yes, you read that correctly 😳)

TW/CW: Heavy breast and nipple play, lactation kink, some awkwardness and embarrassment around Steven and Reader discovering they share a lactation kink, pregnant sex, breeding kink, p in v sex, fingering, dirty talk, slight somnophilia, daddy!Steven (in both senses of the term 😜), breastfeeding and angst about struggling to breastfeed, postpartum hormones, sundress!kink (that’s a thing, right?), public teasing, a smidge of masturbation, public bathroom sex…so exhibitionism? (no one hears or catches them), more fluff than I’ve ever written iN MY LIFE, titty-fucking, come-eating…writing these always make me feel like a dirty ho 😈

A/N: Sorry friends, the OP got flagged...so let’s try this again with a slightly less steamy gif! 

First time writing in second person so please, like Adele, go eaaaaasy on me :) Also I do not have DID, so please forgive and Feel free to educate me if I didn’t nail any dynamics. One more thing - Jake speaks Spanish a bit in this translations will be below

Marc, Steven, and Jake may’ve shared a body, but each alter had a different part of yours that was their favorite. Jake was an ass man, plain and simple. He loved smacking it, biting it, grinding himself between your cheeks…the list could go on. Marc loved your mouth. He never wasted an opportunity for you to suck him off, to feed you every last drop of his cum, to spit into its warm, wet cavern. 

Steven, on the other hand, was damn-near obsessed with your breasts. If it were up to him, his hands would never leave your chest. He’d been shy at first, bashful, citing his relative inexperience compared to the other alters. But the endearingly awkward bumbling phase of your relationship soon developed into its current one: The Steven-Can’t-Stop-Won’t-Stop-Playing-With-Your-Tits Phase.

You remember the first time he undressed you and got to see your boobs in all their naked glory. The expression on his face was so reverent it was almost comical. He looked at you as if you’d taken him straight to the Field of Reeds. 

“Bloody hell,” he’d whispered. 

You asked him if he was alright, to which he nodded frantically and asked, “Can I…can I touch?” 

“Of course baby,” you cooed. 

From there it was off to the races. Steven cupped your breasts, damn near whimpering when he felt the weight of them in your hands, and gave you a gentle squeeze. You mewled, and his gaze snapped up to meet yours. 

“That was a good sound, I promise,” you assured him. “Please, Steven, more.” 

He was all too glad to oblige. He massaged each mound in his hand and swiped each thumb over your nipple, delighting when you shuddered at his ministrations. It emboldened him to experiment further. Steven dropped a kiss between your breasts on your sternum, then tilted his head to mouth at one of them. You urged him on with a breathy cry, and Steven took the signal to suck on your nipple. 

Whereas most past lovers of yours had treated your tits as a fun but brief pitstop on the way to your pussy, Steven lavished ample delicious attention on them. And he seemed to enjoy it just as much as you did, if the way he was frantically humping the mattress for relief was any indication. 

Later, after he’d fingered you to orgasm with a nipple in his mouth and you’d rode him like your life depended on it, Steven murmured to you, “Blimey babe, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of your tits.” 

***

So you shouldn’t have been surprised when you got pregnant that Steven became even more fascinated with your breasts. They kept growing, almost vulgarly large, and you’d caught your husband flat-out staring at them many a time . 

“My eyes are up here, honey,” you’d tease him. 

Steven snapped out of it and apologized, “Sorry, love.” 

“Honestly, I don’t blame you,” you conceded, looking down at your chest, using the insides of your arms to push your breasts together. “Even I can't believe how big they’ve gotten. The baby will be well-fed I guess.” 

Steven watched you entranced, his mouth ajar, a bulge in his pants growing. “Uh huh.” 

Sex was starting to get tricky as you entered your third trimester, but that didn’t stop Steven from fucking you on your side shortly after your little display. He lay behind you on the bed as he drove his painfully hard dick into your cunt, both of his hands on your tits. You rubbed your clit furiously as he alternated between squeezing them and tugging on your taut peaks. 

“Ohhhh, Steven, yesssss,” you moaned. 

“Are you close darling?” his lips were centimeters from your ear. You could feel his warm breath on its shell. 

“Mmmhmmm,” you whined. 

Steven picked up the pace and force of his hips. “Come then love, come for me. Gonna come too, your big titties get me so hard, you feel it, don’t you? So good at taking my cock and growing our baby inside you. Fuck love, yeah.” 

That surprised you. Dirty talk was usually a Marc or Jake thing, but you definitely weren’t going to stop Steven as his filthy words hurdled you toward your climax. 

“Your boobs are so big, gods, I wonder if they’ll get any bigger? Want ‘em to,” Steven was babbling, his thrusts lost their rhythm. “They’ll spill out of your shirt. Gonna have so much milk–” 

You interrupted him with a strangled shriek as your release consumed you. Your pussy spasmed delectably around your lover’s cock, compounded by Steven’s dick pulsing inside of you as he reached his peak. You were so lost in the euphoria, the relief of your orgasm, that you didn’t notice the few drops of fluid that had dribbled out of your left nipple. 

It wasn’t until Steven withdrew his spent cock from you and rolled over to snuggle into his side that you noticed him examining his wet fingertips. 

“What’s that?”

Steven tensed. “It’s…um, not sure how to put this…I think you leaked a little.” 

“Obviously,” you giggled, “The sheets are soaked.” 

His cheeks burned. “Not from there, love.” 

Mortified, your hands flew to your engorged breasts. You could feel it too. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t worry darling, I’m sure it’s normal,” Steven tried to assuage you. 

You didn’t answer him, instead, you maneuvered your very pregnant self up and waddled towards the bathroom. 

He followed you, not needing to exert much effort to stop you. He captured your hands in his and brought them to his lips. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re a bloody miracle, growing our baby inside of you.” 

Steven’s tender words and touch allowed you to deflate some, yet you withdrew your hands from his grasp. “Thank you honey, it’s just…a lot to reckon with. I need a moment to catch my breath in the bathroom. Alone.” 

“Alright love, take your time and I’ll put the kettle on.” 

You kissed him softly, languidly, trying to pour all the love you couldn’t put into words into the liplock. 

But in the privacy of the bathroom, you crumpled. You were embarrassed. You were ashamed. Because why on earth did it feel so good to have liquid trickle out of your boobs and to come at the thought of how much milk they contained? 

Nevertheless, you splashed water on your face and composed yourself, joining Steven on the couch for a cup of tea and an episode of the latest documentary series you were watching together. 

What didn’t you know though, was later that night, long after you went to sleep and Steven had stayed up working on next semester’s syllabus for the course he now taught at UCL, your breasts had leaked again. 

Steven had noticed when he’d called it a night and was situating himself next to you in bed. The t-shirt you wore one to bed, one of the only things that still fit you, and now had twin dark spots staining the loose cotton.  

He didn’t know what to do. Steven didn’t want to wake you, he knew how the discovery would likely upset you again, nor did he want you to awaken and to have soaked through your shirt. He cursed his cock, which had twitched at the previous thought. He tried to ignore the arousal beginning to surge through him, but your tits made his blood rush south. 

The best course of action, Steven (and his dick) had decided, was to take care of it for you. He fetched a wet cloth from the bathroom, then pulled the already stretched out v-neckline of the shirt to reveal one of your tits. Steven gently cleaned the peak of your breast, the warm, damp feel of the cloth making you shudder in your sleep, though not enough to wake you. He switched to the other one, and found a small, perfect pearl of milk right on the tip of your nipple.

Steven didn’t know what possessed him - he certainly couldn’t blame this on his alters - but he swooped down and lapped up the milk with his tongue instead of the cloth. The drop was small, which meant Steven couldn’t taste much when he licked your nipple. So he sealed his lips around the bud in hope of getting a taste of the cloudy milk. Before he could, you rolled from your back onto your side. 

Your husband knew he’d have to call it a night, but that didn’t stop him from shuffling to the bathroom and rubbing one out, imagining what you’d taste like. 

*** 

Any thoughts of sex flew out the window when Nyla was born. All of your husbands had been co-conscious for the birth, the four of you equally in awe of what your love had created.

You loved your squirmy, wrinkly little girl more than you could comprehend, but the first weeks after bringing her home were rough. Nyla was a few weeks early, so your parents hadn't made it to London yet. There was no sleep. There were a lot of attempts at sleep training, but not a lot of sleep actually happening between you, your husband, and your daughter. 

Furthermore, Nyla had problems latching when you fed her. You tried to stay calm, telling yourself that plenty of women went through this with their babies, but you couldn’t help but feel like you’d already failed as a mom. Plus, the wildly fluctuating hormones didn’t exactly help you keep your cool either. 

Steven, however, was a godsend. He never hesitated when he heard Nyla fussing over the baby monitor, he always had a backup bottle ready to go, he even sang silly songs to your daughter while he changed her. Marc and Jake adored Nyla too, yet you’d noticed that Steven had been fronting the most as of late. 

You suspected it wasn’t that they didn’t care for the baby, more that they didn’t trust themselves around a being so small and fragile. The thought broke your heart. You wanted to talk to them more about it…when you had the energy. Which, currently, you guessed would be somewhere around Nyla’s 18th birthday? 

Tonight, you’d actually had gotten Nyla to go down at 8:30. You and Steven silently rejoiced while getting ready for bed as quickly as humanly possible. The two of you had already learned to sleep when the baby slept.  

It felt as if you’d only laid your head on a pillow for a second when you’d heard Nyla crying through the monitor. 

Steven sprung up before you could. “I’ve got it. Keep sleeping.” 

You didn’t need to be told twice. You were just starting to doze off again when Steven re-emerged with a wriggling, still upset Nyla. 

“She must be hungry,” he explained apologetically. “Her diaper wasn’t wet and I tried rocking her for a little.” 

You nodded in surrender, reaching under your shirt to unclasp a cup of your nursing bra, then extended your arms for Nyla. 

Steven carefully placed her in your hold, then announced “I’ll get you a glass of water, yeah?”

“I’m not thirsty right now,” you told him as you tried to get Nyla to latch. Steven was already retreating from the bed. 

“Just in case,” he called from the kitchen. 

You let it go, focusing more on Nyla than the observation you’d made that as doting as Steven had been, he was rarely present for when you breastfed. It could’ve been because your sweet husband didn’t want to add any eyes and pressure given your difficulties with it, but you couldn’t help the sneaking suspicion it made him uncomfortable. 

Nyla wasn’t latching. Again. When Steven returned, he only needed to take one look at your face to see what the problem was. 

“I’ll get a bottle.” 

Your face crumpled, unable to hold back the tears, which of course, caused Nyla to cry as well. 

Steven rushed back in, and scooped your daughter out of your arms. 

“There there, little dove, you’re alright,” he shushed Nyla, expertly feeding her the bottle. 

“You’re better at nursing her than I am,” you lamented. 

“That’s not true, you fed her perfectly for nearly nine months” Steven objected. “We’ll call the specialist Doctor Slater recommended first thing tomorrow.” 

You nodded, wiping your eyes. “Sorry, it’s all these goddamn hormones.” 

“Don’t apologize,” he told you, moving to burp Nyla. “You did the hard bit, now let us all help out how we can.” 

“Alright,” you sniffled. 

Steven rose to take Nyla back to her bassinet, kissing you the top of your head on his route. 

You wanted to settle down, you did. You wanted nothing more than to surrender to blissful slumber but a fresh wave of tears came when your breasts began to ache. 

Steven came back and his face fell. “What is it, love?”

“They hurt,” you bemoaned. “They’re too full. It feels like my body’s punishing me for not feeding Nyla.”

“Oh darling,” Steven scrambled for his phone on his nightstand. “There’s gotta be a fix for it, yeah? I’m going to see what Google says.” 

You passed Steven his reading glasses so he could see, privately reveling in how cute he was as he studied his phone screen so intently. It helped distract you from the soreness in your chest. 

“Well, it says the best thing to do is to ‘manually express’ any excess fluid,” Steven read. 

“So milk me? Like a cow?” you spat. 

Steven put his phone down so he could give you his undivided attention. “Hey, hey, I won’t have you talking about yourself like that. Especially since I have Nyla beat at the moment for being the biggest fan of your tits.” 

You cracked a smile. Steven crawled closer to you on the bed, “I know tonight’s been a bit full on, but truly babe, I’d love nothing more than to make you feel better.” 

“Oh yeah?” you goaded, watching Steven’s gaze zero in on your still exposed breast. 

“Uh huh,” he grunted, then looked up at you. “To be honest…you remember that night a few months ago when you first–”

The night you first leaked.  “Yeah.”

“Well, I’ve erm, I’ve been curious since then about…about your…tasting you.”

“Oh,” you gasped. That explained his skittishness when you fed Nyla. Steven left because it made him horny. Well, that turned you on rather quickly. Postpartum hormones were a trip. 

Steven gently cupped your engorged breasts, then groaned. “Will you let me try?”

“Oh-okay.” You batted his hands away so could you strip off your very unsexy sleep shirt and shed your bra. 

While you were self-conscious about how the milk stretched the skin of your breasts and puffed out your nipples, Steven looked at them like a kid on Christmas morning. 

He spared one more glance at your face, “Just tell me if it’s too much or anything.”

You consented with a nod and then Steven lowered his mouth to your left nipple. He started by tracing his tongue around your areola, warming you up to his touch, then enclosed his mouth around it. You mewled as he began to suck on your teat, the feeling of liquid being pulled out of you foreign and therefore thrilling in this context. Your eyelids fluttered shut, the sensation of Steven steadily sucking at you was overwhelming. 

Soon the novelty and lingering sheepishness melted into sheer relief as Steven suckled at your tit. You blinked your eyes open, nearly needing to close them again at the sight of your husband resolutely drinking from you. It sent another shiver of arousal down your spine. 

“Feels so good sweetie,” you encouraged him. “Are you–ah! How are you doing?”

In lieu of answering, Steven guided one of your hands to his crotch where you could feel his pulsing length. He was enjoying this too. Good. You gave him a squeeze, which incited a groan that you felt against the oversensitive skin of your weeping nipple. 

Steven used his free hand to pluck at your right peak, gently coaxing milk out with his fingers. You inhaled sharply at the feeling of both your heavy breasts being drained. Keeping your hand molded around your husband’s crotch, you buried the other in the dark curls at the back of his head. 

Steven’s enthusiasm gave you the confidence to ask, “Do you like how it tastes?”

His mouth still around you, he nodded. At last, he pulled off and mumbled, “Why weren’t we doing this sooner?”

A winded chuckle escaped you as Steven massaged your chest. “Might have had something to do with the newborn.” 

“Clearly there’s enough to go around,” he remarked before he turned your attention to your other breast, latching on to your already leaking nipple and going to town once again. 

You stuttered out a breathy shriek, instantly worried that it’d wake Nyla. Luck was on your side however, the monitor remained silent. You resumed groping Steven’s dick through his pajama pants, letting the fabric catch on the wet stain his cockhead had created. 

Steven moaned at the stimulation and switched to flicking his tongue over your nipples, causing you to tamp down on another yell. 

“Ohhhh fuck,” he rapsed, pulling off your breast, “I’m gonna come.” 

Steven began humping your hand frantically while he gathered both your tits in his hands and swiftly alternated licking at each nipples. You mewled at the feather-light shifting touch on your puffy peaks, now hardened into points for a good while now. 

“Yeah, that’s it, come baby,” you urged him. 

No sooner had the words left your mouth did Steven’s cock spurt, soaking his sleepwear and your hand with his seed with a whimper. His head was thrown back, his eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, and it was in moments like these you understood how your husband and his alters could’ve been avatars for an Egyptian god, because Steven looked absolutely divine. 

Once he came down from high, you withdrew your hand, expecting Steven to walk bow-legged to the bathroom and clean himself up. Instead, he shucked off his pants, and went right back to lapping at your breasts, mopping up the milk that had spilled from you as he came. 

“Sweetie,” you panted, “you don’t need to–”

“You haven’t come yet,” he whispered from the valley of your tits. He nuzzled the two mounds briefly then reclaimed a nipple between his lips and resumed his feverish suckling. 

“Nnnnngh, Steven,” came your delirious reply. 

He pulled off for a split-second to ask, “Can I touch you?” 

You were still a few weeks out from being able to have penetrative sex again, but you gave Steven the go ahead to slither his hand down to your clit. 

Another cry loud enough to wake Nyla ripped from you when his fingers meet your neglected bundle of nerves. You were wet enough to flood the Thames, and Steven wasted no time stroking you exactly how you liked it. Fuck, if Steven sucking on your peaks and playing with your tits felt good, him doing that and rubbing your clit was rapturous. 

You began moaning, a tell-tale whine in the back of your throat that meant you were close. Steven switched teats and redoubled his efforts – your orgasm building to its zenith...then snapping and drowning you in pleasure. One last sob escaped you as your release spread through your body, Steven never detaching himself from your breast until you gently pushed him away from oversensitivity. 

You both laid with your backs flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling in sexed out wonder. 

Steven spoke first. “No need to call the lactation specialist, I reckon.”

“Steven!” You exclaimed in a whisper, playfully slapping his arm. 

“That fixed it, didn’t it?” he pointed out. “Your tits feel better?” 

“Well yeah,” you admitted, “but I still want to breastfeed our daughter. You read all the books and journals along with me, I don’t want to deprive her of its benefits.” 

Steven hummed in defeated agreement. You rolled over on your side to caress his face and assure him, “That doesn’t mean you can’t still get your fill.” 

Your husband’s face split into a wide smile and he pulled you into a dirty, open-mouthed kiss. It allowed you to taste traces of yourself and your milk’s mild, nutty flavor as you plundered his mouth with your tongue.

Steven cradled you to him, tucking you into his side and the pair of you drifted into the best night’s sleep you’d both gotten since Nyla was born. 

When you awoke the next morning, your husband was spooned against your back. 

“Mmm, we’re naked,” Marc murmured. 

You turned to face him and with a grin, “Fancy seeing you here.” You planted a kiss on his lips. “Hi, honey.” 

“Hi, mama,” Marc shifted and groaned, “Any reason why I feel weirdly full this morning?”

You blushed. “Well, Nyla isn’t latching still–”

“Still?”

“Still,” you confirmed, “so Steven relieved some of the…buildup I was feeling. With his mouth.” 

Marc grumbled, “Just when I thought he couldn't be more fixated on your tits.”

Nyla made her presence known on the monitor before you could say anything else. Marc sat up, but you put a hand on his bare pecs. “I’ll get her. You start on breakfast please?”

He acquiesced with a kiss to your temple. 

Marc was in the midst of scrambling eggs and frying sausages when you brought Nyla into the kitchen, “Look who’s changed and dressed and happy to see Daddy!”

Marc beamed, rinsing his hands quickly before you passed her to him. “Hey little girl, I’ve missed you.” 

You took over at the stove as Marc walked his daughter over to the couch. He sat down and rested Nyla’s back on the thick, sturdy expanse of the tops of his thighs. 

“Now, Miss Nyla Spector, I hear that you’re not letting Mommy feed you,” he began with mock seriousness. “Don’t you know her huge boobs are a gift from Tawaret herself?” 

“Marc!!” 

***

Things slowly improved after you began seeing Pippa, the lactation specialist your obstetrician had recommended. Nyla now latched the majority of the time and you learned how to keep calm when she didn’t.

Your parents arrived in London too, which also made the care of your newborn a lot more manageable. They did diaper runs whenever you needed, helped with cooking so you and your husband stayed fed, and would watch Nyla so you each could take showers longer than 30 seconds, even nap. 

The only drawback was it made you and Steven having what you’d codenamed “Parental Time” a lot trickier. They’d gotten an AirBnb flat around the corner from yours, and your mom especially had a pesky penchant for dropping in unannounced, resulting in a few very close calls of her catching Steven’s head under your shirt. 

So you and Steven developed a new routine. On the days he was fronting, after your parents went back to their rented flat for the night, you’d feed Nyla one last time, put her down and then Steven would get his turn at your tits. 

To be honest, it happened a lot when Marc and Jake had fronted that day too. Your parents knew about your husband’s DID and had met each alter, but the men tried not to switch in front of them. They figured their in-laws being so accepting of their daughter being married to three men was already enough of an ask that they didn’t want to alienate your parents further. Therefore, if Jake was fronting when they came over in the morning, he’d have possession of the body for the rest of the day, or at least until your parents left. 

This was a blessing in disguise you found, since it evened out the time each alter spent with their daughter. All that being said, you didn’t exactly protest when Steven would force a switch late at night to get his mouth on your breasts when you were feeling particularly swollen.

“What is it, cariño?” Jake asked when you padded over to the bed after you tucked Nyla in for the night.

“It’s my boobs,” you told him, trying to massage the ache out of them. “Nyla didn’t eat a ton today so they’re feeling extra hea–”

Jake’s quizzical expression changed into Steven’s unmistakably hungry gaze. “Then come right over here love,” he beckoned you over to the mattress. “And let Daddy help you.” 

His naughty words made you whimper and obey him at once. You sat on his lap, where you could already feel his erection growing against your dampening core, and lifted your arms so Steven could disrobe you.

“Missed these titties,” he growled, motorboating his prominent nose in between them. 

“They missed you,” you sighed back as he wrapped his lips around a nipple and began suckling. 

And what are we, chop liver? A disgruntled Marc asked from their bedroom window.

Jake chimed in from the standing mirror. It was my day to front, pendejo.

I’m the only one who wants to do this, Steven countered in his head since his mouth was full of milk, See how much she enjoys it? 

As if to prove his point, you ground down on Steven’s stiff length and squealed at the combination of his thick, hard cock against your pussy and the steady tug of your milk flowing into his wanting mouth. 

“Wanna ride you,” you told Steven. “Need that big dick inside me.” 

Steven groaned and his hips bucked against you. “You sure you’re feeling up to it, babe?”

“Yeah,” you confirmed feverishly. “Doctor Slater said it was okay.” 

Your husband didn’t need to be told twice. He all but ripped off both of your clothes and flipped you back on the bed to prepare you. He slowly fed one, then two fingers into your pussy while he lapped at your dripping tits. After Steven worked you through your first orgasm, you two resumed your position where you sat on top of him. 

The two of you went easier than you normally would. As much as you wanted to bounce on Steven’s cock until the sun came up, your body was still on the mend, and your lovemaking consisted much more of your husband grinding into you, finding the perfect angle to rub his pubic bone on your clit while you clenched around him. And of course, his hands and mouth lavished non-stop attention on your puffed out nipples. 

While Marc had long retreated to the depths of the headspace, little did you or Steven know that Jake had stayed to watch. It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was to watch Steven drink from you, nor should’ve the way you grasped your breasts to squirt some milk on his alter’s tongue when you came, but Jake was intrigued. 

***

Just before Nyla turned three months, your parents had convinced you to leave Nyla and go out for lunch with your husband, just the two of you. 

You’d agreed at first, positively exhilarated by the thought of an hour or two without thinking about diapers, feeding, and sleep schedules, but now that the afternoon of your lunch date with Steven had arrived, you couldn’t conceive of leaving your daughter, even if it was for a few hours and she’d be with her grandparents. 

“She’ll be fine,” your mother insisted. “Nyla-girl knows us now, and besides, didn’t Steven say you’d go to the bistro on the corner? You’ll be five minutes away tops.”

“But I’ve never left her before,” you protested as you tried to feed her. Nyla wasn’t latching, now a rarity rather than the norm. You used it as evidence to postpone your lunch. “See!”

Your mother took her from you, “She’s only doing that because she can sense you’re stressed. Sweetheart, trust me, it’ll be good for you and Marc–”

“It’s Steven today,” you corrected her. 

“Right, Steven. It’ll be good for you two to spend some time as just husband and wife. Your marriage is just as important as this little one here.” 

“But mom–”

“Now finish getting ready,” she wasn’t taking any buts. “Wear something nice.”

As old-fashioned and misogynistic as the advice seemed, it had been a long time since you’d worn something remotely appealing. It felt good to feel like a human again too. Your styled your hair and applied some makeup too, giggling to yourself that Steven probably wouldn’t even recognize you now that you’d put some effort into your appearance. 

You strutted out of the bathroom in a little sundress and wedge sandals, “I’m ready!” 

Your dad appeared, “Shhh Nyla’s napping.” 

“Sorry,” you lowered your voice. “Where’s Steven?”

“He went ahead to grab you two a table,” he explained. Nyla began to fuss faintly over the baby monitor by the couch, “I’d make a run for it now if I were you.” 

Though it felt like there was a physical tether pulling you to where your daughter was fidgeting in her crib, your parents were only here for a few more days. You and Steven had to make the most of it. So you slipped out of the flat as silently as you could. 

You felt strangely unencumbered as you walked the thousand or so meters to your favorite little neighborhood spot. The few times you and your husband had left the house, it was almost always with Nyla, which meant you’d brought basically the entire contents of the flat with you. At the very least a diaper bag filled to the brim. With only a small purse for your phone, wallet, and lipstick, you couldn’t help but feel like you were forgetting something. 

Any worries you had evaporated when you rounded the corner and caught sight of Steven sitting outside on the bistro’s patio. He’d cleaned up too - his hair brushed and parted to the side like he favored, clean-shaven, and same as you, he’d traded sweats for a pair of trousers and a patterned, short-sleeved button down. 

“Hi, handsome,” you greeted him coquettishly as you sauntered over to him. “Is this seat taken?”

“You’re a bloody menace, you know that?” he fumed.

You played dumb, “What do you mean?” 

You stretched your arms up and over the back of the chair, further emphasizing your cleavage in your sundress. 

The dress was from your pre-pregnancy days. Beyond its fit flattering your post-baby body, you’d chosen to wear it since it also provided solid support in the bust, which meant for once you didn’t need one of your frumpy nursing bras. It was a tight fit however, clinging to your breasts and resting just above where the smooth, creamy skin of your breasts darkened into your nipples. You wore it to drive Steven wild, and it seemed to be achieving your desired effect rather nicely. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” 

“No,” You continued to play coy. “I thought I’d dress up for the first date with my husband after our daughter was born. Feels like a significant moment for us as parents.”

“You want me to say it.”

You leaned over the table to prop your ribcage on your forearms, giving Steven a new, even better view down your dress. “Say what, my love?” 

Steven whimpered, straight up whimpered, a sound you’ve never heard him make outside of the privacy of your bedroom. 

You were on the verge of showing him a bit of mercy when your server appeared. “Mr. and Mrs. Grant, nice to see you! How’s the new baby?” 

“She’s good, thanks” you grinned at them. 

“Lovely. Would you two like something to drink?”

“Yeah, we’re both pretty thirsty,” you replied, kicking Steven’s ankle under the table to tear his eyes off your bosom. “Steven, what would you like?” 

“Uhh, tea, please.” 

“‘Course,” the server noted. You and Steven were regulars so he knew your husband’s order. “With cream and sugar, right?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. It took another kick to his angle to elicit a proper response from Steven, “Yes, please. Thank you.”

“And for the Mrs.?”

“Just water please, and one for him too. Thanks Alex,” you told them with a smile. Once they departed from the table, you turned your focus back to Steven. “Wow, you really like my tits in this dress.”

Steven glared at you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t think it’d make you this frustrated,” you apologized. “I thought we could use a break from the baby talk of it all, concentrate on the two of us, remind you of the person who made you and the other boys want to have Nyla in the first place.” 

He took your hand. “You look bloody gorgeous, and yes those were quite instrumental in creating Nyla if I recall correctly.” 

“I can run back home and get a sweater,” you offered, “if they’re too distracting.”

Steven squeezed your hand and rumbled, “Don’t you dare.”

“Then you’ll behave yourself?”

Steven sent you a mischievous smirk and a shrug. 

And for the majority for the meal, he did. While it was impossible for your conversation not to include Nyla, you two did manage to discuss other topics. Steven got your thoughts on the changes he was thinking of making to his course at UCL for the fall semester, you mentioned a new restaurant you wanted to try, and the both of you brainstormed baby-friendly places to spend Steven’s fall holiday if Marc and Jake’s schedules also allowed. 

Throughout the meal however, you noticed Steven barely touched his tea. That was odd for him, since he downed no less than six cups a day. 

“Hon, are you alright?” You inquired after Alex cleared your plates and settled the bill. 

“Never better, why?” 

“You had like two sips of your tea,” you noted, “What, did they change their stock?”

“No,” Steven replied without elaborating. 

“Then what is it? “

“It’s the creamer,” he confessed with a suggestive look in his eye. “I’ve developed a taste for something a little sweeter.” 

You felt yourself flush. “Steven,” you warned him. 

“Come on, babe,” he pleaded, “you can’t wear that dress and expect me to wait until tonight.” 

He had a point. You’d spent all of lunch teasing him. “But where would we go?” 

“Bathroom.” 

“Together?” 

“You go first, I’ll follow you and knock three times so you know it’s me” he instructed. “Then if anyone asks, I’ll say you’re having ‘a new mother moment’.”

“What the hell is ‘a new mother moment’?”

“Dunno, but no one will ask anything more if I tell them that.” 

“We can’t get caught, I really like this place, Steven,” you cautioned, “I don’t want Alex and the staff here thinking we’re perverts.”

“I don’t think anyone will blame me after seeing you parade around in this little dress all afternoon,” Steven pointed out. “Besides, that’s up to you darling, as my mouth will be occupied.” 

You cursed the hot shiver that slid down your spine at his words. You rose from the table. “Five minutes.” 

Steven nodded, a tad too emphatically. 

“Be cool!” you whisper-yelled before disappearing inside the cafe. 

Thankfully it was a small bistro, so they had only one bathroom, so Steven couldn’t accidentally get the wrong door, plus the lunch rush was over, which reduced your chances of being interrupted. 

You locked the door behind you, and found yourself giddily pacing the length of the small loo. After checking your reflection in the mirror, you planned how you wanted Steven to find you. 

You decided to keep your chest covered for now and let your husband ‘unwrap his prize’ so to speak, so you opted to step out of your knickers and tuck them into your purse. Next, you hiked up the skirt of your dress and began touching yourself. Fuck, you were wet. Maybe this little rendezvous wasn’t only for Steven’s benefit. 

Three raps on the door sounded and you lunged to open it as quickly as possible and resume the lascivious tableau you’d created for Steven to discover you in. You managed to swing it, sinking down on the closed toilet seat and fondling your pussy while Steven slipped in and locked the door behind him. 

“Shit,” Steven exhaled at the sight of you. 

“You going to stand there all day and make me get myself off?” you challenged him with a playful lift of your brows. 

Your husband pounced on you, caging you into his grasp and then drawing you into his lap, where you could feel his already throbbing erection. He yanked down the straps of your dress as once, your tits tumbling into view, already dribbling from your lust. He dove right into your cleavage, his tongue tracing the rivulets of milk that had trickled down your skin. 

Meanwhile, you made quick work of his belt and fly, eagerly fishing Steven’s length out of his boxer-briefs and giving him a few tugs. You took a moment when you lined yourself up to sink down on his cock, slipping his head back and forth to feel your slick. 

“Were you not wearing knickers this entire time?” Steven asked before latching onto a nipple. 

“Maybe, maybe not,” you hedged, figuring that the ambiguity would only rile him up more. 

He groaned deeply around your tit when you sank down on him, while you bit your lip to muffle your own moan. You two worked in tandem to draw your bodies together, the force of your coupling causing Steven to have to pull off of your breast. That didn’t stop him from drinking from you however, he simply grabbed both of your tits and contracted his hands to spray your nectar into his mouth. 

It was Steven’s new favorite thing. He liked to switch, drinking a splash from each nipple, and you were a fan of this technique too, since it meant he could talk dirty to you while he consumed you. 

“Taste so good,” he mumbled after swallowing a squirt. “Ugh, wanna milk these jugs into a glass so I can have you anytime.”

You dug your fingers deeper into the meat of Steven’s shoulders and keened. This was some of his naughtiest stuff yet. Getting off on the impropriety of your situation seemed to be doing the trick for both of you today. 

“So bad daddy,” you gave it right back to him. “Looking at my titties all while I’m trying to eat, thinking about eating me.” 

“Don’t play innocent,” he retorted. “Stuffing your big boobs into this flimsy dress. I know exactly what you were trying to do to me. Is that what you wanted? For me to pound my cock into you while I suckle at your tits?”

He punctuated his question by doing just that, flicking his tongue over one of your weeping nipples and latched on to coax your milk into his mouth faster. 

“Yesssssss,” you moaned. You added a swivel to your hips for good measure. “Ohhh I wanna come.” 

“Yeah? Then rub that little bud of yours, come all over my cock,” he provoked you. 

You did just as he said, maneuvering your hand around his that were still attached to your boobs and worked frenzied circles over your clit. Your release hit you less than a minute later, your fingers providing the last push over the edge, where the novelty of the location and desperation for each other had brought you there quicker than usual. 

You kept impaling yourself on your husband’s dick. He was close too, you could tell from the little cries he let out around your breasts that took on a borderline forlorn tone, as if Steven didn’t want to come yet, he didn’t quite want your fucking to be over. 

Steven was no match for the heat of your cunt and the sweet creaminess of your teats however. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you even closer to him, and planting his face in between your boobs as his cock gushed inside you. 

A few moments of silence transpired between the pair of you, save for your heavy breathing, then Steven slowly and gently extracted himself from your core. 

“I can’t believe no one interrupted us,” you marveled. 

Steven nodded from where he stood by the sink to wet paper towels to clean you both up. “Lucky, innit?” 

“Thank you honey,” you said softly when we passed you paper towels for your breasts and slit. “We should be getting back.” 

You tried to think of something else to say, but when you and Steven looked at each other, the two of you simply burst into a fit of giggles in disbelief over what you’d just done. 

“You could ask me for anything now and I’d say yes, I reckon,” your husband joked while you two switched spots in the small bathroom. You checked your appearance, smoothed down your hair, and prayed that people wouldn’t be able to see how fucked out you felt. 

“You and the other boys already gave me everything I could ever want,” you turned away from the mirror to gaze straight at Steven. “A beautiful, healthy baby, and a trio of loving fathers to raise her with.”

“Awwww, darling–”

“Jewelry would also be nice,” you swiftly added. You found the idea of a “push present” too transactional, having a baby was both your and your husband’s idea thank you very much, and you knew what you were signing up for.  In fact, you’d fiercely wanted it. But something sparkly had caught your attention recently. “There’s this stunning gem bracelet I saw on the Tiffany website that would go great with my eyes. I’ll send you the link.” 

Steven rose from the toilet seat and crowded in behind you. He sprinkled a few kisses on your neck, then locked eyes with your reflection. “Whatever you want.” 

***

Marc and Jake didn’t protest when Steven mentioned he purchased you the Tiffany bracelet, work had been steady for all three of them, and you had a solid maternity leave package. 

“Besides, think of how much we’ve saved on groceries now that every night Steven eats local for dessert,” Marc quipped. 

Steven had fucked you in full view of the mirror to get back at him for that, using every trick in his book to show how much you enjoyed him enjoying your body. 

Though drinking from your tits didn’t really appeal to Marc (truthfully he had no qualms with it, despite an offhand joke here and there), Jake was different. He hadn’t forgotten the look of elation you wore on your face that time he watched you and Steven fucking while he tasted you. 

His chance came a week after your parents had left. Nyla was soundly settled into her sleep schedule, and things didn’t feel quite as chaotic as they had when you first brought you little bundle of joy home. You two were lying on the couch, watching a trashy reality show after folding a load of laundry while Nyla napped. 

“Ugh, shit,” you swore, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Jake clicked off the TV. “You okay querida?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine, I leaked again,” you took the pads out of your bra. Jake couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. “I’m just pissed because I thought I was done with this.” 

“Lo siento, mami.” 

You rose from the couch. 

“Where are you going?”

“To take a shower,” you told him. “Warm water helps ease the ache.”

Jake caught your hand. “Wait.”

“What?”

“No”, Jake barked at his reflection on the dormant television screen, then furrowed his brow. You recognized it as the look he made when he tried to stave off a switch, “I want to help.” 

“You do?” you asked carefully. “You do know what Steven usually does to relieve the pressure?”

“Si mami,” he reiterated. “I figure if Steven likes it, why wouldn't !?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because I’ve seen you eat two burgers in one sitting and Steven’s a vegan?”

Jake waved a hand as if to swat the implication away. “That’s different.”

You weren’t convinced. “How so?”

“Because Steven and I share a taste for you.” 

“Okay,” you watched him cautiously as you sat back down, “We can stop if it’s too weird for you.” 

“Please,” Jake scoffed, climbing over you and pinning you down onto the cushions. “They’re your tetas and they’re still so big. And you know I’m the kinkiest one out of all of us.”

“Bien bien Papi,” you surrendered. “Show me what you got.”

Your husband hastily rid you of your clothes. When his mouth first made contact with your pearly nipple, a hearty groan resonated in his chest. He’d held the warm, heavy weight of your post-baby tits many a time, but this was something entirely different. 

“Mmm, mamacita, su leche es tan dulce,” he switched to the other peak, already getting drunk off your milk, “no wonder Steven didn’t want to share.” 

***

Your family’s fall holiday came together more smoothly than you’d anticipated. Steven’s students were on holiday, Jake took time off from the limo company he owned, and Marc was between consulting jobs. 

You were still on maternity leave, but planned on returning to your job in the new year. This time was precious - it felt like the end of a chapter, the last hurrah, the eve of “what comes next”. 

So you and the boys rented a seaside cottage in Cornwall. Though you were anxious about Nyla and the four-hour car trip, she was a champ. It turned out that Jake was the one you needed to worry about, nearly veering off the road when he caught a glimpse of you feeding Nyla in the backseat. Apparently your daughter wasn’t the only one who’d gotten hungry. 

It was past the busy season, so the little village you were staying in was quiet, exactly what you’d all wanted. You pushed Nyla’s stroller around the sleepy high street, hoping the serene location would ease the blow of what you needed to discuss with Steven. 

“Solid foods.” 

“Yes,” you confirmed, “We’ve waited long enough to start her on them. I don’t want her to fall behind “ 

“So no more breastfeeding,” Steven spoke slowly, deliberately. 

“Yeah.” you tried to soften the blow. “But not right away, it’s a process.” 

Steven looked at you like a kicked puppy, but ultimately he wanted what was best for his daughter. Trying to look on the bright side, he remarked “Well, there’s always the next one.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, storminess flickering behind your eyes. “This one–” you pointed to Nyla, “--needs to be potty-trained and eating solid foods before any of you–” you jabbed your finger at him “--in there can even begin to think about the next one.”

Steven immediately squeaked out a “Yes ma’am.” 

“I freaked out,” you acknowledged. “Sorry.” 

“It’s alright love,” Steven comforted you, affectionately bumping his shoulder with yours. “You have to do the hard bit after all. Feels like it goes without saying, but we don’t want another until you’re ready.” 

“I know,” you exhaled. “It’s been a lot. And as only you could, you turned my struggle with breastfeeding Nyla into a way for us to celebrate being new parents, when it could’ve sent me straight off the deep end. I can’t tell you how much it means…I was so self-conscious about my body after giving birth, and you–Jake and Marc too–but you especially made me feel desirable when I was afraid I never would again.” 

Steven drew you into a misty-eyed kiss. “I will always desire you. If anything, your post-pregnancy self is the hottest version of you so far.” 

You preened from his praise. “You’re a good man, Steven.” 

The week you were spending on the coast also marked your anniversary with Steven (each alter had their own “relationship anniversary” with you, though the four of you shared your wedding date).

As gracious as he’d been earlier, you knew Steven was gutted about you weaning Nyla off the boob, so you intended to do something special for him that night. 

You knew he’d spoil you, and your husband didn’t disappoint. Steven ordered takeaway from one of the nicer restaurants in town, setting up a candlelit dinner in your AirBnb cottage so you two could commemorate the evening without having to leave your daughter with a sitter. The Tiffany earrings that matched your bracelet though were a pleasant surprise though. 

For your gift, you’d encased his favorite photo of him and Nyla in a frame where you also made imprints of her little hands and feet. 

“For your desk at uni,” you’d elucidated when he unwrapped it. 

“Darling,” he whispered in awe. 

Steven’s dinner also included a bottle of very nice wine, which led to you making out like randy teenagers on the couch after your meal. 

“Are you ready for part two of your present?” you queried breathlessly. 

Steven looked up from the spot on your neck he’d been nibbling on. “There’s a part two?”

You assured him with a flirty little nod. “See, there is one more thing I want you to do to me while I still have these.” You grasped your tits and pushed them together with your palms.

Your husband’s eyes widened and his hips jerked underneath you. “What is it?” 

Instead of answering, you climbed off of him and led him to the bedroom. Your gaze kept dropping to the tent Steven’s turgid cock made in the dad-trousers he wore long before Nyla had been born. You found the view just as lewd as it was invigorating. 

Once you hopped back on the bed, you ordered Steven not to move a muscle, and peeled off the rather modest loose-fitting dress you’d worn for dinner to reveal the lingerie you sported underneath. The skimpy set consisted of a mostly sheer bustier that embraced just how obscenely big your boobs remained and a tiny, strappy thong. 

Your husband’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Fucking hell, babe. You look incredible.” 

“I was hoping you’d have that reaction,” your voice was lilting. “Now remember, stay there, and no touching”

“What are you going to do?” he whispered with a mix of crippling arousal and a perhaps a hint of fear. 

You palmed your mounds once again, squeezing them to urge more milk to spew from your teats. Breathy little gasps and sighs stuttered out from your lips as you soaked the thin mesh of your bustier, you wanted to put on a show for him. 

Steven’s hand crept down to his crotch but before it could reach its destination you snapped, “Hey! I said no touching.”

“I thought you meant you,” he whined. 

“Nope,” you quipped, popping the ‘p’. “You’ll get your chance soon.” 

“When?”

“Hmmm,” you glanced down at your chest and rib cage that was now bathed in your own milk. “Think I’m slippery enough?” 

“Uh huh,” came Steven’s articulate reply. 

“Okay then,” you leaned your arms back on the bed, “Now fuck my tits.” 

Steven’s knees threatened to give out. He caught himself and what he said next was a bigger surprise than the earrings. “Alright, mommy. But I wanna get my prick wet in your pussy before I stick it between your knockers.” 

It was your turn for your jaw to drop. Where the hell had sweet Steven gone and how did he learn to talk like this? Two could play that game. You fiddled with the straps of thong. “Then come over here and move these panties out of the way.” 

Steven jumped you, knocking you back on the bed, too impatient to get inside you to properly deal with your scanty underwear so he did exactly as you’d prodded, he pushed the crotch of your thong aside and sunk two fingers into your sopping pussy. 

They went in without much resistance, thus Steven only felt the need to drive them into you a few times, curling them against your g-spot for good measure. He licked off the residue of your desire from his digits and proceeded to tear at his own clothes until he was naked. 

His eyes were wild, wilder than you’d ever seen them, as Steven notched the head of his angry-looking erection at the opening of your cunt and sheathed himself in one fluid stroke. You cried out while Steven groaned, your husband wasting no time to start hammering into you. 

Every forceful push of his hips punched a “uh” from you, his unrelenting pace stringing them together in quick succession. He couldn’t stop watching your tits swing freely and the copious amounts of milk spill from them. His orgasm mounted in his groin sooner than expected, which propelled him to wrench his dick from your folds and grip the base tightly. Steven wasn’t coming anywhere except your tits. 

“Ready, baby?” he asked, his voice gravel as he clumsily scooted up your body to straddle your bosom. 

“Please daddy.” 

Steven advanced with a goddamn growl, positioning his cock between your milky tits and plunging his length in between them as you held your breasts together. It was nasty, your milk mingling with your juices and his precum, all spread across the expanse of your chest. 

Yet the years of love and trust you and Steven had fostered with one another allowed you both to succumb to the kinkiness of the sex you were having without shame. It had taken a hell of a lot of communication and vulnerability for you to get to here, so yeah, you were going to revel in the slick sound Steven’s cock made as it slipped between your tits, the way his face was contorted with pleasure and concentration, how his hands had fallen on top of yours to create the suffocating channel for him to fuck his rock-hard length through. 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you realized this meant you were going to have to be this slutty for all of your husbands’ anniversaries, but the thought was kicked out of your consciousness when Steven removed his hands from the top of yours to pluck at your nipples. 

A primal sound of pleasure tore from your throat that also ignited your competitive streak. You tilted your neck up and opened your mouth so that the tip of Steven’s cock could brush against your tongue on every drive of his pelvis. 

The kitten licks were what did him in, Steven orgasmed with a roar and raised himself higher on his knees at the last possible second to paint your boobs with his seed. 

“Oh. My. Days.” Each word required their own breath from your winded husband, now speaking his normal register once again. 

“Yeah,” was all your scrambled brain could add before you tried to squirm away from Steven’s tongue on your sternum. 

“Please, love,” he nuzzled the one patch of skin on your torso that wasn’t doused in some form of bodily fluid. “Wanna taste us.”

“Fine,” you submitted. “Be grateful I can’t move.” 

Steven hummed happily, getting a total of three sweeps of his tongue across your torso before Nyla’s fussing echoing down the cottage’s small hallway. 

“Perfect timing, as always,” you groused. 

“Ehh, she could've announced herself a lot sooner,” Steven countered. “Hey, you didn’t come.” 

There was your Steven, ever the gentleman and egalitarian in the sack. “Honey, if you go take care of her and let me shower right now, we can call it even.” 

He pecked your cheek and hopped to. “Only if you let me make a cup of tea too.” 

“‘Kay,” you said as he pulled on his, well technically Marc’s, boxers and headed toward the door.  You, on the other hand, set yourself the task of maneuvering to the en-suite without dripping everywhere and being kicked off of AirBnb.

“Hon?’ you looked to where Steven watched you from the doorway, ignoring Nyla’s fussing for one more minute. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I am sweetheart,” you assured him. “My pussy’s going to be wet for days after this.”

Steven grinned, remarkably sweetly for a man who’d just come all over your chest. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too,” you parroted. 

Read the follow up fics : Close Encounters of the Maternal Kind  and First

A/N: Writes nearly 10,000 words of lactation kink and *takes myself to horny jail*. Thank you so much for reading and please feel free to let me know if you enjoyed! 

Also I wrote this in less than a week, isn’t that terrifying?! Leave it to the moon boys to inspire my to write obscenely long and dirty fics. 

My weird little headcanon on the reader and Nyla’s surnames are the on paper and official documents, you use Spector, but casually and in social situations you use the last name of whoever’s fronting. 

Translations: 

Pendejo - Stupid/Idiot 

Querida - dear 

Lo siento mami - I’m sorry, mommy 

Si mami - Yes mommy 

Tetas - tits 

Bien bien Papi - okay, okay Daddy 

mamacita, tu leche es tan dulce - little mama, your milk is so sweet

#moon knight #moon knight smut #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight au #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x female reader #steven grant smut #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x female reader #marc spector smut #jake lockley #jake lockely x female reader #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely smut #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockely x you #oscar isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac smut #oscar issac x reader #Oscar Isaac thirst hours #jake lockley speaking spanish #steven grant fanfiction #jake lockley fanfiction #marc spector fanfiction

[heartthrobin]

press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n

an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers

summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.

Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.

He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?

In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.

Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.

Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.

He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.

Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.

Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.

The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"

Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.

By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.

There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.

Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.

Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.

It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.

"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"

Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.

The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.

Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.

"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.

He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."

"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.

"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."

Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."

Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.

He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.

It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--

"Steven don't even think about it--"

Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.

As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."

Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."

Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"

Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."

"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.

"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.

"Jesus, Steven."

Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.

"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"

An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."

"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.

"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.

"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.

"Who's birthday is it?"

Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"

"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.

"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.

Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"

Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"

You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"

Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.

You blushed a velvety red.

"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"

"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."

Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."

He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.

"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."

Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?

"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.

"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.

"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."

Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.

"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"

"Let her respond, Steven."

But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.

"So, uh, yeah."

"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"

Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."

You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"

"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."

You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."

"Thanks."

"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.

"Uh-- and you are?"

"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.

Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.

"It's ... it's a beautiful name."

You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."

His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."

Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.

"Good job, Stevie."

-

Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.

Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”

His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”

-

In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.

Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.

Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”

But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.

Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.

He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.

Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.

When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.

“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.

You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”

It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.

Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.

“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”

Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.

He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.

“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.

Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”

It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.

He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.

The day passed like most of them do.

The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.

Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.

Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.

He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.

A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--

"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."

The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.

Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.

"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"

"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."

He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”

Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.

“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”

Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.

“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”

“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.

The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.

“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”

With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."

"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"

"Of course."

Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.

When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.

"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.

The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.

Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.

With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.

"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"

The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.

Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.

“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.

“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”

Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”

“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”

“And you’re very beautiful.”

The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”

Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”

An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”

“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“

A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.

The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.

Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.

He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.

“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.

He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.

In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.

Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.

“Steven?”

The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.

He didn’t.

Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.

Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”

If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.

“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.

“When?”

Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”

Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“

He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.

“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.

He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.

They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.

B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.

“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”

-

taglist:

@pcrushinnerd @since-im-already-here @am-3-thyst @aug-ust69 @hangmanslover @suddenlysteven @nxonlights @lwjmoonchild7 @o-zenith-o @amasdaydream @may-tulip @skarrkiie @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @lxne20 @sangwoahsbat @orihimi-19 @purple-amaranthe @autismsupermusicalassassin @mt2sssss @angie2274 @dancing-pinky-flower @y2kbratzqouturr @brekkers-desigirl @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @softdvng0dness87 @venomous-ko @grilled-steak @emily-roberts @airzonaaa @yomoms-stuff @mess-of-fandom @winter-soul @insomniacrobyn

i couldn't tag some of you, just check that your settings allow for mentions :))

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x you #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #khonshu #steven grant x female reader #steven grant fanfiction #marc spector fanfiction #moonknight fic #moonknight #steven grant imagine #marc spector imagine #jake lockely x you #jake lockely imagine #jake lockely x reader

[letmehavemyfictionalmen]

Love, Lunacy, Time

summary: In a startling twist of fate, you find yourself awakening not in your bedroom at the Avengers compound, but alongside the Moon Knight boys in the 1950s in a sitcom-like setting of the town of Westview. The shock intensifies as you realize that, somehow, you and the Moon Knight boys are married to each other, despite never having crossed paths before.

pairing: Moonknight x afab!ScarletWitch!reader

warning: 18+ content, Eventual smut, Unprotected sex, Violence, Blood, Age-Gap, Kidnapping, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, a sprinkle of Angst, Strangers to Married, Flirting, Scarlet Witch!reader, Chaos Magic, Not an accurate representation of D.I.D.

Chapters

001. — Lost in Time's Embrace — [You find yourself preparing for a peaceful night's sleep in the familiar confines of the Avengers compound. However, your world is turned upside down when they wake up in the 1950s, alongside a man who oozes Chaos.]

002. — Unfamiliar Familiar Faces — [As the front door swings open, you are greeted by faces that stir a sense of recognition deep within you. Yet, something about their demeanor feels off, their behavior slightly peculiar. It's as if they are familiar, but not quite themselves.]

☼ Please note that I do not wish to have my work translated or published on any third-party reading websites. I claim the rights to my work.

☼ Where I don’t have any rights to the characters, many ideas and OC are my own creation. Please respect that.

#female!reader #masterlist #moonknight boys #moon knight #moonknight x reader #moonknight x female!reader #moonknight #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x you #jake lockley x afab!reader #marc spector x y/n #avenger!reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x afab!reader #marc spector x you #jake lockley x y/n #steven grant x y/n #1950s #westview #marc spector x fem!reader #moonknight x fem!reader #jake lockley x you #moonknight fanfiction #moonknight fic #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #steven grant x fem!reader #moonknight masterlist

[keenzinemugstudent]

Okay but hear me out your a vampire and your friends with Steven Grant who doesn't know he hasn't seen you in weeks and is worried he goes to your house he walks in looking everywhere for you he sees you hunched over your bed breathing heavily he panics thinking your hurt and than next thing he knows he is pinned to the bed he sees your red eyes and fangs you were a sight I mean he always thought you were beautiful but right now he was honestly terrified !

"Y-Y/n? Love what-"

You growl at him showing your teeth before you frowned giving the man below you an confused look on your beautiful face.

"Steven?"

He gives a small nervous wave.

"H-hello?"

"Steven?!"

"That's me Steven with a V."

"What are you doing here?! Wait oh no you know!"

You apologized to him multiple times for attacking him but it just said it was fine (liar)

And whatever else y'all can think of

#sub steven grant #steven grant #steven grant smut #moon boys #moon knight system #marc spector #jake lockley #marc spector x you #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely x you #moonknight x black reader #moon knight #x black reader #black relationships #black reader #black reader insert #fem reader #female reader #black fem reader #x black fem reader

[intoxicated-chan]

Another question!!

To celebrate the movie’s release, I have two book ideas! But I’m not sure which one to release first. I would do both but my laptop which I use to write recently broke and another is coming in a few days. So, updates and uploads will be slow.

#x reader #x female reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockely x reader

[jake-g-lockley]

Could I request number 3 with Jake, with him as the cook? I hc him as a great chef!

A Smidge of Love (Jake Lockley x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be tagged?

Prompt: Feeding you their cooking and hoping you will like it

A/N: Hi lovely!! Thanks for the ask<333 DOMESTIC JAKE AHHH omfg jake would make the most magnificent things and he’d rule the kitchen for sure. Here is him making the Guatemalan national dish, Pepián de Pollo!

Word count: 738 words

You woke up pretty late after last evening’s ordeal at work. It had been a tough few weeks and you finally got a chance to take your Sunday break. Before going to bed last night, you switched off all of your alarms and buried your head in your boyfriend’s chest, the comfort easing the tension out of you almost instantaneously. 

You frowned when you realised you woke up in an empty bed, your head cushioned by lots of pillows. You took a deep breath and sighed when the delicious aroma of food filled your nostrils. Quietly slipping out of bed, you tiptoed to the kitchen and found your boyfriend’s back turned to you, singing a soft song and dry roasting something.

You recognized the song, Cariño by The Marías

“Quiero tanto devorarte,

Esta vez besarte,

Si es que soy capaz.”

You slipped into the barstool silently and gazed lovingly at your oblivious Jake who was swaying slightly to his own singing. You were still dreamily staring at him with a smirk when he turned around and froze. He gulped audibly, his eyes comically wide as he held the tongs in his hands in a defensive stance

“Whatchu doing, Jakey?” you ask, tipping your chin down and raising your eyebrows at the funny expression that adorned his handsome face.

Jake offered you a dopey smile and shrugged, gesturing to the stove behind him.

“Making pepián de pollo, for you.” he said softly, a tinge of pink appearing on his cheeks.

You swore that at that moment, your heart melted at his cuteness. His hard outer shell was nothing compared to the soft mush that he held out for you every single day. You had nothing but love for him as your heart contracted almost painfully at the thought that he woke up thinking of you before making this.

“Need some help?” you asked, despite already knowing what Jake’s reaction would be.

You grinned when his eyebrows pinched together and he frowned, his lips dipping downwards.

“Shh, as long as I am here, my princesa doesn’t need to do anything.” he huffed and you laughed, tipping your head back, eliciting a smile from Jake.  

You waved the chef off and watched as he went on to prepare the dish.

You remember the first time he made pepián de pollo. It was a rainy London afternoon, the sun nowhere to be seen. You had been frowning at the constant bad weather you had been witnessing for weeks when Jake pulled you up from the sofa, scooping you into a bridal hold and dropping you onto the exact same barstool you were sitting on right now. He quietly worked around the kitchen, just as he did now, humming a soft melody, his hands working with the rhythm. You tried not to drool when he started to cut up his ingredients, that man certainly knew his way around a knife.

The sound of the food processor startled you out of your little flashback and you jumped slightly. Jake grinned at you apologetically and you smiled reassuringly back. While the chicken and sauce was simmering in the pot, Jake grabbed two beers and only popped one open and you glared at him when he didn’t offer you the other one.

“Not on an empty stomach, mi amor.” he chuckled before taking a sip. 

You playfully stuck your tongue out at him and he sticks his tongue out back at you, making you giggle. Soon, Jake was plating up the food, white rice and avocado in two plates for the both of you and the pepián de pollo looking as delicious as ever in a big bowl. You grinned happily and thanked Jake before tucking in, your stomach and heart satisfied with your first bite, but yearning for more.

“You like it?” Jake asked nervously and you sighed, sliding out of your seat and stepping between his feet, throwing your arms around his waist, hugging him close as you buried your nose into his sweater-clad chest.

“I love it, and I love you.” you mumbled into him and he relaxed, his whole body melting into yours as he held you against him. 

“I love you too.” he says into your hair, kissing the top of his head. 

“Ok, time for my tummy to be happy, I’ll give you a million kisses after I’m done!” you pulled away, causing Jake to chuckle at your usual antics.

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~

taglist: @fandxmslxt69 @randomnessfangirl @in-between-the-cafes @bodhisattva11 @marc-spectors-wife @nyotamalfoy @steven-grants-world @jbearre85 @whatsliferightnow @minigirl87 @wonderfulboiledcoldpotato @alexxavicry @autismsupermusicalassassin @flordelalunas @marygraceee @lia275 @euphoricosmo @sky-robin @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @sugarpunch-princess @violet-19999 @celiaswife @swiggy-needs-mental-help @ghostheartbeat @kierramofficial @ryebreadsworld @your-voice-is-mellifluous @lil-stark @absolutelybloodyhopeless @mintpurplemnm @spookyysilverr

#moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley x y/n #jake lockley fluff #moon knight fluff #jake lockley x you #jake lockley fanfiction #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley smut #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x f!reader #jake lockley x female!reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight headcanon #steven grant #marc spector #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marvel moon knight #moon knight smut #moon knight headcanons #moon knight x reader #moonkight #moonknight smut #steven grant smut #marc spector smut #steven grant fluff #marc spector fluff

[moonknightyws]

I want him

#marc spector #steven grant #moon knight #marvel #steven grant smut #marc spector smut #jake lockley x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley smut #jake lockley fic #scenes of a marriage #marc spector x you #marc spector angst #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector imagine #marc spector fluff #marc spector x reader #marc spector x female reader #marvel smut #marvel moon knight #steven grant fic #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant fluff #steven grant one shot #steven grant imagine #steven with a v #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley

[pimosworld]

Pimos world updates

Life has been a little crazy as of late and I wanted to give you all an update. I’m slowly chipping away at my list of wips and I realize I love to bite off more than I can chew but I don’t leave things unfinished so I’m working on it. I’ve been procrastinating by writing Joel Miller one shots so it’s not allll bad.

Unrequited- Santiago Garcia x f!reader x Frankie Morales

I wanted to give the finale my all so hopefully it will be done being edited by Friday.

The ties that bind-Dave York x f!reader x Frankie Morales

Next chapter update April 15th

The sun and the Moon- Moon Boys x f!reader

I was feeling uninspired with this for a long time but got a sudden burst of energy so chapter 2 will be posted sometime within the next week.

Delta Breeze-Joel Miller x f!reader

I got such a great response to Dog Days so I’m working on a smutty one shot…stay tuned.

If you all have any questions or just want to chat about my upcoming projects my inbox is always open. I’m always down to hear your thoughts no matter the level of spice, angst or comedy I’m open to it all.

#triple frontier #tlou imagine #the equalizer #moon knight series #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #oscar isaac characters #moon knight #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector smut #steven grant x female reader #jake lockley fanfiction #triple frontier au #joel miller tlou #frankie morales x dave york #dave york x f!reader x frankie morales #dave york angst #santiago garcia smut #marc spector x fem!reader #steven grant x f!reader #jake lockely x reader

[betyloca]

Personalidad oclta

part 2/?

steven x reader/ marc x reader/ jake x reader/ khonshu x reader

summary: the moon boys, after their encounter with their fourth personality, decide to know their origin.

warnings: bad words /doubts about sexuality /transphobia/ maltreatment by Marc's mother/ everything soft at the end.

~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~

After Thot's explanation to Khonshu that the effects of the papyrus would last 24 hours, the boys wanted to take the opportunity to meet you.

Back at the hotel where you were expected, a certain person was excited to ask about everything for you.

Steven: How did you create yourself? How was your reaction to being in a man's body? did you already know about us? Did you meet my pet Gus? What was Khonshu's reaction when he found out about you? did you know about lay...

Jake: calm down pendejo , he's not going to die

Steven: I'm sorry, I got excited.

y/n: don't worry cariño

Steven: Don't overwhelm you.

Jake: Yes to me.

Marc: I'm not asking you.

jake *rolls eyes*

y/n: answering your questions, my origin was when Marc experienced doubts about his sexuality as a teenager.

Jake: You're gay *looking at Marc*

Marc: No, you idiot.

Y/N: As I said, when I came up I wasn't surprised to be in Marc's body, I already knew that I didn't own it.

What if I couldn't help dressing like a woman, when I went out there were always transphobic comments from some people but I didn't care.

Steven: It must be horrible.

y/n: I got used to it, what I didn't expect was mom's reaction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marc's mom: What the hell are you wearing?

y/n: it's not what you think

Marc's mom: you are a phenomenon, I can't believe what you've committed

y/n: just listen...

Marc's mom: Is it my makeup? is it my clothes? were you stealing from me?

y/n: no, I never...* hit*

Marc's mom: damn I hope you burn in hell

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jake: what a son of a bitch

Steven: She's my mother.

Marc: our correction our mother

Y/n: stop fighting la vieja ya está muerta.

well to what I was saying, yes I always knew about you and yes I knew your fish

Steven: His name was Gus.

y/n: I know

*door sound*

Jake: *happy* the food arrived

Marc: I pay

Jake: *bringing the pizza*

Marc: How was Khonshu's reaction?

y/n: I'm honest, I hated myself.

Steven: like he did to me

Jake: *with mouth full* that crow doesn't hate

y/n: it was hard at first but we started to tolerate each other

Khonshu: I hate you

y/n: I'm more of an idiot

Jake: those who fight love each other

khonshu and y/n: shut up

Jake: Okay.

Marc: Tonight will be heavy.

Steven: I don't think so* happy seeing y/n*

Marc: *smiling thinking*"maybe it's not so bad."

#marvel #x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #jake lockely x reader #imagine #khonshu x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #female reader

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Sweet as Honey(moon)

A/N: Okayyy let’s escape away to Greece for some sexin, shall we? Just as a reminder these are all part of my little SHAPE OF YOU AU

The Prompt: The Honeymoon 😈

Requested by: loveliest of lovelies @dawnsutopia

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader, Steven x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system

Word Count: 9.4k (back to my self-indulgent waysss)

Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶🌶🌶, Rated Tre Explicit, Minors DNI

CW/TW: This is a...how you say...a fook-est? I mean our couple is on their honeymoon after all. We have fingering (f receiving), indecent things with Marc’s wedding bad, oral sex (f and m receiving), p in v sex, anal sex, pool sex, nipple play, lingerie, the boys being co-conscious during sex, dirty talk, spanking, nipple play, a brief mention of “dumbification” (which this fandom taught me about btw so 😳), light spanking, mucho aftercare, teasing, exhibitionism though it’s not specified if anyone sees or hears them, squirting, multiple orgasms, and fluff!

“On behalf of all of us, welcome to Mykonos,” the polite-to-a-fault receptionist said as he activated your keycards, “and congratulations on your nuptials, Mr. and Mrs. Spector.” 

You grinned so widely at the use of your new surname your face could split in half. Despite a turbulent four hour flight from London and being hungover as shit, you were deliriously happy, leaning into Marc’s side —your husband’s side— while you checked into the resort where you’d be spending the next ten days on your honeymoon. 

You two had kept the wedding on the smaller side. The ceremony itself had been incredibly private and intimate, just you, your boys, your parents and a trusted rabbi at a local synagogue. This was so that you could exchange vows with Marc, Steven and Jake each individually. Afterwards, you’d booked the Gallery Room at the ever-so-posh Bluebird in Chelsea to host a reception for forty friends and extended family. 

The more subdued – though still somehow overwhelming to plan – wedding meant that you and your husband could splash out on the honeymoon, which is exactly what you’d done with the resort you’d booked here in Greece. The stunning beauty of the island didn’t hit you until you were being escorted to your room and could take in the stark white walls, ancient stone, clear blue sky, and even clearer, bluer water for yourself. 

Your suite echoed the landscape, eschewing any color or even decor on the walls for crisp white plaster and massive windows that framed picturesque views of the ocean. Everything from the furniture to the linens were warm neutrals and earth hewn materials. The focal point of the space was no doubt the sliders flung wide open led to an ample balcony that boasted a plush daybed and a small private pool. It was a dream come to life as far as you were concerned. 

The bellboy unloaded your luggage and after he left with a tip, you and Marc launched yourself at each other. He tackled you back onto the large plush bed. 

“This is insane,” you managed to pant in between kisses, “it’s even more beautiful here than I thought it’d be.” 

“Good,” Marc grunted, stripping out of his t-shirt and swiftly moving to discard his joggers as well. He was getting right to it then. 

Last night seemed to whiz by in a blur of laughter, alcohol, dancing, and toasts to the happy couple. Unlike the romance novels you’d read as an adolescent, your wedding night was not the raucous night of passion that had graced the pages you’d secretly devoured. You and your husband were exhausted. Though between the three of them, Jake was able to get it up and indulge in some soft, sleepy, tipsy sex in missionary before the pair of you conked out. 

It felt as if you’d only closed your eyes for a few minutes when the car service woke you with their courtesy call to inform you that they were outside, and you both napped on the plane. Now however, it seemed that Marc was rearing to go. 

He rid you of the tacky, but incredibly comfy, bride-themed matching sweats your uni friends had gotten for your hen do as a gag gift and you couldn’t help but giggle while you rolled around together on top of the bed. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Spector,” you echoed breathily while Marc nibbled on your ear, grinding his already rock hard erection into your bare leg. 

“Has a nice to ring it,” he murmured. Layla hadn’t taken his name when they had wed. It didn’t bother Marc, more and more women were choosing not to, and she had her own reasons for keeping her maiden name. But the fact that you’d wanted to, that you were happy to become a Spector despite all the baggage that name held, made Marc’s heart soar.

“Mmmmhmm,” you agreed. “A good thing since we’ll be using it for quite a while.” 

“Forever,” your husband specified, parting your folds with his fingers. 

Your eyes were drawn to the platinum band that now encircled his left ring finger. “Forever.” 

Marc caught you watching him and a wicked idea formed in his mind. Steven raised the concern if it was sanitary, yet Jake quickly overruled him and told Marc to do it anyway. Those two truly felt like the trope of the devil and angel on his shoulder sometimes. 

Instead of easing his index or middle finger inside of you to begin prepping you for his dick, Marc penetrated you with his ring finger. You gasped at the audacious move, letting out a little yelp when you felt the precious metal of the ring breach your entrance, warm from Marc’s skin but still cooler than the heat of your cunt. 

Marc’s dark eyes gazed up at you from those ridiculously long eyelashes of his. “That feel good?”

“Yeah,” came your breathless reply. The both of you stared mesmerized as his finger plunged in and out of your pussy, enthralled with how Marc’s wedding band would disappear and re-emerge from your cunt. 

Soon your sounds indicated to Marc that you needed more, and he was all too happy to comply. His middle finger joined the other digit, making sure you were stretched enough to take his cock, which currently was so hard he likely could cut glass at this point. 

Your husband tugged on your hips, positioning your bum on the edge of bed to lock your legs around him. He took his cock in hand and entered you in a smooth shove of his pelvis. You both moaned at the feeling of becoming one, as if it had been weeks since you’d been together like this and not a matter of hours. 

Marc was eager, you could tell from the way he jackrabbited his hips into you. It was the kind of rough fucking that emptied your mind of everything but the stretch of your tight channel around his considerable girth. You were all too happy to succumb to it, you were in Greece, the wedding was over, and all of your responsibilities were thousands of miles away in London. 

His hand found your clit quickly and rubbed the bud with harsh strokes. You gasped and dug your heels into the bottom of his back to pull him closer. 

“Not going to last long,” Marc revealed while he hammered you, “wanted you since we woke up.”

“That’s okay honey,” you soothed him. After all, you’d gotten some last night. A little shiver ran through through you when you realized this was the first time you and Marc were having sex a married couple. Marc Spector, the man who was so convinced he was unworthy of happiness and did everything he could to push you away, was now making love to you on your honeymoon. 

He dropped down lower, his hands covering your breasts, which sent another, more prominent shiver through you as Marc chased his release. The movement of his hips switched, his thrusts became grinds, which allowed your clit to receive some stimulation too.

You studied Marc’s face fondly, enjoying the view of his Adam's apple as it bobbed, the short black hair that was beginning to curl from the sweat gathering at his hairline, and of course, that face, so handsome and contorted in pleasure, only made more beautiful when he spurted his hot seed inside of you. 

After he came down, Marc fell onto his forearms to nuzzle your face with his. 

“Hi,” he whispered, peppering your face with kisses. You giggled and squirmed at the attention. 

He gently took his cock from your pussy, then knelt before your slit at the side of the bed. 

“Hun…”

Marc knew that tone of voice of yours, it was the inflection you used when you told him “not to worry about it”. He cursed all the men that’d allowed you to think that your pleasure wasn’t as, if not more important, than his. Marc bit the inside of your thigh playfully to stop you. “Hey, I’m fulfilling my husbandly duties here, okay?”

You surrendered with a shy little grin. He knew tossing a reference to your newly minted marriage would end your protests. Marc got to work, licking a stripe up your folds to taste the two of you before sucking on your clit and inserted two fingers into you to stimulate your g-spot. Whines and shaking legs soon followed as you came on Marc’s thick digits. 

Before he could rise fully to grab a cloth for you, you grabbed his wrist and sucked his ring finger into your warm, wet mouth, fellating the band with your tongue. Its metallic taste was new to you and honestly, rather unpleasant, but the way Marc looked at you while you did it was well worth it. 

“Fuck baby,” he groaned once you released him. He stood up and ran a hand through his hair sheepishly, “I really pounced on you just now, didn’t I?”

You sat up too. “No complaints here.” 

Marc drew you up to standing to kiss you and the both of you tended to yourselves in the bathroom. You took turns relieving yourselves and Marc splashed water on his face. You emerged from the little stall for the toilet with a request. “We should cool off in the pool.”

Your husband cocked a brow. “Bathing suits optional, I’m assuming?” 

“What’s the point of having a private pool if you’re not going to skinny dip?” 

“And people think I only married you for your beauty,” he joked. 

This had to be heaven, you concluded. You and Marc floated in the pool together for a little while, both made speechless by the beauty of the Aegean before you, then toweled off and dozed in the shade together on the daybed. 

When you roused, you automatically pecked the dip that ran between your husband’s pecs, just under his chain with the star of David. When your eyes met, you could tell by the softness in them and the little quirk of his lips that it was Steven gazing back at you. 

“Well hello Mrs. Grant,” he murmured. Though technically on paper you’d taken the surname Spector, you planned to use Mrs. Grant and Mrs. Lockley respectively when the other boys fronted. 

“Hello yourself Doctor Grant,” you beamed back. “Happy honeymoon.”

“Happy honeymoon indeed,” he concurred, “This is the ideal way to wake up, I think…naked, you in my arms, and with ocean views.” 

“I can’t help but agree. Come back in the pool with me.” 

Steven followed you, both of you luxuriating in the cooling water. Even though it was pretty big for an in-room pool, you two refused to spread out. Steven held you into his arms once again, so close to one another you could distinguish each and every droplet of water that clung to his neck, collarbones, and face. 

Your lips drifted together in a liplock that quickly escalated and deepened. Steven’s large hands cupped your ass, giving it a squeeze, lifting you to walk to the edge of the pool. He parted your legs while you procured a towel to sit on. 

You continued to trade deep, passionate kisses while Steven stood still half-submerged in the water between your thighs, the sun warming your skin as you got lost in each other. His lips drifted down to your neck and clavicle, and his fingers found your core. He began with gentle touches and strokes between your folds, inserting a finger to feel your wetness and the remnants of his alter’s cum. 

“Baby,” you gasped when his thumb pressed into your clit. 

“What do you want, darling?” He rasped. 

“Your mouth,” you told him without hesitation, “then fuck me Steven.” 

He deferred, musing as he descended to your cunt, “We do have to consummate our marriage after all.”

Your clever response was eclipsed by a whimper when Steven began to eat you out. Still sensitive from your lovemaking with Marc from earlier, each lick and swirl of Steven’s tongue had you feeling like a live wire. His mouth had you just on the other side of too much, your husband working his signature magic on your twitching cunt while you leant back on your hands. 

“You taste so good,” Steven panted as he briefly pulled away for air. “Could eat this pussy forever Mrs. Grant.” 

“Please do,” you exhaled, only half-joking. 

He chuckled lowly, returning to your core, his tongue dancing on your clit and pushing into your hole. His nose was pressed perfectly into clit while he tongue-fucked you, so perfectly that you found your orgasm blindsiding you, suddenly snapping in your groin and flooding you with bliss.

When your eyelids at last fluttered open, your climax subsided, Steven gazed at you with adoration. “You’re so bloody gorgeous.” 

There was nowhere to hide your blush given that you were stark naked sitting on the poolside tile. “You’re so bloody good at that. Let me take care of you, I bet that big dick is just aching for me, isn’t it?”  

Steven agreed by pulling you back in the water, hooking his elbows into the bends of your knees and pressing your back into the wall of the pool. You took a hold of his erection, velvet-covered steel in your hand, and guided your husband inside of you below the water’s surface. Steven groaned when he entered you, and scooted you up the length of the wall so your back arched against the side of the pool. Your head rested on the towel, the position exposing your breasts to the warm air, allowing Steven to tongue your nipples as he pushed inside of you. 

The way Steven made love to you couldn’t be more different than how Marc had. Steven was slow, languid, and worshipful feeding his member into your cunt. Even though he was splitting you apart on his fat cock and filled his mouth with your tits, it didn’t feel like you could get close enough. You dug your fingertips, still sporting your wedding manicure, into the tile on either side of your bodies in an attempt to anchor yourself. The universe shrank to just you and your husband, the feel of him — so hot and hard inside of you — and the small rectangle of water you were fucking in. 

Steven angled his hips so the head of cock could brush against your g-spot and rub his pelvis against your clit. The combination was devastating but he entreated you, “Go on, love, can you give me one more? Know you can do it….wanna see your pretty face while you come.” 

You’d had three orgasms in the last twenty-four hours, but Steven was ruthless in the most tender way possible, cooing into your ear and coaxing yet another release from your quaking, over-stimulated body. The spasming of your pussy around him resulted in his hips picking up pace and frantically suckling on a nipple while his climax crashed over him. 

“Wow,” he marveled after you separated. 

“That about sums it up,” you giggled, dunking under the water to re-wet your hair, “and to think we have ten days just for us.” 

***

The pair of you eventually did unpack and leave your room. You’d never had so much space in your suitcase before, since the majority of what you’d brought were swimsuits, skimpy lingerie and a few sundresses for meals and sightseeing. 

You put what you packed to use the next evening when you and your husband went to dinner in town. The night began in a breezy, white satin slip dress. Jake held your hand as you two strolled back to the resort, both of you giddy, inebriated from the wine at dinner and each other’s presence. 

Jake began humming some Spanish song you didn’t recognize, twirling you and pulling you under his arm as you navigated the uneven but mostly empty streets of the neighborhood. Marc and Steven were shy about it, but they had a great voice, and you soaked up every moment Jake would sing with unfettered delight. 

He ducked down to kiss you, whispering “Eres mi reina” when you broke apart. 

“Te amo,” you sighed back. 

Jake re-captured your lips, and next thing you knew, your back was against the side of a building as he attacked your mouth. It took a Herculean amount of self-control to withdraw your lips from his, but you had to or else you’d start fucking in the middle of the street. While you two shared a fondness for a bit of exhibitionism, that wasn’t exactly the vibe you were trying to achieve on your honeymoon. “Papi, let’s go inside.”

Your husband ignored you, his hands creeping down to your ass and kissing below your ear. 

“I’ll make it worth your while…”

That got his attention. Dark eyes glittered in the street lamplight as they searched yours.  “How?” 

“Guess you’ll just have to see,” you teased. 

From there on, Jake followed you back to your suite like a puppy. Once you’d returned to the privacy of your room, you pushed Jake back on the bed and ordered him to wait, then disappeared into the bathroom to change out of the dress and into a white bustier and panty set that managed to be lacy, sheer, strappy and somewhat tasteful all at once. 

You remerged and Jake instantly muttered a “Joder” at the sight of you. 

You did a little spin for him to get the full view. “Te gusta? Piensas que yo miro linda?”

“No, eres linda, pero ahora ves tan sexy,” he corrected you in a growl. “Ven aquí.”

“Come get me,” you challenged him. 

Jake leapt to his feet and chased you around the suite. You evaded him in a fit of giggles, but you were no match for your ex-military, ex-superhero husband. He circled his arms around your waist, lifted you from the ground, and tossed you onto the bed in one swift move. 

“Naughty,” he rumbled, caging you between his meaty thighs and while he rid himself of his shirt, then moved to unbutton and unzip his linen trousers to free his raging erection. Once he’d taken them off, plus palmed himself to take some of the edge off, he began exploring your body with his hands. 

“This is too pretty to rip off of you,” he mused, tracing the waistband of your tiny thong. But Marc’s voice had said it. 

“Oh, hi babe,” you greeted him, a little startled. 

He kissed you hello, grinding against your cloth-covered core, “Hi baby.” 

As much as you enjoyed the feel of his length against your soaked panties, you had to ask, “Everything ok with Jake?” 

“Yeah, we just thought we’d maybe try being co-conscious tonight, if that’s ok? Be a little more fast and loose with the switches?” 

Now there was an idea. In the past, one of the boys may have fronted momentarily while you were intimate with another, you’d never had sex with them fully co-conscious, to your knowledge at least.

“Okay,” you consented. “Just don’t get cross with me if I accidentally call someone by the wrong name.” 

Marc fixed you with a warm, lopsided smile, “We’ll take it easy on you…to start.” 

“Good,” you pulled him into another kiss. When you two broke apart, Steven was grinning down at you. 

“Now this is just darling,” he mused, tugging the cups of your bustier down to free your breasts. He wasted no time attaching his skilled mouth to your left nipple to lavish his attention on your sensitive peak.

You mewled, eyes screwed shut, and your hand shot down to Steven’s boxer-briefs to grope him through the fabric. 

Steven switched nipples with a rumble in his chest and once you were face to face again, Jake asked you “Will you suck Papi’s cock in your pretty outfit?” 

“Por supuesto Papi.”

You flipped over, reorienting yourselves so Jake was on his back and you were straddling his legs. You discarded his boxers and did your best to make a show of lapping at his tip, mouthing at the head and using your tongue to play with it. 

“Joder si, nena,” Jake heaved, trying to keep from bucking into your mouth without warning. “Just like that.” 

You worked your mouth down on his length, and you spotted who you thought was Steven craning his neck to watch you swallow his dick down your throat with your tits still out. “Bloody hell.”

You chuckled around his erection, the vibrations sending a shiver through Steven’s spine. Or wait, was that a Marc sound? 

“Don’t stop,” Jake urged you. You obeyed happily, licking the circumference of his cock to wet it, then wrapping your palm around the appendage to stroke what couldn’t fit in your mouth while you went to town on him. 

You could tell your boys were close by the way their right leg twitched, but before could take them into the home stretch, a hand pulled you off their cock by your hair. 

“Jake doesn’t get to come just like that,” Marc growled, wrapping his own hand around the base of his manhood to stave off his orgasm. 

“Fuck you,” Jake vollied quickly before Marc reclaimed the body and eased with you a kiss. “Hands and knees, baby.” 

You obeyed, wiggling your ass a bit for effect, and whimpered when you felt a palm slap across your right cheek. That was Jake for sure. The drenched crotch of your thong was pushed to the side, then you felt the head of your husband’s cock circle your soaking entrance a few times before it began to breach you, which was a Steven move. 

Your husband set a steady pace and confirmed your guess as to who was fronting when Steven raved, “Oh, I see why they like this position…such a lovely view.” 

“It’s good isn’t it?” Marc chimed in, increasing the pace of his thrusts some. “First time I fucked you we did it like this, remember baby?” 

“Ye-uh…uh-huh,” you could barely formulate words at this point. The idea of your husbands teaming up to fuck you in a slutty little matching lingerie set was melting your brain. 

“She takes it so well,” Jake added. His hand pressed in between your shoulder blades and you yielded so that your face and chest were resting on the bed, ass higher in the air. 

“Ugh that’s it,” Marc groaned, landing another slap across your rear. 

“Doing so well for us, love,” he praised. It was Steven obviously. “You alright?” 

You stuttered out a “yes” and began pushing your hips back against his groin as much as you could to drive your point home. 

When Jake said “Hmmm, si nena, let us feel that little cunt clench around our cock,” you couldn’t resist anymore, you had to touch yourself. 

Jake spotted it right away and spanked you again, “Did I say you could play yourself?”

“Por favor Papi,” you begged. You were beyond dignity at this point, all you could think about was coming. “I need it.”

“Let her Jake,” Steven argued, rubbing the imprint his alter’s hand left to soothe your skin, “she got all dressed up for us.” 

“Plus it’s hot as fuck to watch her work her little bud,” Marc pointed out. 

“Bien, bien,” Jake let it go. 

“Who do you want to make you come?” Steven asked, his hips never faltering as he continued to impale you with the fat member you craved.  

“I…um…uh…”

“Aw look Steven, we made her all cockdumb,” Marc cooed at you. 

Your current position prevented you from sending a dirty look at your husband. He wasn’t exactly wrong though.  

“I got her,” Jake volunteered. A moment later, a wet thumb circled your asshole and edged ever so slightly in. The extra stimulation, combined with your fingers frantically rubbing your clit, caused you to come with a high whine. You bore down on your husband’s big dick as the pleasure wracked you, so profound it was almost painful. 

Your husband held your hips steady as you drifted down from your orgasm and he sought his own release. You reflexively tightened around his spent cock when you felt the ribbons of his seed empty inside of you. 

You rolled over, lying on the bed sideways to look at them. Marc gazed back at you, examining your face with concern to make sure they hadn’t gone too hard on you, you presumed. Speech hadn’t returned to you just yet, so you sent him a toothy, satisfied smile instead. 

“You okay baby?” He asked. You nodded, allowing him to slide off your panties. 

Steven cut in quickly to follow up, “You need anything for your bum?” 

“I think I’m okay, hun, but thank you,” you assured him. He turned you around to take off your bustier for you as well. 

“‘Course,” he replied instantly, slowly standing to walk bow-legged to the bathroom and wipe his cum off of you. “They got a little carried away at the end there.” 

“Did not” you heard Jake snipe back.  

They reappeared with Marc’s stern expression on their features. “You sure you’re okay? Obviously we loved it, but….“

Jake butted in to finish his question, “Did you like it, nena?” 

“Yes,” your tone didn’t leave any room for doubt. Now a little more recovered from your orgasm, you could string together a sentence. “I loved it, it was just intense, and it was our first time being intimate like that.”

“We’re a bit full on, aren’t we?” Steven asked with wry self-deprecation, tossing the used flannel off to the side of the room and getting under the covers. 

“I love it,” you said once again, settling into his arms, “I married you after all.”

“Good,” Steven murmured. “You didn’t happen to bring more lingerie like that, did you?” 

***

Though the benefits to having a private pool were many…mainly that you and your husband could have pool sex whenever the mood struck, you did make it to the beach. It’d be a sin not to, and the image of Marc emerging form the ocean was one you’d lock in your mind until you died. 

He was dripping wet head to toe, dark hair slicked back with water, his trunks clinging to those muscular thighs that drove you wild, and his golden skin had darkened a shade from the sun. Though you knew your husband had once been entangled with an Egyptian deity, you couldn’t help but think that Marc would be quite at home in the Greek pantheon too, with a body and face like that. 

“Hey! You gotta get in,” he ran a hand through his hair, “It’s like bathwater.” 

“I think you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen,” you blurted out. 

Marc shot you a wide, unguarded grin. “I already married you, you don’t need to keep flattering me anymore.”

“Shut up,” you tossed at him fondly. 

Marc lowered his still dripping body on top of you. You tried to wiggle away from him but Marc locked you in his grasp and attacked you with kisses all over your face, “I think that I’ve never seen a more beautiful woman with a more generous heart. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Marc,” your voice was thick with tears. It was one thing for Marc to be so playful with you, then add in such loving sentiments expressed to you so openly? You couldn’t help but get verklempt. Your husband had come such a long way - partly thanks to the work he did on his own, with his therapist, and of course you two refusing to give up on each other. 

“Baby, don’t cry!” He cajoled. 

“I’m not, I’m sweaty,” you joked. 

“Okay, then I was sweating at the temple,” Marc bantered back, referring to your wedding ceremony. “Will you please come swim with me? The most handsome man you’ve ever seen?” 

You shoved playfully Marc and got up to head to the water, “I give you one compliment…” 

***

Kate, one of your friends from work, had gifted you a couples massage at the resort for your wedding present. You weren’t sure how the boys decided which one would front for it, but when it was time to leave for the appointment, Jake was the one accompanying you. 

It was heavenly to have all of the wedding and travel stress massaged from your muscles, and no one was more deserving of rest & relaxation than your husband. Their body worked three jobs, plus there had been much strategizing and occasional hair-pulling for Marc and Jake about leaving things with their respective jobs in a place so that they wouldn’t come back from Greece to dumpster fires. Steven was mercifully on summer holiday, so his job was slow anyway. 

The pair of you left your joint session as pliable noodle-people. Jake took your hand as you ambled back to your suite. 

“I’m going to give Kate the biggest thank you,” you vowed. 

He seconded you with a content hum and opened the door to your room. 

“I’m going to take a shower, get all of this oil off of me,” you announced, padding into the bathroom, “honey, what did you do with my shampoo?” 

You routed around in his toiletries bag, thinking you’d found it, but what you produced was definitely not your stolen shampoo. 

Jake had followed you in and when he saw that you were holding the bottle of lube he brought, it was one of the very few times you’d ever seen him blush. You had no trouble getting wet, and you hadn’t brought any toys on vacation either, so what had he brought lube for…oh. 

All he’d wanted for the past few “special occasions” you two had shared (Hannukah, your anniversary, Daylights Savings Time) was anal sex. You weren’t opposed to the idea, but had required a gradual approach to it. To his credit, Jake had been wonderfully patient, and you’d become comfortable with a few of his thick fingers in your ass. 

Jake immediately began to backtrack, “I only brought it in case you wanted to—“

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I mean I’m open to it, when in Greece on your honeymoon, right? 

Jake looked at you with barely contained eagerness. “Bueno, cuando quieres hacerlo?”

He knew that if he wanted a piece of your ass, he had to ask in advance. You were a lady and you had a certain mystique you had to maintain, not to mention preparation you needed to undergo. But, given that you were already pretty relaxed and going to shower anyway, now seemed as good a time as any. 

“No time like the present,” you suggested. 

“Wait, really?!” Jake reacted similarly to a little boy who’d been given his first bike. 

You couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at his response. “Yeah, I’m all loosened up after the massage and I’ll make this shower a thorough one. So while I do, vamos and make things extra romantic in the bedroom.” 

“Si Señora Lockley,” he basically road-runnered out of the bathroom. 

Jake took your task to heart – when you entered the bedroom, hair damp, lube in hand, towel wrapped around you — candles had been lit, music was playing softly, and he had even managed to get a bottle of champagne up to the room while you’d washed up. 

“Not bad Lockley,” you said after surveying the room. You tossed him the lube. “Not bad at all.”

He shot you a grin that was akin to a wolf who just caught sight of a rabbit. Jake gestured to the champagne, “Shall we? Loosen you up un poquito mas?” 

“Por favor,” you assented. You weren’t sure exactly what made the popping of a champagne bottle so sexual, but a little thrill zinged through you when your husband ejected the cork from its glass neck. 

“Cheers,” you thanked him when he handed you a flute, raising it to toast, “To…new beginnings.” 

Jake mimicked your movement, “A tí, mi amor.”

Your glasses clinked and the fizzy alcohol rushed down your throat. Jake's eyes never left your face. He watched you closely, anticipating the moment when he could finally touch you. 

You decided sooner was likely better than later, best get the show on the road before you could psych yourself out. Placing your flute down, you crossed to him, “Come here Papi.”

Jake flashed you another predatory grin and followed suit at once. “We don’t need this anymore.” His fingers tucked between the towel covering your skin and pulled it loose so the cloth fell around your feet. 

Jake was more intoxicated by the sight of your naked body than any amount of champagne in his system. He wrapped you into a kiss, plundering your mouth, his lips seeking to consume you. His hands, meanwhile, immediately dropped to your rear. 

Hoisting you up with a squeeze, he carried you over to the bed, depositing you on the mattress much more gently than a few nights ago. His mouth never left yours while he worked you to an orgasm on his fingers. 

Then, and only then, did Jake request you turn over, wedge a pillow under your hips, and leave a line of kisses down the length of your spine. 

You couldn’t help but squirm a little when he pulled your cheeks apart. You’d never felt more exposed in your life, but your husband was quick to quell any of your concerns when he asked in an awed whisper, “Nena, can I kiss you here?” 

“Mmm…oh-okay,” you consented and jerked again when you felt his hot breath on your most vulnerable spot, followed by a brush of his lips. 

Next came the snick of the cap of the bottle being opened, and moments later, Jake massaged lube around your wrinkled skin to coat it thoroughly. He may have been excited, but your husband knew he had to be gentle with you. 

Though Jake had gotten you accustomed to much more, you could never stifle the little “ah” you made when the pad of his finger breached your rim. He coaxed more of his digit inside of you, taking ample time to allow you to adjust. 

Jake checked in with you. “How does that feel?” 

“It’s okay,” you told him, “you can move.” 

He proceeded like that, constantly touching base with you as he fed two more fingers into your tight pucker. Your husband’s preparation was a steady stream of “are you okay nena?”, “you feel good? Papi wants you to feel good,” and other praise. 

So thorough was Jake in opening you up that he’d lost his erection by the time you’d given him the go-ahead to enter you. He wasn’t exactly miffed by this development, because he knew precisely how he wanted to get it back. 

Even more lube was drizzled onto your bum, then Jake slicked up his cock to wedge it between your plush cheeks and began to grind himself between them. There was no way to muffle the rumble in his chest at the feel of your ass smothering his cock, the lube providing the necessary slip, and he was damn near entranced by his cockhead reappearing each time from the cleft of your ass. 

You helped him, working your hips back to meet his while he humped you. It felt amazing, and your asshole clenched at the thought that he’d be inside you soon. Fucking your ass cheeks got Jake back to full mast in no time. You were beginning to lose yourself in the rhythmic sliding of your bodies when you husband draped himself over your back to ask in a murmur, “Can I put it in, nena?” 

“Uh huh,” you confirmed, “just go slow please.” 

“Claro que si,” Jake assured you, placing a kiss behind your ear before he straightened up. 

He applied even more lube to your now winking asshole and his dick before he notched the tip at your entrance. “Estas lista?” 

“Yes honey, please,” his cockhead at your pucker felt like a promise you were now desperate for him to make good on. 

Jake’s tip popped past the ring of muscle and you nearly bit down on the linens below you. It was intense, though not altogether painful like you’d feared. You focused on keeping your breathing even as your husband continued to sink inside of you, becoming lightheaded from the overwhelming feeling of fullness in your ass and the deep pulls of oxygen you were pumping into your lungs. 

“Bien?” Jake asked. The strain in his voice was evident. 

“Yeah,” was the most you could manage. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Like I want more,” you told him truthfully. The feeling of having your husband’s dick up your bum was dizzying, deliciously too much, like a scab you weirdly enjoyed picking. 

You experimentally fluttered your muscles around his length and even though Jake was a loving, patient man, even he could not resist the thrust and groan that the move prompted. “Feel good, Papi? Like everything you’ve wanted?”

Jake began moving his hips slowly, “And more.” 

While the view of the sea outside of your window was stunning, Jake didn’t think he’d ever seen a sight he’d enjoy more than his throbbing cock splitting your ass in half over and over again.  

“You…you feel so big like this,” you gasped. “So huge inside me.” 

“Joder, mami, you can’t just say things like that,” he cautioned you as he continued to plow you. 

“Buh-but I can’t help it,” you confessed, and your mind quickly supplied what to say next to drive him absolutely wild. “Fucking me so deep, Papi.”

“Nnnngnnn,” came Jake’s scintillating reply. By now, most of the burn had faded from your channel and you could focus on the delicious stretch in your rear from his cock.

You honestly couldn’t believe how good it felt. Fingers and fantasies were one thing, plus you were fully prepared to take one for the team, to be a good wife and try it even if you weren't keen on the idea. But now you were the slightest bit ashamed to admit that you kind of loved having a cock in your ass. Or maybe it was the fact it was your husband’s thick erection filling you. 

Jake’s brain did nearly explode when you began meeting his thrusts, rocking back on your knees so he could penetrate you deeper. Your ass was absolutely suffocating his cock with its heat and clench around him, he truly believed he could live inside of you forever if you’d let him. 

The two of you communicated exclusively in gasps in grunts, the slap of skin on skin reverberating throughout the suite while you drowned each other in pleasure. You knew when Jake picked up the rate of his thrusts and began growling that he was close and oh, it was different to have your ass filled with cum rather than your pussy. 

You’d barely recovered from Jake easing his cock out of you when you were flipped onto your back and your husband buried his face between your legs. A high-pitched moan tore out from you when his tongue probed your now slightly gaping asshole to collect his cum. 

Jake didn’t stop there, licking around your cleft and spearing his tongue to circle its tip around your sensitive rim. He only relented when you gently pushed his face away from overstimulation. Between your earlier orgasm and the passion of what you had just shared with Jake, you needed to rest.  

He rose back to be level with your face, whispering “thank you” non-stop as he collected you in his arms. “I guess I have to be extra good from now on.”

“Mmmm?” you sought clarification with a sleepy hum. 

“We need to do that again so I can’t piss you off anymore,” he explained. 

You chuckled. “Exactly right, esposo.” 

He inhaled deeply, taking a deep whiff of your hair to smell the faint citrusy scent of your shampoo before he left the bed. To his credit, Jake was excellent with the post-anal aftercare. He drew you a bath, ordered everything you wanted from (the heinously expensive in his opinion) room service, rubbed some petroleum jelly on your pucker to soothe it. He cuddled you in bed, long after the sun sank beyond the horizon, until you drifted off later that evening. 

***

“Good morning!” the concierge Helena greeted you as you approached her desk. 

“Hi there,” you chirped back. The boys slept in this morning, which gave you the opportunity to sneak down to the lobby and square away the details for today’s day trip that you and Steven planned on taking. “Could I please have a copy of the ferry schedule?”

“Of course, Mrs. Spector,” one week in and you still got a little flutter every time someone called you that, “where are you headed?” 

“Delos,” you told her. 

“A must when visiting Mykonos. We’d be happy to arrange a private tour of the island for you and your husband,” Helena offered, “We have relationships with a few exceptional guides on Delos and–”

“Oh that won’t be necessary,” you tried to turn her down gently. “But thanks for the offer.” 

“Are you sure?” she asked. “There’s so much history there.” 

“My husband’s a professor of ancient civilizations,” you explained as she passed you the little flyer with the ferry timetable, “he’s been researching Delos since we booked this trip months ago.” 

“Huh, I thought he said he was a consultant,” Helena’s colleague, a male concierge who’d welcomed you, chimed in. 

“He is,” you covered, thinking fast, “He teaches and consults with archaeologists on digs.” 

“You’ll be well set then” Helena concluded with a smile. 

“Yes,” you agreed, “I won’t be surprised if by the end of the day, I’ll be able to lead a tour of the island.” 

Your prediction was more or less correct. Steven’s eyes lit up as Delos came into view from the ferry’s bow. He’d already briefed you on the early history and beginnings of the island on the ride over. Anyone else, it would be pedantic and infuriating, but Steven was so genuinely invested that his urge to share about the island was endearing, his enthusiasm about its lore contagious. 

You two meandered through the breathtaking ruins hand-in-hand. Steven’s unofficial tour of the island was so engaging that you clocked a few American tourists loitering near you, eavesdropping to hear all of your husband’s in-depth knowledge of the different statues and remains of the site. 

Your husband remained blissfully oblivious, and you didn’t mind the audience. You’d gotten your picture at the Terrace of the Lions, and besides, Steven was at his best like this. You thought back to when you first met and started dating him: his hunched posture, general jumpiness, the way he’d hedge and second-guess himself. Those facets of him had already melted away to an extent now that all four of you had settled into a groove that worked for everyone, but when Steven had a chance to talk about the subjects he was passionate about, he was calm, confident, and charismatic. He shone brighter than the blazing Greek sun and it warmed your heart more than words could ever describe to see your darling husband so effortlessly in his element. 

So taken were you by his swagger that you interrupted his latest lecture about Cleopatra or something as you strolled to the Temple of The Delians, walking him back into one of the tall, ancient pillars to kiss him senseless. 

“Blimey,” he sighed when you broke apart, “what was that for?” 

You cocked your head playfully, “Do I need a reason to kiss my smart, sexy husband?” 

“No,” he conceded with a sheepish smile playing across his lips. 

You crowded closer to his body, his spine now pressed against the millennia-old, unyielding marble.

“These broad shoulders, all this golden skin…you look like a Greek god, you know,” you informed him while your hands traveled the cotton-covered expanse of his body. You pressed yourself impossibly closer to his body. 

“Careful,” he warned you,“because soon this column won’t be the only thing as hard as stone.” 

“Oh yeah?” Your tone was a playful challenge as you palmed his hardness through his shorts. 

He groaned, “Babe…”

You withdrew your hand from his crotch. “Wanna feel what you do to me? So we’re even?” 

He nodded feverishly to accept your offer and slipped his hand under the skirt of your sundress to dip his fingers inside of your lacy panties and feel you. 

“So wet,” he observed reverently, playing with your folds and bud, “All this for me?”

“It’s certainly not for the ruins,” you quipped. 

He slipped a finger inside you for your cheekiness, and you instantly tightened around him with a little whimper. 

“Only you could make me want to cut a trip to Delos short,” he mused, slowly withdrawing his finger from your cunt, wiping your wetness on your panties, so as not to draw any attention. 

“I’ll behave myself,” you promised, smoothing down your skirt. “Delos was your only honeymoon request.” 

Steven’s hand took yours once again. “This and more lingerie fashion shows.” 

You squeezed his hand, “Play your cards right and I'll give you a good one later.” 

***

You’d put on quite the naughty fashion show for Steven when you returned to the suite and between the vigorous fucking your little act had resulted in and a day of sightseeing in the sun, you two passed out cold post-coitus. 

Marc had woken up with you just as the sun disappeared below the horizon and suggested a dip to cool and rinse you off after your earlier lovemaking. You knew what “a dip in the pool” meant when your husband suggested it, but what you hadn’t expected was to be bent over your balcony in the Grecian twilight in the nude while your husband railed you from behind.

“Now this is a beautiful view,” he remarked as he pounded you. “I have the ocean and your ass jiggling without having to turn my head.” 

Words escaped you at the moment. You were bowed over the rail, indescribably full in this position, equal parts thrilled and terrified that people could see your husband using your pussy in the dwindling sun.

Marc pulled your ass cheeks apart to get a better look at his cock as it was sucked in by your cunt. He kept a hand holding you open while the other massaged the wrinkled skin of your pucker, causing you to convulse at the unexpected touch. 

“I get your ass next,” he declared, “It was so hot watching Jake take it…fuck, like a porno just for me and Steven. You were so beautiful.” 

You mewled. As dirty as Marc liked to be, he could never abandon his adoration of you. You belonged to one another, each of you placing your trust, respect, vulnerability in the other’s hands to have absolutely shameless sex like this. 

“Duh-duh-do…do you think anyone can see?” You wondered out loud. 

“Dunno,” Marc replied, still thumbing your asshole. “Probably not but I don’t care if they do, because you’re mine. Right, baby?” 

“Yeah,” you instantly concurred . “All yours daddy.” 

The use of the pet name spurred Marc to spin you around so that your back was up against the crossbeam that made up the railing. He hitched your leg around his thick hips and plunged back into your needy core swiftly. 

“So beautiful,” he repeated again now that you were facing each other. “So goddamn gorgeous.” 

“Such a slut for you Marc,” you rambled, your breath hitching when his hand dropped between you once more, this time to strum at your clit. 

“Fuck yeah,” he grunted. “My wife is a slut for me and only me, you’ve got everyone else fooled.” 

“It’s ‘cause you fuck me like this,” you provided, “‘s why I married you, no one else can make me come so hard.” 

Marc redoubled his efforts on your little nub, now fully peeking out from its hood. “That’s right, come for me baby.” 

Who were you to disobey? You had to bite your lip to muffle your mind as the fire of your orgasm licked through every corner of your body. Your hands gripped the wooden railing for dear life as it spread throughout your limbs. 

Marc followed shortly after you, burying his face into your shoulder as he released deep into your heat with a satisfied groan. He brought your lips together once he finished, capturing you in tender liplock, allowing his cock to soften inside you before extracting it. 

“Let’s never go back to London,” you proposed. 

You could feel Marc’s amused smile against your skin. “Deal.” 

Of course you had to, but it was nice to pretend as if you all didn’t have lives to go back to in two and a half days, even if only for a moment. 

***

The next morning, your last full day in Greece, you didn’t want to get out of bed. Your airtight, logical reasoning was if you didn’t wake up the day couldn’t start and pass you by. Plus, you were too comfortable to move. Your back and neck were supported by fluffy pillows, your legs were splayed open and damn, there was the most delightful sensation between them. 

It took embarrassingly long for your sleep and pleasure-addled brain to realize that your husband was feasting at you. You eyes blinked open to find the covers pushed back and his inky curls at the apex of your thighs. You moaned, and when he flicked his tongue in quick succession over your clit, you knew it was Steven. 

“Honey.” 

“Oh you’re awake,” he grinned, his chin wet from your slick when he briefly separated himself from your cunt to greet you. “Brilliant.” 

…And he went right back to eating you out like a starving man. You gasped, your fingers curled into his locks, and you jolted into a sitting position as Steven continued. Already the steady pulse of pleasure beat through you indicating that your climax was near. 

“How long have you been at this, baby?” 

“Dunno,” he murmured against your slit, “a while.” 

“Yeah?” Your voice was barely more than a rasp. “Woke up hungry for some pussy?” 

He moaned and nodded his head with his tongue firmly shoved against your bud and fuck, yep that did it. You came with a keen, your thighs trembling and your fingers clawing at the crisp white sheets.

Steven retreated some while your orgasm wracked your body, then dove right back in. You tried to twist away from him, still so sensitive, but Steven wrapped his muscled arms around your twitching legs to hold you still. 

“Baby,” you attempted to protest. 

“Need it,” he countered, his voice reedy. 

You pet his curls and tried to keep your legs steady as his morning scruff tickled your inner thighs. At least he eased back in to his assault on your cunt, dropping the lightest kisses on the crease where your thighs meet your groin before lapping at you once more.

He was trying to get as much of you wet as he could, it felt like, before he narrowed his target to just licking stripes from your asshole to your clit. Only once he had you dripping to his liking did he return to stick his tongue in your hole, gulping down your taste, moving to your clit shortly thereafter. 

By that point it didn’t take much for you to erupt on his tongue, awarding Steven another orgasm that you could feel from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. 

You were not proud to admit that you kind of zoned out at that point, Steven’s mouth enshrined you in a haze of pleasure so dense that you just kind of floated atop it. Your husband seemed to be having the time of his life down there, so you were more than content to submit his ministrations.

You couldn’t really remember your name anymore but did it matter? Did you actually need to know your name to receive all of this ecstasy? 

He pulled one - wait maybe it was two? - orgasms out of you - solely with his mouth before Steven’s fingers joined in. He performed a variation of your favorite move, sucking on your clit and instead of finger-fucking you, his digits pressed deep inside of your pussy. He stroked your walls,  fingertips searching for that special spot. He found it, then your sweet Steven proceeded  to abuse the ever-loving fuck out of it. 

You could feel the magnitude of the orgasm building rapidly, more rapidly than you were used to, yet nevertheless you canted your hips against Steven’s mouth and fingers as you hurdled toward your peak.  Your release arrived with a distinct feeling of letting go, an uncontrollable sensation, but Steven wouldn’t stop worshiping your pussy, which wrenched a pitiful, strained wail from your mouth as you peaked. 

It was as if you couldn’t stop coming. You'd never experienced anything like this before, and although it felt magnificent, it scared you some too. 

Steven’s voice brought you back. “Fuck, that was hot.”

Your vision returned and you peered down at him to ask, “Did I just squirt?” 

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his face a portrait of sheer wonder. “It was bloody amazing.” 

“Ohmygod” you reeled, words coming out on a rush. “I didn’t know I could do that.” 

A flash of movement caught your eye. Steven gripped his cock which looked painfully hard, the top purpled and leaking. 

“C’mere baby,” you cooed, motioning toward you. “Use my mouth.” You couldn’t do much currently, but you could do this. 

Steven didn’t need to be told twice, awkwardly walking on his knees so he was straddling your chest. You gave his erection a few swipes of your tongue before you looked up at your husband, your eyes beckoning him to fuck your mouth like he needed to after denying himself pleasure for so long. You gripped onto his muscled, pillowy ass cheeks while he feverishly pistoned his dick into the warm suction of your mouth, the loveliest little sounds and cries escaping him. 

Given the events of this morning, it wasn’t long before you were swallowing down Steven’s cum. The size of his load indicated how pent up he’d been, and you struggled to swallow all of his hot seed down in one gulp. Your husband swung his leg over your body and collapsed next to you, the two of you rendered silent after the intense lovemaking you’d just shared. 

“Blimey,” Steven remarked. “You alright, babe? Need anything?” 

You nuzzled into his chest. “I’m hungry.”  

“Yeah, we both worked up quite the appetite, didn’t we?” he chuckled. 

You joined in, amused. “If only we could subsist off each other’s bodily fluids.” 

“We definitely wouldn’t have left the room this week if that had been the case,” he pointed out. “I think the restaurant’s still serving breakfast if we hurry.”

“Can’t we get room service? I can’t move.” You pulled the covers over your head in protest. 

“But it’s so bloody expensive,” he bemoaned. 

You revealed your face to fire back, “Well, you should’ve thought of that before you made me squirt because you’ve rendered my legs useless.” 

Steven’s expression became tinged with concern. “You sure you’re alright?” 

“Yes,” you assuaged him once again, “but four orgasms tends to take it out of you. Plus, baby, it’s our last day here, we should treat ourselves.” 

Your husband relented, reaching for the in-room phone, “Want the bowl you had last time?”

You nodded, just absolutely beaming now that you’d gotten your way, and planted a wet kiss on Steven’s cheek as he placed your breakfast order. 

He pulled you close to him once more after he hung up, and you pondered as he held you, “I can’t believe I’ll be back at work in forty-eight hours. I’ll be meant to be catching up on emails and all I’ll be able to think about is how well you three fucked me.” 

Steven hummed in a mix of agreement and satisfaction. “We certainly made the most of it, didn’t we? It’ll be tough to go back to our usual routine and not shag at least two times a day.”

“How did we even do it?” you giggled. 

“No idea,” he played along, then tilted your chin up to kiss you gingerly, sincerely. “I think it’s safe to say our marriage has gotten off to a cracking start however.” 

You reconnected your lips, kissing him deeper. “Couldn’t agree more, my love.” 

A/N: hopefully this was worth the wait!! thank you again dawnsutopia for requesting and more fills to come soon! 

Taglist: @twwcs​, @rmoonstoner​, @hot-mess-express1​, @murdickdocked, @toracainz​, @saahmi​, @unspokenmoon​, @winterbiipp​, @avatarofseshat​ @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6​, @harrys-tittie​, @ninebluehearts​, @lucianadraven32​, @dawnsutopia​, @strawberry1042 @nikitawolfxo

Translations: 

Joder - Fuck 

Te gusta? Piensas que yo miro linda? - You like? Do you think I look cute? 

No, eres linda, pero ahora ves tan sexy - No, you’re cute but now you look so sexy 

Ven aquí - come here 

Por supuesto Papi - of course daddy

Joder si, nena - fuck yeah babe 

Bien, bien - okay, okay 

 Bueno, cuando quieres hacerlo? - good, when do you want to do it? 

Vamos - let’s go

Por favor - please 

Señora - Mrs. 

un poquito mas - a little more 

A tí, mi amor - to you, my love 

Claro que si - of course 

Estas lista - are you ready? 

esposo - husband 

#moon knight #moon knight smut #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector x female reader #marc spector x you #marc spector smut #steven grant #steven grant x female reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant smut #jake lockley #jake lockely x female reader #steven grant x you #jake lockely smut #jake lockley x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #bit-dodgy's 500 follower celebration #oscar isaac #oscar isaac smut #oscar isaac fanfiction #Oscar Isaac thirst hours

[heartthrobin]

my bleeding dream, my shadow in the night

jake lockley x female!reader

wc: 9.5k

warnings: mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda?), angst, jake lockley is emotionally constipated, there is heavy steven / marc x reader but mostly jake centred, description of wounds and stitching them up, blood, a couple references to sex, there is a dog (i see him as a leonburger btw), jake still works for khonshu, post mk s1, heavy handed on the spanish fight me

an: hey loves !!! sorry it took so long, but here you go. obvs this is my interpretation of jake cause we don't see much of him in mk :// remember to comment and repost to support your fav writers

summary: you were convinced, no: you were sure, that Jake Lockley couldn't stand the sight of you. then why was he consistently banging at your door in the middle of the night, dripping in blood and begging to be stitched up?

Mouse was noisy.

You really wished he wouldn't be.

He was a big boy, the largest puppy you'd ever seen when you'd picked him up from the shelter. Tall enough now to sit straight up at your kitchen table and swipe leftovers off the middle shelf in the fridge when left unattended.

Despite his monstrous presence, Mouse yipped and whined like a teacup terrier.

It wasn't too bad most days. You were more than welcome to lug his eighty kilogram bum with you to the veterinary clinic where you worked, which you did, but it was the weekends that were tough on him.

When he'd be left alone in the flat.

Mouse would whimper at the door all the hours you were gone, whine until he heard you shuffling back up the corridor after a couple drinks with friends or between all the mostly horrible dates with monotonous men you subjected yourself to.

You couldn't call him a nuisance - he was your baby, you could never - but the guilt picked at you. You wondered most of all if he bothered your neighbours.

There was a sign up in the elevator: no pets allowed in the building! which you avoided eye contact with on a daily basis.

It wasn't all bad, Mouse's noisiness.

After all, it was his dramatics that brought Steven Grant to your door in the first place a Sunday night somewhere deep into April.

Steven had knocked so lightly, so politely on your door.

You'd opened it just slightly, enough to hide the furry mountain who was hovering curiously behind your figure. Who's there? Who's there?

He'd stumbled out a greeting, introduced himself as your neighbour. Two doors down.

You were long lost in the confusion of how you'd never realised that the most handsome man you'd ever laid eyes on was living less than a few feet from your front door, when he mentioned Mouse.

Not by name, exactly, but rather asked if "the dog" was alright. That he'd heard whining into the early hours of that morning.

That morning when you'd been in a bar two streets up from the apartment building listening to a man tell you about why Bitcoin was the "future of finance". God.

Dread had drained your face of colour, you remember how you'd tripped over your apologies, and begged him not to mention it to the landlord.

Steven's face reflected your panic. He assured you that everything was fine, he was just worried that something had happened. He apologised about as much as you had.

You invited him in that night, let Mouse sniff around the edges of his pants.

Mouse had sat with his bear-sized head in Steven's lap the rest of the afternoon when you'd poured them tea. Steven chuckled nervously: you figured that he hadn't anticipated the size of the dog when he'd come to make his welfare check.

From that day, things rumbled into a colourful blur of neighbourly dues to genial friendship to ... god, you didn't even know anymore.

Stops in the corridors became twenty minutes for tea which morphed into "I cooked too much pasta, care for a plate?" and then three hours over your kitchen table.

Steven, you found, was cheeky and endearing, and shy in all the right places.

He talked more than he listened and you would warm yourself happily with the sound of his voice for hours before he'd stutter out a "I'm so rude, I didn't even ask how was your--", and then you'd give a little too.

There were books he put you on, mostly about Ancient Egypt, but others were poetry or mysteries or biographies. He'd invite you for tea in his flat, poke and prod you on your thoughts on the book while Mouse sat quietly invested in watching Gus and Gil float up and down the tank for hours.

You met Marc eventually.

He was soft in different ways to Steven, eyes wearier than his counterpart's. Marc was hesitant, following slowly when Steven tugged him out into the light of your eyes.

You worked on him gently, steadily. Brought him baked goods when you'd made, walked out with him some mornings to work and offered to stop with him for a coffee.

More than that, none of the boys took to Mouse more than Marc.

It was something about the military in him, you thought, that brought Marc around to bury his hands into the spaces behind the dog's ears. Coo at him and fish pieces of jerky out his pocket just so long as Mouse sat draped over his lap the whole time.

It rolled into walks with you on the weekends, when you'd need to sneak Mouse out the building, and then dinner on the way home.

The ebb and flow of it was sweet, and slow, and you sunk into the boys' presence like a cat bathing in sunlight.

Jake came later. Later, in the early days of July when the tendrils of Summer had sunk themselves deep into the heart of London.

He wasn't like Marc, not skittish. Neither welcoming nor open to your meddling, he seemed distinctly above it. Above you.

There was an explicit distinction between him and the other boys, maybe just to you.

Jake avoided your eyes and your conversation. He kept up with his alters' wishes but entertained you no further.

You'd heard about him long before you'd met him. A rainy afternoon, chasing down the foyer of the building with a "hold the elevator!"

His eyes found yours and you beamed at catching Steven or Marc before heading up.

"Hey--" you watched his eyes turn you over.

Jake didn't slouch like Steven, nor was he taut and tense in the shoulders like Marc. He stood with an ease about him, his head tilted down under the flat cap that worked to shield his eyes.

He greeted curtly, a definite East coast twang to his speech.

"You must be Jake." You said plainly, finding no other way around it.

The man's brow tightened, "Sure."

There came a realisation to his expression, twisting up again. "You must be the doll from down the corridor."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Neither of you moved.

"Uh ... I suppose so."

Jake nodded, moving without another word down towards his door. Your feet tripped over themselves to follow him.

Jingling keys broke the quiet of the corridor and his door creaked open.

"It was nice meeting--"

It closed with a thump.

"... you."

Your interactions with the third member of the system were spread out, bumps here and there. No more than a few words.

Steven worried about him, about Jake.

Him and Marc had told you about Khonshu, about the Moonknight, in the darkness of a Thursday night following a few glasses of whisky.

"But ..." the glass teetered over the wooden table where Marc was twirling it round. "He's gone now, right? I-I mean, you're done, aren't you?"

Marc's eyes flickered up just once.

"Yeah, yeah ..." he nodded, words blurred around the edges with alcohol. "Just some days ... I ... I don't know."

"You don't know?"

His eyes flickered.

"Yeah, love. We just worry about Jake some days, he comes home with bruises and stuff--" Steven.

His expression twisted again, this time almost painfully.

"Nothing to worry about." Marc had returned, clearly intent on shutting Steven up. He took a long slug of the brown remnants in his glass. "You still got any of that cake from yesterday?"

And so it passed that way, for weeks.

Jake was a ghost that haunted the corridors between awkward elevator interactions or sometimes when he'd pop into the middle of you and Steven's documentary movie nights.

It stayed that way for a long while, until the visits began.

The landlord arranged a check-in once a month, just to ensure that nothing was broken, that you were keeping the place clean, that you weren't hiding one of the hounds of Baskerville in your flat. Things of that sort.

Steven had graciously offered to let Mouse come stare at his fish tank for a few hours until the check-in was over.

You lingered at his door and knocked twice, eyes flickering nervously up and down the corridor for signs of any other tenants creeping out their own flats.

The door opened and with one glance over his figure, you knew it wasn't Steven.

"Jake?"

He squinted at you, clad in pajamas and looking you up and down affronted as if it wasn't already three o' clock in the afternoon. It was clear that he'd just woken up.

"Yeah?"

His hair was tousled in a way that was making your stomach churn. God, surely there were laws in place to stop men from looking this handsome in the middle of broad fucking daylight?

"Sorry to bother," your hand tightened around Mouse's leash where he was inching forward to lick at Jakes exposed ankles. "Steven said I could leave Mouse here for a couple hours while the landlord comes to check my place?"

Jake's eyes dropped to the dog, as if he was noticing him for the first time. He nodded, pulling the door further open for him to slip past.

You smiled softly, feeling the awkwardness crowd over your face and redden your cheeks. "Thanks, I-I really appreciate it."

He nodded again. "Yeah, no problem."

When you collected Mouse later that night, Marc opened the door with the dog merry under his palm and Jake was foggy memory.

That was the first night.

The street outside had already dimmed to a soft whir of taxis and buses when you'd slipped off into bed. Mouse was taking up most of the space, as he did most nights, and you'd passed out before the blinking light on your bedside clock had even hit midnight.

It was thunderous, the knock, when it came. It jostled you from sleep with the immediate panic that the door was being broken down.

Mouse was scratching at the base of the door before you'd even sat up, adrenaline pumping through your system. The clock flashed four thirty-seven.

"What the fuck ..." your bare legs kicked off the sheets, stumbling towards the door.

In hindsight, maybe checking the peephole would have been wise, but you threw open the door in oversight.

Leaning, head down and panting, against the wooden frame stood the figure of your neighbour.

"Jake?"

The jacket with the fur lining, the cap crumpled in his fist. It had to be him.

"What are you ..." Your eyes found the side of his waist, white shirt blossoming with a crimson stain.

Jake looked up with wide black eyes. Even in the darkness, they curled with remorse.

"Listen, I'm sorry, I just--"

"Get inside," your hand reached for his arm, helping him off the doorframe and guiding him to crash down into the nearest chair at your kitchen table.

He seethed, head leaning back over the seat. "Fuck ..."

Your knees found the wooden floor, hands creeping up his legs towards his shirt. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Cold hands crumpled up the edges of the once white t-shirt and you lifted it up against his chest. A deep gash was reaching from his armpit towards his hips.

You drew a shaky breath, "Jake, you need to go to the hospital--"

"No." His voice was stern. "No hospitals, I can't ... they can't know."

Realisation was dawning on your reeling mind.

"This has to do with Khonshu. Doesn't it?"

Jake's gaze burnt into yours, but he made no move to answer. It was the response you'd expected.

You sighed, running a hand back over your hair. "I ... I don't know what you want me to do?"

Mouse was sniffing curiously at Jake, sensing where the tension was building.

"You're a doc, aren't you?"

"For animals!"

He shrugged, "I'm as close as you're gonna get, muñeca."

Sucking in another deep breath, you glanced back at the wound. The dim light in the kitchen worked to hide where you were sure other cuts and bruises were forming over his torso.

The thought of Steven and Marc occurred to you. When they would wake up tomorrow morning in a hospital bed, panicked.

You nodded eventually.

"Fine." It was barely a whisper. "Give ... give me a second."

There was a small set-up in the cupboard beneath your sink, the basics you'd need to stitch him up.

He made no other comment in your movement to the bathroom and back. You placed the box onto the table noisily.

"You need to get up on the counter," you said, flipping the light on in the corner of the room. "I can't work kneeling down like this."

With a grunt that made your cheeks warm, Jake rose from the chair and hauled himself up onto your kitchen counter, knocking your toaster back against the wall loudly.

"Lose the shirt." You said it without meeting his eyes.

When his jacket and shirt had been tossed back against the table behind you, you neared him again: letting your fingers graze softly around the wound. You worked hard to ignore the sharp inhale he made at your touch, or the goosebumps that rose around your hand.

He was watching you with heavy eyes, you glanced up to meet them and if you didn't know better, might have said that they twinkled with a shine of endearment.

"I don't have any anaesthetic," you whispered, sure he could hear you at the close proximity you now found yourself with him. "You'll feel everything."

"He tenido peores."

I've had worse.

You considered him for a moment, before reaching behind his head for the knob on the cupboard: swinging it open.

Behind some coffee mugs was the last of a bottle of vodka you'd gotten for your birthday. Not a lot, but maybe enough.

You handed it to him and he took it without question, spinning off the lid. He took three big gulps, face twisting as he sat it down.

Picking it up before his hand had even left it, you took two similar sips to wash down the panic rising in your throat.

When you found his face again, a smile had curled into his lips. Like he was on the verge of a laugh.

"Oh no," you set it down, "Don't go starting to like me now right before I have you put your life in my hands."

The objects from your little medicine box clattered out onto the counter beside him, you pretended not to notice where his face curled up in confusion.

"What makes you think I didn't like you before?"

You huffed. "Jake, please."

It seemed he didn't have an answer. Silence grew stale between your figures as you sanitised the utensils and your hands.

You drenched a bandage in alcohol, giving Jake a sympathetic look before pressing it over the wound.

He seethed at the pain, but not enough that you worried. You wiped it down as gently as you could manage, resting your other hand on his shoulder.

When the dried blood had been cleared and only fresh blood was leaking out did you reach for the needle.

"You ready?" You whispered, voice trembling.

He shrugged, "Are you?"

Mouse nudged at your leg, whining lowly. You ignored him and nodded.

Your fingers pushed at the skin, nudging them together where you pierced the needle and Jake let out a jolt.

The needle wove in and out, your fingers stained in blood against where Jake was groaning. He'd reached for the bottle of vodka again, guzzling down sip after sip: the rim of the bottle working to quieten his moans of pain.

Your eyes flickered up between the wound and his face, his face twisted and his chest reeling with heavy pants.

"I'm sorry," your words wobbled, the vision of the wound growing blurry behind gathering tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so..."

A hand found your jaw, pulling you back up into Jake's line of sight. The grip was warm.

"Hey, hey ..." his other hand released the neck of the bottle, swiping a calloused thumb over your cheek where a tear had run down. "You've done this before, I'm just like a ... a big dog. Just not as hairy."

You nodded, ragged breaths escaping you. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

His hand stayed over your face and you hoped it would linger for a little longer.

It moved, returning to the safety of the last swigs of vodka.

Your hand came to find the needle again, working it into his side to finish out the last few stitches. He was making more of an effort to stifle his groans, you could tell.

When you finished, you patted it with alcohol again before setting everything down against the counter. You wiped your hands, watching down as you stained the kitchen cloth with blood.

Jake investigated the wound site, hunched carefully over. "It looks good. You did a good job."

You handed him a roll of fresh bandages, ignoring his needless compliment. "It needs a fresh wrap every time you shower ... and put some antibiotic ointment on if you have. If you don't have, go buy."

He slipped gently off the edge of the counter, you took a seat at your kitchen table: sucking in hard breaths and avoiding his face.

The jacket and shirt slid off the table, he pressed them against his chest.

"Thank you."

You nodded, still not looking at him. "You need sleep, Jake."

But he lingered, made no move towards the door. The quiet stretched long enough to where your head came back up to find him.

His fist was curling and uncurling at his side, lips pursed.

"What is it?"

Jake's brow softened. "Please don't .... don't tell Steven or Marc that I was here."

You stared at him, affronted. "I think that's the least of your worries, Jake. If I were you, I'd worry about how you're gonna explain the twenty stitches in your side."

"You'd think." He shrugged, an air of charisma to his tone that you were realising was characteristic of him. "They'd freak those two, if they knew I woke you up in the middle of the night for this. For anything, actually."

"Meaning?"

He huffed, tugging the blood-wet shirt over his frame carefully. You avoided where your eyes were desperate to follow the trail of black hairs down over his stomach.

"You're a smart woman, princesa. Playing dumb doesn't suit you." Jake tightened the jacket to his side. "You've got those two wrapped around your pretty little finger."

The implication made your cheeks flush. Made you itch under your skin with his remarks, with how little care he tossed them at you.

"Right. So that's why you don't like me, is it? Cause I care about Marc and Steven?"

He shook his head in place of answering.

"I'm gonna go." Jake's feet shuffled backwards.

The door clicked behind him and Mouse whimpered at his absence.

-

In the weeks following that night, days dissolved into a technicolour blur of work and sleep.

Things had picked up at the clinic: you were tied down by late night surgeries and early morning consults.

You didn't see Jake once in that time.

Steven invited you around in the few moments you were home when you had them, with the pot boiling, offering a store-bought muffin warmed on a plate and good intentions.

Even Marc had stopped past your work, a coffee in hand and a smile lit between blushing cheeks. It was the one you liked from the place around the corner.

But Jake remained a foggy memory and as they days passed, you were growing more and more sure that his visit had only occurred in a dream.

That was until he came again.

Another knock, another confused shuffle through the darkness towards the door.

The light from the hallway framed a halo over his head, throwing a shadow over where you knew a cheeky grin was forming. "Princesa."

You drew the door back, rubbing the sleepy buzz from the corners of your eyes. Too tired to indulge him with argument, you motioned for him to pass into your flat.

He limped past your frame, hand kissing his bloody shoulder.

"On the counter, Lockley." You mumbled around the sleeve of your pajamas.

Jake lifted himself with his left arm, groaning where he slid onto the surface. He reached into the cupboard, bumping past mugs to where you'd stashed the bottle of vodka. There was hardly two sips left in it and he cleaned them out before you'd even returned.

Mouse was watching the action from a spot on the couch.

When you'd set the kit onto the space beside him, his shirt was already pulled to the side: revealing two stab wounds up his right shoulder.

You made no move to lift your arms from your sides, instead your eyes traced the wound where blood was leaking steadily out.

"I thought there was a suit? Steven says it used to heals wounds."

Jake's gaze hadn't left your face since he'd sat down. He shook his head.

"I don't wear it, the suit." He said simply.

You said nothing else, instead moving to wash your hands and wipe down the needle, attaching some thread to the end of it.

Silence rung in the space. You could tell by his fidgeting that it bothered Jake, but still, he made no move to talk.

Your hands, cool from the water, ran up over his arm and pressed gently into the skin surrounding the cuts. He sighed and you pretended that the sound didn't eat you up from the inside, pretend that you weren't thinking about how it would sound muffled against your own mouth.

The needle pierced his skin without warning and he jerked against your hand before apologising quietly.

Compared to his last visit, these cuts were deeper rather than wide: like the perpetrator only managed a nick before Jake threw himself back. It would only need five or six stitches and you sewed them in gently, but this time, insensitive to his twitching and squirming.

Annoyance flared beneath your skin. He doesn't show his face once in the time since he last appeared at your door, but here he was again: offering his wounds like a struck puppy.

"You know I could lose my license for this." You say it quietly, more of a comment than a question.

He observed you from under thick black lashes. "Why're you doing it then?"

There hung a pause where you grappled for answers. Different combinations of words fought to leave your mouth - all of them reaching out from your bruised heart.

"Because Marc and Steven are in there." You settle on. "And if I left it to you, all three of you would die of sepsis."

Something akin to hurt flashes across his face, but it's hard to tell through the darkness and easy to chalk up to the needle dipping in and out of his skin.

"Good to know you worry about me, too, muñeca."

You wipe the now stitched wound unceremoniously, not even admitting to the end of the procedure and definitely not addressing the fact that you do worry. That since his last visit, you worry about him every fucking night before you sleep. But he doesn't need to know that.

"Let me see your side." You motion over his shirt where you'd stitched him up less than a month before.

Jake lifted the shirt tentatively. You were met with the pink stretched scar down his abdomen.

"Who took out the stitches?"

His abdomen rippled where he shifted. "I'm sure you can guess."

The image of Steven poking around between dried stitches and gagging dramatically made a chuckle rise up in your throat. "Marc."

"Yeah."

"What did they say? About the scar?"

Jake's hand brushed along where your forearm rested at the counter, but - not for the first time - drenched your question in silence.

Irritation picked at you again. You pulled your arm out from under his touch. "Whatever, Jake. Keep your fucking secrets."

Before you'd even been allowed the chance to storm back to your room, he caught your arm: slinging you back against the counter.

Your breath caught on the back of your teeth when his forehead pressed against yours.

It was warm and sticky with sweat.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his nose pressing against the side of your own. "I'm sorry, don't be angry at me princesa. Please?"

His eyes were so intoxicating this close. You unstuck your face from his, far enough to wash him with your gaze but close enough to still feel the puffs of warm pants across your jaw.

You pressed some hair up out of his face, letting your fingers venture softly through its brambly depths.

"I'm ... I'm not." His forehead was salty where you pushed a kiss there. "Go to bed, Jake."

You'd already disappeared under the comfort of your duvet when your neighbour's footsteps faded out into the hallway.

-

Steven and Marc had taken to asking you about Jake. More than they ever had and far beyond what was necessary.

It peaked suspicion in you.

"No, I've barely seen him." You'd shrugged. Not completely untrue in your words, but not letting on what you knew you could. "Why's that?"

Steven would shake it off. "Nothing, just wondering."

Marc's responses were laced in a little more candour. "He's been asking about you. Talking about you."

"What's he say?" You pretend it's unimportant, like you're not burning to know.

Marc raised his shoulders. A part of you knew that Jake had to be imploring him, insisting he abandon it. Leave him alone, and you alone, and you and him alone.

It was a matter your mind twisted over: did they know? know about Jake and Khonshu and your medical handiwork? -- until it wasn't.

Steven asked you out on a Monday night outside your flat door.

He'd stuttered and stumbled through: "I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Sure, that sounds great Stevie--"

"No, like ... like a date. I'd like to take you to dinner. On a date, i-if you want to."

You'd paused, delight crawling up over your face and manifesting into two cherry red cheeks. "I'd love that."

That Friday after work, you sat across Steven at a tiny round table in a dress you'd not had opportunity to wear in ages.

It was at a pizza place up the road where a single candle lit the space between you, like it did in the movies, and a bouquet of white roses sat in the open chair with your purse. Steven had bought them for you.

You noticed his eyes flicker back in intervals when you spoke, but pretended you didn't.

He was attentive and funny, like he was most every time you saw him, but this time seemed more nervous at it. Your hands curled around his across the red tablecloth and he smiled over words when you brushed a forefinger over his own.

The night ended with a takeaway pizza box interrupting the space where you pushed against his chest, taking his jaw gently into your hand and kissing him sweeter than you'd offered a man before.

It was barely Monday morning when Jake came again. Hardly a week since his last visit.

He hung at your doorframe, fist hovering over the wood.

His head was throbbing something terrible and he could feel where blood was trickling between the tendrils of hair down past his left ear.

A part of him wished he could feel an ounce of shame for it, for creeping out into the night in search of a fight. In search of a reason to end up back at your door.

He didn't.

The knock scraped his knuckles and echoed down the hallway past the other flat.

Jake waited for it. The sniff of the dog at the door, then the sleepy shuffle of feet over wooden floorboards.

It played into the space like his favourite song. The door clicked open, spreading to reveal your figure against the light from the street beyond the window.

The image was burnt into his mind the first time he'd seen it, playing like a video on loop until the next moment that he was blessed with the sight again.

Your sleeping shorts rumpled up against the top of your thigh, sleeves reaching down to your fingertips and a stretch of stomach peeking up at him. So soft, so domestic - he wanted to squeeze you between his calloused palms and press you against him until your forms fuzed.

Instead he settled, like he's done before, with a "princesa" and a finger motioning to wherever he let a deadbeat land a punch or a swipe of a blade on his body.

Tonight, he was dripping all over your doormat. The sky lit up the flat behind you with a crack of lightning, followed with a rumbling that could just have easily grown from the back of your throat as it did from the sky.

Jake felt your eyes, felt it's warmth over his neck where the trail of blood was leading down like the Nile.

"Have you ever thought of coming to visit me when you're not fresh off the bad end of a beating?"

I never stop.

"You gonna patch me up or not, doc?"

He found his usual spot, up on the counter. You disappeared, like you did each time. The dog rested a friendly head on his lap and Jake offered him a pat.

You'd bought a new bottle of vodka, he found it behind the mugs just as he did the time before. He wondered for a moment if you'd gotten it specifically for him.

Cool hands found the base of his neck. This was always his favourite part, when he'd get a taste of your touch against his begging, desperate skin.

And as much as this was his immediate reason for coming, your skin lingered further in his mind: a memory that didn't belong to him. It had kept him up for days.

You were working quietly, like you'd done before and the time before that.

"So." He broke the crisp air that had settled around you two. "Steven asked you out?"

Your eyes flickered up from where you were patting an antiseptic drenched cotton ball at the bump on the side of his head between his hair. The smell was reminding him of the last time you'd pinned him against this counter.

Why're you doing it then?

Because Marc and Steven are in there.

They were words that punctured a new wound into his gut every time he thought on it.

"What's it to ya, Lockley?"

Your hands went back to work, unconcerned for his question.

He shrugged like he didn't care. Like he hadn't scratched violent tears into the sides of his shared brain for a fraction of a sight of you that night: in the prettiest green sundress he'd ever seen and looking like heaven on a plate.

Satisfied with just that, he'd slunk back into the shadows again.

Steven deserved the moment to himself. Deserved you to himself.

It didn't mean that Jake was any less jealous. Any less ripped apart by your place in their life, the place he could never make for you in his own.

"He took you to Lorenzo's, right?"

You hummed, not looking at him.

Jake shrugged noncommittally. "I mean ... everyone knows that the pizza at De Luca's is better. The wine too, but whatever, I guess."

A nail raked gently over a spot behind the cut and Jake tried - failed - not to shiver at it.

"Isn't that place run by the mafia?" Curiosity weaved through your tone.

Jake hummed, "That's what makes it the best."

You laughed softly at that, just barely under your breath, and it made the pit in the base of his stomach warm. He could grow drunk on the sound.

He noticed the red vase on your kitchen table, white roses peaking out the top and watching him merrily.

"And white roses?"

"I like them, Jake." you dug a finger into soft spot against the side of his neck, no doubt on purpose. He jerked against it. "Steven put in a lot of effort."

It struck a funny chord in him, listening to you defend his alter.

"You'd prefer carnations though, wouldn't you? You said they're your favourite."

"Not to you, I didn't."

Sure, you hadn't. You'd mentioned it to Marc one afternoon stroll past the new florist that had opened up around the corner, but that didn't mean he hadn't heard. Didn't remember.

He leaned closer to your face, watching how your eyes flew up from wiping the blood down his neck.

"You forget ..." He whispered, tapping a finger against his temple. "I'm always here, muñeca."

You stepped back and out of his space, tossing the bloody tissue into the bin.

"Well, if it bothers you so much ... you're welcome to take your complaints up with Steven when you see him. Alright?"

"You kissed him."

That made you stop. Made your hands freeze over the kitchen cloth you'd been using to wipe his blood from your fingertips. Another line of lightning cracked beyond the window loudly.

Your eyes moved slowly between resting on his knee and taking sips of his own gaze. There was a sliver of moonlight grazing over your cheek, Jake was sure it was Khonshu taunting him.

"Is that the only place you were bleeding?" You deflected his question with another.

Jake watched you with desperate eyes. He didn't know what he wanted, he just knew that he wanted all of it. All of you. It's heat dissolved when he looked down to his boots. Sticky drying blood smudged over the toe.

"Yeah. Tha's all."

He was surprised when a warm palm closed over his cheek. Droplets of water chased down from the edges of his hair over the back of your hand.

The hand was gone before he'd even a chance to acknowledge it.

"You could have a concussion, Jake." You perched yourself at the edge of your kitchen table across from him. "I think you should go shower and put on warm clothes and come back ... so I can watch you for a bit. Okay?"

As tempting as the offer was, and it did tempt him something terrible, he nudged himself off the counter shaking his head. "No. I should go."

"Jake." Your voice was stern. "Just ... please. I want to make sure that you're okay."

"That I'm okay, or that the others are okay?"

You swallowed. "That you're okay."

His chest inflated and deflated loudly against the hum of the rain at the window. Was it a crime to want more than just a few blood and pain filled moments under the solace of your hand?

"You have work in the morning."

A simple huff escaped you, akin to a chuckle. "Never stopped you before."

He flashed you an annoyed look that held absolutely no substance. His hands itched for yours.

"I'm not gonna go change."

"But you're wet."

"A little rain never killed anybody."

"Does someone pay you to be difficult, hm? A little something on the side?"

You grinned, proud of your little jab at him and he could melt under it's sticky sweetness.

"Shut up." He mumbled.

You sighed and he followed you without instruction towards the couch where you fell back against it. He sat more civilly down beside you - purposeful in the space he left between your thighs.

"You wanna watch something?" You ask quietly.

He shakes his head. No. You nod. Fine.

The fabric was growing damp under his wet jeans, Jake could feel the cold creeping up his legs. The dog was snoring loudly from a spot on the carpet.

"Where did you find this giant dog--?"

"Why do you only talk to me when something's wrong?"

Jake's eyes flew to you, but your gaze remained steadfast on a dark corner of the book shelf across the room.

"I found him at the shelter. Named him Mouse, thought it would be funny ... cause mice are small. And ... he's so big." Your voice was only barely more than a whisper, meandering between words like you didn't know where the sentence was going. "Your turn."

He ran a hand down the jean over his thigh, adjusting in his wet seat. Honesty choked him with the way it was clawing it's way up his throat. You make me nervous and I'm too scared of how much I care for you to face you in the light of day.

A hard swallow washed that confession back down from whence it came. You still weren't looking at him.

"I like it when it's just us." He mumbled instead. A half admission.

You sniffled like you might be crying. Jake was too scared to look.

"It could be just us during the day sometimes too, you know."

There was nowhere left to look for answer, so he didn't bother. Instead, he reached tentatively across the space where your hand was curling on itself at your side.

He pressed his palm against yours and it uncurled, fingers drawing around his like they knew all the curves and dips and callouses there. You shifted so your head pressed into the side of his arm, it stayed there.

Nothing else was said. Not for the rest of the night.

A long quiet hour had drifted past when Jake realised that you'd fallen asleep. Soft, predictable breaths were drawing in and out from your nose.

He shifted to look down at your face, a movement that jostled you off of him and he almost mourned the loss when you curled instead onto the plush of his lap: arms twisted up against your chest.

It took a long moment of convincing to lift his hand from his side: letting it brush along your hairline, tucking back pieces that fanned over your forehead.

His fingertips trailed down over your face, brushing along the bridge of your nose - he watched where it scrunched up and twisted, feeling his heart melt stickily over his ribs - and softly over puffy lips.

He thought again about how you'd kissed Steven.

Jake knew because Steven had told him, voice breathless and heart thumping against his chest just moments after he'd shut the door on you. Marc was proud, Jake was too - but it burnt where it lingered.

Marc would no doubt get there with you too, ask you on another date and have his moments with you. Have something to tend to, to grow, and he knew it because he saw how you looked at them.

That endearment that he knew he could have too if only he just--

He blinked the thought away.

There was danger in allowing himself to love you, far too much to consider it. A weakness that one of Khonshu's adversaries could surely exploit. 

Sure, Steven and Marc could bask in your warmth. Taste the sweet fruit of your intelligence and kindness, wrap themselves around your heart.

But not him.

It’s what kept him so far, you at arm's length. 

Only in the moments where pain and adrenaline blinded him to sense could he offer himself pathetically at your door in the dark of hot London nights. 

You twitched against him.

"I'll come for you one day, muñeca." He whispered for nobody but himself to hear. "Te lo prometo."

I promise.

-

Life fell into a sweet sway after that, it curled around the edges with the warmth of finding home in a person.

You drifted between work and the comfort Steven's presence.

It took three more dates and a shy kiss along a bridge over the Thames before he asked you to be his girlfriend and your heart swelled three sizes at the look on his face when you agreed.

Many weeks passed that way: Saturday mornings were warm despite the creeping winter where you found the morning light between the crack in Steven's arm over your waist.

Marc was around almost as much as Steven.

He'd asked you to the ice-rink in the days after Steven and you had become official. He wouldn't have asked if Steven hadn't thought it fine so you smiled and accepted his offer too.

You'd promised and delivered on the fact that you couldn't skate. Marc spent most of the time catching you moments before hitting the ice and your stomach cramped with laughter. He laughed too, loudly and with a shaking chest pressed against your own. It was the most you'd ever seen him smile.

He'd held you close under the gazebo where you'd bought him a coffee and yourself a tea, his nose brushed against yours almost as nervously as Steven's had. A different kind of nervousness though, more ... tentative. He shivered with it.

His hand slipped into yours, nose against yours but shifting no further than it. Quiet in his plea for permission.

"Steven?" You whispered against him.

Marc's eyes found the puddle below his feet, the hint of a smile teasing at his mouth.

"He's been begging me to ask you out for months, d'ya know that?" He chuckled softly, warm breath drifting over your lips. "Been holding out. Kind of forced him to do it first."

You laughed too, brushing your top lip over his. "You two are ridiculous."

He snorted. "Just wait till you get to know, Jake."

You kissed him.

Marc was confident, leading the kiss where Steven only followed. It was all-consuming, hand at the bend of your throat and sucking oxygen from your lungs until it's absence forced you apart.

You'd already made peace with the fact that maybe Jake was just a ghost. A figure that appeared to you in the night and you'd never see his shining beetle-black eyes in the light of any day.

But as you should have long since made out, Jake had a special talent for surprising you.

He appeared in the five minutes between making eggs and toast that you'd run to the bathroom. Nearing the kitchen: you found Steven leaning against the counter and biting down into a piece of buttered bread, wide back turned to you.

Your face found the centre of his back, nuzzling your cheek against his warmth. Cool from being freshly washed, your hands slipped under the flimsy layer of Steven's pajama shirt and chased up his hot stomach.

"Ay, mierda!" he flinched, but his voice stayed soft and even, "your hands are freezing."

It took a hard second, digesting his exclamation, before your hands withdrew from his chest as if scorched by a hot stove.

"Jake?" Disbelief laced your tone.

He glanced over his shoulder, clearly unconcerned when he nodded, "good toast, this."

That same wave of irritation was crawling over you, the one that found you late when the banging on your door deafened you, but it was numbed by the endearment. The fondness at hearing the lilt of his voice, seeing him so bright in the daylight.

"It wasn't supposed to be for you." You grumbled but the words held no malice.

Jake bumped his shoulder against yours, he shrugged: "Same stomach."

You rolled your eyes.

"But," he sighed, sipping on Steven's mug and making a face, "If you want your darling back so desperately, you could have just said."

"Jake, wait--"

His eyes rolled back and Steven returned, gripping the counter. "Was that Jake?"

He chuckled softly, reaching for the mug Jake had just abandoned. "Sneaky man."

You nodded, sighing quietly. "Yeah ..."

It wasn't the last time. Jake cropped up again and seemed determined to surface in the moments where things were most tender, the most private.

Late one night, your bare chest draped over Marc's. His fingertips drifted up and down your back, and you smiled while he talked.

"Why're you looking at me like that?"

He was grinning though like he already knew, fishing for affection.

You shrugged, pressing closer to him. "Like what?"

"Like that."

"What, like I'm lying against a very handsome man and enjoying his conversation but also thinking a little bit about how I wished he'd kiss me again?" Your nail outlined a little heart over his tanned chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

A warm hand moved up your side, finally resting up behind your neck and steering you in the direction of his face.

"What, like this--" His voice crackled out like a television losing signal and his eyes rolled back as they'd done time and time before.

Pupils straightening out again, you knew who it was immediately: that tight, thin line tugging between his brows giving it away.

"Jake, what the hell--!" Your hand grappled for the sheets, ripping it up over your chest to hide your body. You straightened up to sit on the bed.

His eyes widened, hands inching himself backwards. "I ... I didn't know-- perdóname. I'm sorry--"

He was gone again.

It carried on like that, Jake popping in for a few minutes at a time: once at lunch, once when you'd arrived from work, again when you'd fallen asleep against Marc on the couch - you'd awoken to find him there.

Sometimes, he lets you get a question in edgeways: "you gonna stick around, Jake? I'm about to put the pot on?"

"No, no. Just ..." he always looked around like he came for something but he'd forgotten what. "Never mind."

-

Christmas leered in the distance. Almost two months since Steven had asked you to be his, nearly one since Marc asked you to be theirs, and Jake remained the elusive man in the shadows.

There was ten days to New Years when Jake appeared for the fourth time.

You'd long dropped the habit of waiting up for him, having done that in the early times he visited. It was almost enough to put him out your mind, almost enough to pretend you didn't miss him miserably.

The door rumbled against the hinge as it had all the times before. You sat straight up, Mouse was already bounding noisily down the hallway.

Your hand ran up over your face, waiting for the knock to sound again. Maybe you'd dreamt of his return.

But it delivered, and the sound echoed through your flat.

With little concern of the sheets tangling around your ankles, you leapt from the bed and stumbled to where Mouse was scratching at the foot of the door.

The knob rattled under your hand where you threw it open and, as you'd hoped, there stood Jake: illuminated by the starchy yellow light of the building hallway.

"What's wrong?" Your eyes pressed over his figure for another bloody wound or ripped tendon. "Where are you--"

Your eyes could only find one smear of red. Barely more than a trickle edging down from the bridge of his nose. He pointed tiredly up at it.

Jake drank in your figure with his eyes. You'd abandoned the shorts that he loved so much, replaced by winter bottoms: the ends too long and trapped under your heel. A worn jumper hid your hips.

Like all the times before, you moved aside and Jake found himself up on the counter. He'd be surprised if the cut on his nose even bruised come morning, and he hadn't even gotten it in a fair fight. If you didn't consider hitting himself with the cupboard door while looking for a mug a fair fight, that is. But the pain had his eyes stinging with tears and the blood against his fingertips reminded him of you, again, and he'd crushed his tight fist through the cupboard door where it ripped clean off the hinge.

It's what lead him down the corridor, down the six steps separating your door from his.

You reappeared beside him, little first aid kit in hand and your side brushing his knee. When you dug through the box, your calf nudged at his hanging ankle.

The sharp smell of sanitiser made his nostrils itch but warmed his insides. Reminded him where he was, who he was with.

Your hand was gentle where it overtook the stubble of his cheeks. "This is gonna hurt a little, okay?"

Jake nodded, before realising that he still had yet to say a word since entering the flat. "Sí, amor. Está bien."

The cotton was ice cold against his nose and he groaned against it.

“Why are you here?” You wiped the drying blood down his cheek.

He watched you down the bridge of his nose. “Whad’ya mean? I’m all banged up here. Needed the doc to fix me up.”

He couldn’t tell if you appreciated his little sarcastic comment, but you didn’t answer him.

“Oh, you didn’t miss me?” He asked, digging and prodding in the hopes of hearing your teasing voice again.

“I missed you so much it made me sick, Jake.”

It was so quiet, a sentence said half into your chest and Jake thought he might have imagined it.

The words bubbled something inside his chest that was making it hard to breath. Hard to think.

But maybe that’s what made it so easy for his envy to creep up around the lump in his throat and jump out of his mouth.

“Didn't look like it.” His voice didn't come out as strong as he'd hoped it would have. "Got those other two keeping you plenty busy."

Your eyes flew up where to him. They were wide and wet.

"Like I didn't ask you to stay all those times you decided to pop in? Huh?" You pressed, tone crumbling around the edges. "You're the one who jumps in and out as he pleases."

"Not everything is about you, y'know that princesa--" It was a disgusting fat lie and Jake knew it too. Every breath he drew was in your honour, he'd long decided.

"Just answer me, Jake." Your hands trembled. "Just this once, can you give me something more than shrugs and silence. Can you answer me this once?"

He betrayed you with his silence.

"What do you want?" The wetness was collecting at your waterline, shivering like your frame.

Jake shook his head, the threat of your tears was making it hard to focus. "I can't ... I just can't."

"Can't? Can't what?"

"I can't have what I want."

You stepped closer again, hips pressing into his knees where he was still up on the counter. The gap of silence egged him to continue.

"Khonshu ... someone, they'll--" he sighed, hands curling into fists at his side. "I'd be putting you in danger."

Your head shook. "You think I didn't know that when Steven told me? That I'd be in danger?"

"It's not the same. thing"

"It is, Jake, it is!" your hands tightened against his thigh, "Do you forget that you're walking around with the same face? That I'm holding the same hand walking down the street?"

Mouse was peeking up at him from where he'd crammed himself under the kitchen table. He whined miserably.

"So what now?" He asked, not exactly sure what he wanted. "That solves everything?"

You retracted your hand and Jake desperately wished you hadn't.

"You still haven't answered my question." A whisper.

He shook his head, as if his thoughts would come tumbling out his ears at the motion. Frustration willed him off the counter, he huffed like a wild animal and pushed past your still figure towards the door.

His hand hadn't even collided with the doorknob when your voice rung out again.

"Don't come back, Jake."

Your tone was soft, apologetic, but the words hit him like a curled fist to his windpipe. He stopped.

"I ... I used to wait up nights for you. Hoping you'd come by. It's the waiting that'll kill me ... and I can't do it anymore."

Jake's forehead pressed against the wood of the door. He sighed deeply against it. Is this really how it ends?

"I want what they have."

He made out the sharp breath you sucked in. "What?"

His shoes squeaked against the wood where he turned. "I want what they have. I want what Steven and Marc-- I want you."

You seemed suddenly uncomfortable in your body, weight shifting between each leg and hands folding over themselves. "Oh."

It snapped a cord in him and his legs were moving before they'd been commanded, urging himself against you in three long strides.

"I also want to take you out," His voice was course, but pressing gentle words where he nudged his cheek against yours. "To De Luca's because Lorenzo's is shit--"

You giggled wetly under tear kissed lips and it made Jake's knees buckle. His hands found your jaw, face still hiding in your neck.

"-- and I'll bring you carnations or whatever the fuck you want. I want you to make me toast and coffee, too, and I want to come home to you. Let you patch me up like you do, but I want to stay. Want to fall asleep next to you afterwards and not ... not disappear like a coward anymore."

Your hands found his waist, scrunching his shirt into your fists. "Jake, I--"

His own hands slipped down from your face, caging your hips between his wide palms.

"And I wanna make you feel good." His thumbs dug welts into the soft skin there, he pressed a hot kiss against your neck and watched where the skin rose with goosebumps under his mouth. "Fuck, princesa, I could make you feel ... so good."

Hot pants were warming the shell of his left ear.

There was a long moment where nobody moved and nothing was said. Fear was starting to drain him of the courage that had so readily devoured him moments before.

When your hands nudged at his chest, he stepped resentfully back. Your face was twisted into an expression he couldn't place and you motioned him back toward the counter.

"Come on ... I haven't finished patching you up yet."

He slid himself back onto his usual seat. You rustled back in the little first aid box, your hand emerged with a little slip of paper.

"This is my last plaster." You flashed it at him, he made out the little pink poodles and sparkling hearts decorating the glittery little patch. "Is it fine?"

He sighed, pretending as if he cared even at all. "'s fine."

You smiled, the kind of smile that could stop traffic down the Lincoln Tunnel, and pressed the sticky end over the bridge of your nose.

"You not gonna say anything?" He asked quietly.

You chuckled softly, laughter bubbling like you'd been holding it in a while. "Oh, not so nice is it?"

"You're very annoying."

Shrugging, you pressed yourself into the space between his knees. "And yet, you seem pretty in love with me, Jakey."

His face ran hot all over at the allegation.

"Jakey?" he guffawed, his heart thrumming against his ribcage like a rabid dog. "Worse than annoying, I'm afraid, you're absolutely aggravating."

Your face drew closer against his own.

"And you are exhausting. You're worse than a child." But you grinned the whole time, "And you make me want to rip my hair out."

His nose prodded your own. "Well, you--"

"Jake, will you shut the fuck up and just kiss me."

It took all the willpower not to melt off the countertop when your lips met his. They were warm and soft and tasted sweeter than he could have imagined them to.

His hand pulled you all the way against his figure, desperate to swallow you whole. Your breath stuttered over the bow of his lip, parting for a fraction of a moment before pressing hot surging kisses against him again.

"I want that too," words huffed out between wet, red lips. "I want to take care of you, Jake. All the time, until you get desperately sick of me--"

Jake licked into your mouth, aghast at the accusation. "Not ever, mi princesa. Nunca."

Your hot tongue chased over his and he swore he was moments from floating off the counter. Your soft sighs were making his hands more desperate where they brushed over the warm skin of your back.

You pulled back abruptly, eyes wild and lips swollen. Guilt was twisting at your face. "We have to tell Steven and Marc."

Jake shrugged, his pulled you back against him by the sides of your pajama pants and kissed you again.

"Ugh, don't worry about 'em. They already know."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "Who do you think told me to come here in the first place?"

A silence divided you, words sinking in when you slapped his chest: plaguing him with a widening grin. "I was worried, you asshole."

"Claro, pero al menos ahora soy tu imbécil."

Sure, but at least now I'm your asshole.

-

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[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

Gods and Monsters

Marc Spector x Goddess!Reader, Steven Grant x Goddess!Reader, eventual Jake Lockley x Goddess!Reader

Part 2

Greek Mythology Crossover

Part 1

A/N: Hello lovelies! Part 2 is finally here! I apologize for taking a long time to finally update, I’ve been going through a lot lately 😅. But I hope you enjoy! Reblogs and feedback is much appreciated, I love hearing y’alls thoughts! And let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You were sent on a mission to investigate and put a stop to a string of supernatural activities that had been picked up. Using your gifted senses, your trail eventually leads you to the steps of a museum, where you stumble upon the unexpected.

Warnings: language, smoking, violence, sexual themes, plot with smut?

You had just ended the call with your close friend Diana, tapping your phone lightly against your chin as you pondered on a plan. A part of you thought it would be a bad idea, a risky one at that, of what you had in mind. After all, meddling in mortal affairs tended to lead down a winding path that led to no end, not because it was in any way perilous, but because of what you had seen in your years spent walking upon the mortal earth.

Time had taught you that the human race and their rulers had proven themselves to be of a barbaric nature, a species prone to violence and deceit displayed through acts of war and power. A species no different than a virus that only multiplied and multiplied as it plagued upon the earth, consuming and destroying everything that laid upon its path until there was nothing left, not even the dirt and ash scattered amongst the ground. You had seen many wars in your lifetime, each one as bloody as the next, and each the same as before; the powerless against the powerful. And each time, there came only one outcome; the blood of the innocents spilt at the hands of the guilty.

And yet, they were capable of so much more. Like the extent of their compassion in which they would sacrifice themselves for those who needed help, their excellence and their creativity for the arts, their passion in the very things that drove them to their existence. Their many endeavors of exploration and their capacity to push themselves to be the best they can be. Their ability to love and provide joy to those who had none. And during times of hardship and tragedies, their ability to come together and carry so much hope no matter how dark the future may seem. You had once tried to advocate for the humans many many centuries ago amongst the council of the gods, back when you were of a much younger age, back when you were naïve and did not see what humanity would spiral into.

‘The humans cannot change. They are not worth fighting for.’ They’d say.

‘Look at what they do to each other. Look of what they have done to the very earth that they inhabit. There’s no use interfering in their affairs. They’d only revert back to the way they were.’ They’d say next.

But your pleas fell on deaf ears, for they did not listen and only warned you of the consequences your actions would lead to and how your efforts would come bearing no fruit. Many of the gods still despised Prometheus for bestowing fire upon the humans those many millenniums ago, many of whom still believed that man should have been left in the dark. And as time went on, and greed and corruption spread rampant amongst the people like a smokeless wildfire, you found yourself at times losing hope. You began to think the human race to be incompetent and incapable of learning from their mistakes, like an endless wheel of pain and suffering without any chance of recuperation.

How many years has it been? And still one does not see the other as their equal. Perhaps you believed all of it to be true, all those things that you were taught and told back on Olympus since you were a child. Maybe the gods were right and maybe you finally started to see the truth in their statements. And so you began to reflect as years went by, using your own experiences and what you have witnessed as reasons to separate from the human race as farthest as possible. And slowly, with time, the words of others began to transform into an ideology. And maybe, just maybe, the kind-hearted goddess you were once known as was no more, lost to the lack of faith that once brightened her.

You pondered for a moment longer on your decision, biting your lip as you watched Steven from afar. The certain plan that played out in your mind had a chance of not ending the way you had intended it to. But something had to be done, and you were the only one capable of accomplishing the task. You did not know why or how, but something was not quite right with Steven, you had sensed it since he first stumbled into you. Whether he had a direct hand in this otherworldly energy or not was not yet within your wisdom or familiarity. But it was something that you were going to solve no matter what. And if the time came that a choice had to be made between him and the endangerment of others, you knew what had to be done.

“Fuck it.” You muttered to yourself. With your posture straight and your head held high, the mortals around you moved out of your way due to your countenance, your face colder than your very demeanor as you headed over to where the man stood with his back facing you while he organized the different products.

You approached the gift shop with the clacks of your block heels, leaning against the counter as you rested your forearms on the glossy surface. Your pointed fingernails drummed against the top of the white counter in soft clicks as you ran your eyes over the dark curls on his head and down his back. Gods how a part of you wanted to run your fingers through those very same curls, to drag your nails down the back of his scalp before pulling at the hairs of his nape just to see what noise you would be able to extract from those very lips of his as if you were concocting one of your potions. He reminded you so much of your old lovers; of the painters, sculptors, musicians, and warriors of Ancient Greece and Rome that once captured your heart. You watched the man move around for a moment, your thoughts drifting back to the days of old while your eyes followed him around before clearing your throat teasingly. “Excuse me.”

Steven had turned around at the sound of your voice, thinking you to be a customer until he saw that it was you instead, nearly dropping the postcards from his hands in the process as he stuttered out your name. “Y-y/n.”

“Her again? What does she want?” Marc eyed you with distrust. “Steven don’t talk to her.”

“Hey there…Steven.”

“Oh ello. I-uh-I didn see you there.” Steven set the stack of postcards down in fear that he would drop them from the sweat that started to form on his palms as he stepped up to the counter, ignoring the warnings of Marc that rung out in his head. “Was just uh…….setting up these postcards here. You looking to buy something? We’ve got um….little stuffed Tawerets……and uh, these gummies here, which is odd because they didn’ have gummies back in ancient Egypt now did they.”

“No, they didn’t actually.” You chuckled softly, respecting the passion Steven had behind the history of the ancient Egyptians. “Their foods were mostly comprised of breads, dates, figs, lentils, and vegetables and that sort of stuff. They did love their garlic though.”

“Right, yeh exactly. If anythin’, we should be offering dried figs or dates even. Not these….things.” Steven waved the packet of gummies around as he nodded his head in agreement, his pupils ever so slightly expanding in size as he stared at you. He was once again smitten by the fact that you knew these small details, details that he would spend hours engrossing himself in whenever he stuck his nose within the aged pages of an old book. For the first time, he felt as if he was finally able to hold a conversation with someone that would not judge him, someone that he was able to ramble on to about the many magnificent attributes that made the culture of Ancient Egypt so special and fascinating. “So uh, anything here catch your eye? Even with the lack of dried figs.”

“Actually, I’m not really looking to buy any uh…..merchandise.”

“Oh? You’re not?”

“Nah.” You glanced down at your nails for a brief second before looking up at him again. “Unless you're for sale."

"What?"

"What?"

"Nothing." You corrected yourself. Gods you were starting to sound like someone you once knew. "Listen. You got any plans for tonight?”

“Um….uh…..plans?” Steven blinked, not sure if his ears heard you correctly. Were you asking him on a date? Can’t be. A woman of your stature asking a man like him.

“Yeah. You know, are you busy or doing anything later?“

“Say no Steven.”

“I-uh…..I-uh-“

“Are you always this articulate?” You smirked, quirking a brow in amusement from the way you had left him fumbling for words.

“Steven-“

“Umm….no? I don’ think so, no.”

“Soooo, you got any plans tonight or you just trying to find a nice way to brush me off.”

“Uh no…….nothing like that, just work…stuff really.” Steven glanced over to see that his manager was approaching with her face buried in the clipboard that was held in her hand. Oh god.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner with me tonight."

“M-me?” Steven gulped, pointing at himself as a blush dusted across his cheeks.

"Yeah. There’s this cool place called Fitz’s bar and they’re having a noir murder mystery night, there’ll be jazz and everyone will be dressed in the era. If that’s not your thing then we can go to this Art Deco style restaurant called Bob Bob Ricard and the food is to die for.”

“S-sorry, you want me…to go with you…to dinner?” Steven questioned, making sure that his ears had not deceived him. You…wanted to invite him….to dinner? And not just any dinner, the places you mentioned were exclusive. Steven was almost questioning his sanity at this point. First Marc, now you. Were you a part of his imagination as well? You had to be. Women barely asked him out to anything, much less something like dinner. God, a tux. He didn’t even own a tux or a decent enough suit. What was he going to wear, a jumper?

“Yes you.” You gave a playful roll of your eyes with a small laugh before nodding over to the security guard who had been curiously watching the interaction between the two of you, the one whom you had heard refer to Steven as Scotty. “It’s obviously not Walmart version Larry Daley over there.”

“Walmart vers-you mean JB?” Steven furrowed his brows at your statement before realizing you were making a reference to the film Night at the Museum.

“That’s what I said.”

So he wasn’t imagining it, Steven thought to himself. You really did mean him. “Sorry.” Steven shook his head. “I just…hang on, aren’t those places-you know…expensive, reservations only sort of thing?”

“Steven, you precious little soul,” you sighed with a smile, shifting your weight to rest your hand on your waist, “I’m pretty sure I can afford it.”

“What did she just call you?”

“Right. Sorry, I’ve just….never really been invited to dinner or anythin’ like that. I don’ even really own any suits or anythin’ of the sort.”

“That’s not an issue.” You straightened up, pulling out your phone and running your eyes over Steven’s frame while he blushed under your gaze. “I’ll have one of my men get one for ya.”

“Did she just say ‘one of her men’? What is she, mafia?” Marc narrowed his eyes at you. It was almost as if the longer you stuck around, the more suspicious you became.

“I..uh…..” Steven struggled. The poor soul did not have the capability to say a single word, nor did he even have a chance to take in anything that you had said to him. “Hang on, did you just say you’re gettin’ me a tux.”

“Well yeah.” You quirked a brow. “Can’t have you lookin like that to Fitz's.”

“You hear that Steven?” Marc tried to make a point in order to get through Steven’s thick skull. “Curator or not, she just insulted you. I told you she’s bad news.”

“Sorry, did you just say something?”

“Ain’t no way…��

“No.” Steven shook his head vigorously, his curls falling out of place from the action while his face paled in complexion ever so slightly.

“Huh.” You pressed your tongue against the side of your molars, squinting your eyes at the man before raising your brows in unison with a drop of your shoulders. “Must’ve been the wind, oh well.”

“Wait……don’ you need my size, or anythin’ like that?”

“Nah.” You scrunched your nose, shaking your head in response. “I already have it figured out. Plus, I have the perfect tailor, one of the best.”

“You do?” Steven tilted his head at you. How ever did you manage to get his measurements just by looking at him.

“How does she…..” Even Marc had stood in confusion as he watched you from the reflection of a display case nearby. Here he was, attempting to warn Steven, to tell him to not trust you nor even speak a single word to you. But your actions had managed to catch even the stern mercenary off guard.

“Mhm.” You nodded your head as you typed away on your phone, sending in an order for your tailor before pulling out your business card from your pocket, holding the thing between your index and middle finger as you handed it over across the counter. “Here is my card if you need to contact me. It has my office number at the Louvre as well as my colleague’s.”

Steven took the card from you, his thumb brushing against the textured surface as he glanced down at the gold embossed letters that sat elegantly against the thick alabaster toned card stock.

Musée du Louvre

Curators of Greek Antiquities

Diana Prince and Y/f/n “Kate” Y/l/n

“Steven don’t. She’s most likely a fraud.”

“You got a pen I can use real quick?”

“Umm…….just this one.” Steven pulled out a simple ballpoint pen from the front pocket of his jacket as he handed it to you, his hand nearly shaking from the simple process.

“Thanks.” You took the pen from him with a quick smile, your fingertip brushing against the tip of his. You knew exactly what you were doing.

Steven nearly shuddered at the contact. The touch was like a jolt of ice as he shivered underneath his layers as if a strong breeze had just drifted past him. He wasn’t sure if it was you or the air conditioning of the place that made him want to throw on an extra layer.

“If you are unable to reach me through my office,“ you leaned across the counter to take Steven’s hand, “you can contact me through my personal cell.”

Steven widened his eyes at your move, watching you gently turn his palm facing up. Your hands were surprisingly softer and warmer than he had expected, like they were made of the softest silk known to the world. It was almost as if he was being cradled by a cloud in the middle of spring. And yet, despite the warmth that radiated off you, your touch was like fresh snowfall in the midst of autumn, where frost formed like crystallized mosaics across the delicate petals of a rose.

His gaze fell down to your mouth as you pressed the pen between your lips, pulling the cap off with your teeth and holding it there as you wrote your number on the skin of his palm. He felt as if he were in a dream; his hand held in yours, your warm fingers slightly caressing the skin of his knuckles as you held his hand up to write down your digits. His eyes trailed once more along the features of your face, admiring the curl of your long lashes that fluttered down to graze the top of your cheekbones before lingering on the cap of his pen held between your plump pink lips.

“There you go.” You mumbled out before popping the cap back on his pen and handing it back to him with a soft smile. “Now you have my number. If you have any questions or whatsoever, just give me a call.”

“Oh….ok.”

“See you tonight Steven.” Your lips curled into a smirk as you gave the man a wink, brushing the side of your hooked forefinger gently under his chin before walking away. You could not help but to cross your fingers, hoping that everything would fall according to plan as your mind once again drifted to your dagger that sat hidden underneath your coat, held within the strap on your back. The cold metal antagonized you through the silk of your blouse, its blade sharp and heavy with the burden that carried with it.

Steven had stared after you as you went. Your little gesture had made his face redder than the very packets of the gummies he thought to be useless to the theme of the museum. Did that really just happen just now? And that chin thing. What was it and why did it make him feel that way?

“Did she just….” Marc muttered as he watched you leave out the front doors. His dark eyes were widened in perplexity as his brows furrowed together at the center. Did you really just offer to take Steven out on a date? Steven fucking Grant? The same Steven Grant that the average person would walk straight through if given the opportunity. In fact, now that he thought about it, you had been so confident and forward during the little exchange that you had not even given the poor man a chance to fully process just what it was you were asking of him. You just showed up, gave your number and said you were picking him up later tonight, leaving barely any room for questions.

But the one thing that had Marc completely dumbfounded beyond all his years and all that he has seen as a mercenary and as Khonshu’s avatar, was that you were going to get Steven a tux. What normal person was so willing to get someone that they have just met, a brand new suit. On top of that, the average person usually was not able to afford a tailor, and you had mentioned yours was one of the best. Just how wealthy were you? First the cashmere Burberry coat and the Christian Louboutin ankle boots. Now your own tailor and an invitation to an exclusive bar? Wait a minute. Did he…no, it can’t be. Is this what he thought it was? Does this mean………………did that make them your sugar baby?

“Stevie you rascal.” Donna sidled up to the counter, a hand on her hip as she chewed loudly on her gum, glancing at the ink on his palm. “What was that all about?”

“I don’ know.” Steven stared down at the blue ink on his palm that wrote out your number. He was still in shock as he read over the individual digits and the print across the card held in his hand. It all had happened so fast. “………I think she just asked me out on a date.”

“Think yer bein’ funny do ya? A girl like her with the likes of you?” Donna looked him over with distaste.

“Well that’s rather insulting innit.”

“It’s the truth Stevie.”

“Well it didn’ seem to bother her. She gave me her business card and-“

“Her card?” Donna scrunched her nose. “Whatever for?”

“She said she was a curator at the Louvre.”

“A curator at the Louvre?” Donna scoffed. “She’s definitely pullin’ your leg, that one.”

“Well it didn’ seem like she was pullin’ anythin’.” Steven sassed slightly. “Said she wanted me to accompany her to dinner at The Fitz’s or Bob Bob Ricard tonight.”

“Fitz’s? Bob Bob Ricard? Tonight?” Donna let out a laugh, not believing a single thing that flew out of Steven’s mouth. “What’re ye, a bloody idiot? Only thing you’re on tonight is inventory.”

Steven’s face dropped at the mention as Donna walked away, his eyes closing for a brief moment as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. The poor man had been so caught up with being in your mere presence that he had completely forgotten that he was working late tonight. How in hell did you manage to have such a hold over him where neither time nor reality seemed to exist. Should he let you know? Maybe he can ask to leave a little early. Or maybe if he worked fast enough, he would be able to get off in time. And as Steven stared down at your number that you had written on his palm, the dark blue ink almost taunting him, he could not help but think about what Donna had just said, her words sinking into him like the stones cast out across a lake. Perhaps she was right. Maybe you were ridiculing him.

You could not help but squint against the bright sunlight with a small hiss once you had exited the museum, its bright rays seeming to pierce right through you. Pulling your shades down over your eyes, you had half a mind to go out in the sun more after being cooped up in the dark for so many of your days as you reached into your pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. You had stood at the top of the small set of steps next to one of the pillars, shrouded underneath the shade with a cigarette between your lips as you pulled up your lighter to the end, cupping your hand around the flame until someone came to stand beside you nearly causing you to drop the thing.

“I thought you were going to handle it.”

“Shit!” You hissed, nearly biting through the cigarette held between your teeth as you turned to see the familiar god of the underworld through the tint of your purple sunglasses. “Fuckin hells. I thought you went home.”

“And I thought you were going to fix the situation.”

“I thought I already told you. I am.” You dropped your arms in exasperation before lighting up your cigarette in another try.

“Oh? How so?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it all worked out. I’m going to keep an eye on him tonight.” You put away your lighter with a click of the metal once you lit the end.

“By keeping an eye on him, you mean asking him out on a date."

"What, you eavesdropping now?" You blinked, turning to face the tall and grim god. "Did ya hear anything else worthwhile while you were SNOOPING around?"

"No not really, except for that you're taking the mortal out to, what was it, dinner?"

"And?"

"Hekate, my sweet, my little raven, my little.......accomplice," Hades lowered himself to put his arm casually around your shoulder while you only rolled your eyes, "when I said to do what it takes, I didn't mean SLEEP WITH HIM!"

“Yikes. Since when did asking someone out to dinner mean doing the devil’s tango.”

“The devil’s tango?”

“You know, COPULATING.” You shrugged his arm off your shoulder.

“You know what I meant Hekate. He’s a mort-“

“And if I did? Not like I haven’t done it before.” You raised a brow as you held your cigarette between your two fingers, blowing smoke from your lips and surrounding your area with the scent of lavender as you pulled it out.

“You wouldn’t.” Hades widened his eyes.

“Relaaaax big guy, don't get your chiton in a twist. I’m not going to do anything you wouldn’t do, until the time comes that I decide to do what you wouldn’t do.”

“You wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t-“ Hades tilted his head with a scrunch of his nose, scratching the stubble on his jaw as he repeated what you just said to him with a mutter. “Is that some kind of code?”

“No. It’s English.”

“Very funny.”

“Geez, what crawled up your ass and died, huh? You’ve been acting cranky all day.”

“Nothing crawled up my ass and died, thank you.” Hades clenched his jaw.

“Then what?”

“………..Nothing.”

“Uh huh, sure. Listen, HADES,” you brushed the dust off his expensive suit, “why don’t you take a little vacation huh. Kick your feet up on the beach, go get a martini or something and go home to your wife before she gets worried. And maybe even get a tan while you’re at it, you’ve been looking a little pale these days. And most importantly,” you tightened your fingers around the collar of his suit with a sweet smile before yanking him down to your eye level, “LEAVE ME ALONE.”

“Yeah that’s brilliant. Why didn’t I think of it before.” Hades rolled his eyes in a monotone voice. “Oh wait that’s right, I have a full-time gig in the land below while the other gods lounge about in the sky.”

“Just take a break will ya.” You let him go before taking another drag of your cigarette. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“………..So what now?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m gonna linger around a bit, see what else I find.”

“You really feel he has something to do with this don’t you.” Hades watched you put the cigarette out.

“Uh yeah. Or else I wouldn’t go through all this trouble.”

“Is there anything else you noticed?”

“Well, he comes on with his big, innocent-gift shop-boy routine, but I could see through that in a Peloponnesian minute.” You scoffed.

“What makes you say that?”

“Voices.”

“Voices?” Hades furrowed his brows with a grimace, glancing down at the cement before staring at you in a combination of concern and unease. “You’re not hearing-“

“Tsk. No not me. I meant Steven.”

“Steven who?”

“Steven from the gift shop. The one mortal who’s been the topic of our conversation. Keep up will ya.”

“So what…….like ‘Son of Sam’ voices or that one bald guy?”

“You mean Charles Xavier? That’s called telepathy. And no, wonderboy here is different.”

“Wonder boy?” Hades scrunched his nose.

“As in Steven, Hades. STEE-VUN. For the love of Dionysus’s wine. Like I said, this one is different.”

“Different HOW, exactly?” Hades placed both his hands on your shoulders and squeezed the muscles there slightly. “Different as in I need to bring in my minions? Or different as in you’re gonna pull apart that little brain of his.”

“Different as in I’ll have it figured out by tonight.” You snarked as you peeled his hands off your shoulders. “Just don’t loose your curls over it yeah? Besides, I’ve got him wrapped completely around my little finger.”

“What, did you hex him or something?”

“Nope, just the good ole fashioned charm and my very irresistible personality, of course. Something that you yourself need to work on.”

“Irresistible my rear-“ Hades rolled his eyes before stopping abruptly. His head slowly turned to look at you for a moment, his eyes wandering over your form while a sly smile slowly crept its way onto his lips as a thought popped into his head. “Ohhhh.”

“What?” You made a face at the way his eyes ran over you. Sure, the two of you were close friends no matter how many times you both managed to get on each other’s nerves, but the way he looked you over made you jump back and forth from wanting to either gag in repulsion or turn him into a toad. “The hells are you looking at me like that for? You tryna catch a whammy or wha-“

“That’s perfect!”

“What?!” You growled between your gritted teeth.

“YOU, my little fiery goddess, can use your BEAUTY to lure him in!”

“Are you always such an idiot, or do you just show off when I’m around?”

“Huh-“

“What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time huh? Selling car insurance?”

“Look, all I’m trying to say is keep up the good work.”

“I can’t believe I put up with you.” You muttered under your breath with a roll of your eyes. How ever did you manage to run the underworld with him after all those centuries.

“You got a dress picked out?”

“Noooo.” You rolled your eyes sarcastically. “I’m going to wear my jammies.”

“You’re mocking me aren’t you.”

“Then don’t ask stupid ass questions.”

“You’re a real pain you know that.”

“And I’m good at it. Listen, the dress part is easy: a quick flick of the wrist and I’m done. The hard part is figuring out what the hell is wrong with Wonder Boy back there.” You cleared up before letting out a short whistle to summon your Doberman. You waited for a couple seconds, your face stern and your arms crossed over your chest until a smile formed on your lips once you saw the familiar black and brown fur approach in the distance, weaving his way through the crowd with his tail wagging in the air as he went up the stairs to stand at your feet. “There you are! Good boy!” You cooed with small kissing noises, squatting down to cradle the sides of your dog’s face and giving him a scratch behind his ears.

“Wait, you bring your dog with you?”

“Well yes. I’m always taking Aragorn and Hecuba for a walk.” You turned to look up at Hades from your spot near the floor. “Though I don’t think the humans would be accustomed to seeing a three-headed Rottweiler roaming the streets.”

“But Cerberus doesn’t bite.” Hades frowned, the ends of his lips pulled downwards. He wished he could take Cerberus for a walk like you did with your own two dogs. But you were right, the world has changed. He could not just bring Cerberus out from the underworld like he used to.

“Try telling the humans that.” You straightened up. “Listen, I’m going to grab something to eat. You need anything?”

“No…….but thanks.”

“Get some rest ok.” You told Hades before heading down the stairs with your dog Aragorn, stopping at the middle to turn back to the god. “Just make sure the humans don’t see you alright. I’m not tryna cast a bunch of memory spells today. I mean it!” You called out out before watching Hades walk away with a wave in your direction to make sure he did not pull any tricks, his tall and dark figure disappearing into the bustling crowd. As you headed back towards your car, working your way through the bustling crowd of people much too preoccupied with the screen of their phones to pay any real attention to the world around them, you pulled out your own phone from your pocket to see if Steven had sent you a message, only to be met with the blankness of your lock screen. Nothing. Not a single call nor a single text.

“Don’t fail me know Steven.” You muttered to yourself with a sigh, going to put it away until you felt it vibrate in your hands. Lifting the device back up with a furrow of your brows, hoping it was who you thought it would be, you saw a new number appear at the center of your screen, Steven’s.

It was not long till day had turned to night, when the bright golden rays of the warm sun transformed into shades of magentas, corals, and lilacs that painted across the sky like brushstrokes of acrylic across a blank canvas before being claimed by the dark indigos of the night. During that time in which you had distracted yourself with activities like getting a cup of coffee and taking Aragorn for a walk around the area and finishing a few chapters of the book you were currently reading. But now, the area that was once swarming with tourists and locals alike that came to visit the museum, had now died down to the remaining employees and the few people that were just passing through outside the museum gates to get to whatever their location may be.

A few hours had passed after the sun had already set past the horizon, when the skies became dark and Artemis’s silver chariot darted across the heavens to pull with it the celestial body of the moon that came to take its place amongst the stars, a time where your magic and your powers were at their strongest. You had always cherished the moon, using its luminescence to light your path during those many nights where you spent wandering about the woods and forest barefoot, savoring in the feeling of your toes sinking into the soft moss and the night breeze brushing against your cheek.

It was a full moon tonight, the silvery orb perched high above you, nestled between the shimmering of the stars that tried so desperately to surpass it. There was something different about it tonight, a slight change in its color that casted the earth below in somewhat of an ominous glow. And though you were unbothered by energy such as this, there was this certain eeriness that clung to the atmosphere that a mere mortal would find unsettling. And with a full moon out, its brilliance displayed for all to see, who knew what lycanthropes lurked about at a night like this.

Perhaps that could have been the cause of the supernatural activity that was picked up and why you were sent to investigate it. Maybe a few of them had escaped. Being the goddess of the creatures of the night, most of the demons like the Empusae fell under your command, but the Lycanthrope; known for their bloodthirst, were another story. And if that were the case, you had better keep a careful watch. The last thing you needed was a lycanthrope running wild and risking exposure to your kind.

The music of soft rock had been playing through the speakers of your radio as you laid back on the cherry red leather seat of your classic black convertible, a hand folded across your stomach as you stared up at the night sky. Aragorn on the other hand had fell asleep, his head nestled upon your lap as you stroked the furs of his head, your eyes searching for whatever few constellations you were able to make out due to the pollution that concealed the wonders of the worlds that lied beyond.

You began to miss the view from back home on Olympus, the way the stars blanketed the night sky as if someone had scattered mountains of diamonds into the heavens in order to form the galaxies that you were able to see with the naked eye. Gods were they a sight to behold and oh how you wished to share it with someone.

Some time had passed as you waited for Steven to clock off after he told you that he would be getting off late, a bit to your inconvenience though you did not mind. After all, time worked differently for you and the gods. A year for the humans was like the blink of an eye for you. And as you lingered, waiting patiently, you could not help the lids of your eyes that became heavy with your relaxed state, threatening you to a state of slumber until the buzzing of your phone jerked you awake. As you pulled it out, the brightness of your screen nearly blinding you, you saw that Steven had sent you a message. He had just gotten off.

“Shit.” You cursed under your breath from the notification as you shifted in your seat in an attempt to get up and unfortunately woke up Aragorn in the process. You muttered out a few apologies to your dog as you straightened up and reached over to open your glove compartment, checking to see that your two essential items were still in there, the two things that you would soon have to choose from in order to decide how this night would end. The silver glint of your dagger and the golden glow of the lasso that Diana had sent you after you had called her for a favor. “Gods help me.”

Closing your glove compartment, you clumsily got out of your seat with a grunt as your dog straightened up, watching you with curiosity as you flicked your wrist. A glowing shimmer of a mist-like cloud the shades of amethyst and violet formed around you as your hair styled itself, forming into curls, and your current attire materialized into something more formal; a pair of Art Deco style diamond drop earrings, black lace peep-toe Christian Louboutin heels, and a Prada dress, the one that you had chosen to wear for your “date” with Steven.

It was a simple dress, elegant, with just the perfect amount of skin where it would not be considered immodest, but it also matched the theme of Fitz’s noir murder mystery night. But most importantly, it was enough to get Steven entranced with your presence. The dress itself was of a deep wine red, the fabric made of the finest velvet that hugged your waist perfectly without having to be too constricting, allowing movement on your part. And the design was that of the evening dresses of the 1930’s, from its asymmetrical/one-shoulder long sleeve that had a slit down its middle starting from your shoulder and stopping above your elbow, to the slit of the ankle-length skirt that ran up your leg and ended at the middle of your thigh. The dress was beautiful nonetheless, and as you ran your maroon nails over the softness of the velvet, you couldn’t help but feel like those old Hollywood actresses you so adored.

“How do I look?” You turned around with your arms out spread to show your dog, who only looked up at you with his big brown eyes and a tilt of his head before giving you an excited bark in reply.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” You muttered out, looking at yourself through the side view mirror of your car and fluffing your hair before letting out another hiss. You had been so focused with what you were going to wear, that you had completely forgotten about your makeup. After rummaging through your small makeup bag and doing a quick winged liner and painting your lips a carmine red, cleaning up the edges with your pinkie finger, you turned towards the museum to see that Steven had just now left the front entrance and was beginning to head your way.

“Shit.” You turned back to your dog. “I’m afraid you’re gonna have to go Aragorn.” You sighed, kissing your dog on the head before moving your hands in a circular motion and teleporting him back home in a quick flash of purple. Gods you hoped that tonight would end well, you thought as you quickly straightened yourself out, putting away your things to make room for Steven before leaning back against the hood of your car, arms folded across your chest as you watched Steven’s form become bigger and bigger the closer he came.

Meanwhile, as he headed your way, Marc had been arguing with Steven ever since he clocked off, the two of them caught up in a verbal battle. The poor fellow had been fending off the mercenary’s protests in regards to how you should not be trusted and how your intentions were deceitful towards him. Steven had tried desperately to ignore the man, but it was hard to turn a deaf ear to someone that practically lived inside his head.

“Steven, I swear if you don’t turn around and go back home.” Marc fumed.

“Or what? You gonna take over and catch a cab back to your miserable little life? Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date.”

“Steven. STEVEN!”

“You’ve made it.” You gave a smile once you saw him approach. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up.”

“Sorry bout that. I sort of forgot I was on inventory duty tonight and-“ Steven had his gaze lowered to his bag, his hand rummaging in there as if he were about to pull something out until the black shine of your car caught his eye. “Bloody hell, is that a-“

“1968 Corvette L71? Sure is.”

“This,” Steven stared wide-eyed at the black beauty parked before him, his eyes glazing over the body and the red interior as he bent over to get a closer look. “This is your car?”

“There’s no way.” Marc shook his head, refusing to believe that you drove a car like this, though he himself could not stop from appreciating it. Sure, the car was nice, and there had even been a brief thought that flashed in his mind about getting his hands on the steering wheel, but that did not change his opinion of you. How did you ever get the money for it? You had to be in league with the mafia.

“Yup. This is my baby Roxanne. Ain’t she a beauty?” You straightened your arms down at your side, sliding your leg out from under the slit of your dress before crossing your ankle over the other. A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you watched Steven admire your corvette like a small boy who saw a fast car for the first time, watching the way his eyes took in every detail.

“She’s fantastic.” Steven straightened up with a grin, taking one last look at your car before turning towards you. There was a certain pause in his motion, a skip in the beating of his heart as he took you in as if he was seeing you for the first time. God you looked amazing. The poor man nearly fell over his own feet as he stared at you, his mouth agape and not a single thought formulated within his head as he uttered out the first thing that came to mind. “Wow.”

Even Marc, the oh so serious mercenary that had been wary of you ever since you first stepped into the museum, was silent now. As much as he refused to admit it to himself, you looked stunning, like one of those femme fatales of the noir era. Both men were trapped within their own form of awestruck as they gaped at you, their dark eyes running up the length of your exposed leg from under the slit of your dress, to your bare arm and the curls of your hair and how your diamond earrings sparkled against your neck, before lingering on that enticing shade of red lipstick. There was no way that Steven was able to pull you. No way.

They could not fathom just what it was that made them so attracted to your being despite not having the slightest knowledge as to who you were. It was as if you had bewitched the both of them since the very beginning. Perhaps it was the dress itself, the way that deep shade of red looked against your skin and how the soft velvet fabric draped perfectly on all the right areas, drawing wandering eyes where you wanted them most. There was just something about you that brought out the primal instinct deep within them, and oh how it tore them apart from the inside.

“You….” Steven gulped against the lump in his throat as his knuckles turned white from twisting the strap of his bag, “the dress looks amazing….I mean…YOU look amazing.”

“Steven for the love of-“

“Thanks. It’s Prada.”

“Prada?”

“Well I only wear the best, sugar.” You quirked a brow in reply before stopping, a surveying look in your eyes as you fixed your gaze upon Steven. Did you hear that right? How peculiar.

“Is…..is something the matter?”

“No.” You lied with a gentle shake of your head, pressing your tongue against your back teeth in deep thought. “No, not at all.”

“Steven…..Steven listen to me-“

“I uh…” Steven suddenly remembered as he reached into his bag to pull something out. “I almost forgot. This is for you.”

“For me?” You blinked, staring at the single red rose held in his hand.

“I know it’s not much,” Steven blushed, “I meant to get y’know…more of em during my lunch but….this was all they had left.”

“You got me a rose?” You took the flower from his hand, staring down at the bright red petals. You almost did not know what to say or do with it as you swiveled the stem around between your thumb and your index finger. It had been so long since you were given a flower, the last one being from your past lover. It almost felt awkward in your hands, the beauty of its red shade and the meaning behind it a stark contrast to the motive that drove tonight.

“You…..you don’t like it?” The slightest frown appeared on Steven’s face as he tried to get a glimpse of your reaction, any reaction, but your expression remained the same.

“No, I do like it.” You gave him a smile. “I just…..didn’t expect to be given a rose.”

“Oh…are roses not your thing?”

“See what I mean Steven? Now turn around and walk the other way.”

“No!” You remarked after hearing what was just said before composing yourself, remembering to not give out too much. “Roses are nice, it’s just that…oh never mind.” You placed the rose down on your dashboard, it’s scarlet red petals complimenting the interior of your car. “Thank you Steven, I appreciate it, really.”

Damn you Steven, you thought with a clenched jaw. Gods was he making this harder than it should be. First that damn face and that damn politeness of his and now the cursed rose. Was he doing this on purpose, making you soft? Had he somehow caught on to what you were doing and this was his way of breaking through that iron wall of yours to gain sympathy on his part? He’s a mortal, you reminded yourself, he’s nothing more than a mortal, and you’re here on a mission.

“Before I forget,” you cleared your throat, regaining your composure as you went around to the back of your car to pop open the trunk, “here is your suit.”

“My suit?”

“Well I did say I was getting you a suit didn’t I?” You handed Steven a 1930s style charcoal-grey 3 piece suit with a maroon tie.

“Oh um…….” Steven did not know what to say as he stared down at the suit you had just given him, the plastic cover crinkling in his arms. The suit was well tailored from the looks of it, expensive even, telling from the quality of the tweed fabric. It was nice, too nice, and the longer he looked at it, the more he found himself not fit to wear it, thinking he would only end up looking like a complete plonker. And as he glanced over the suit jacket, his eyes running along the stitching, he caught the brand name printed on the tag. “But this is Prada.”

“Yeah.”

“Well….isn’t it like….expensive yeh?”

“I mean, its about $4,000.”

“Four thousand?!” Marc exclaimed with widened eyes. Why would you just throw four thousand dollars on a simpleton like Steve? There had to be an ulterior motive.

“Sorry….four….did you say four thousand?”

“Steven listen,” you gave a smile as you brushed off the dust on his jacket before straightening his collar, “it’s no biggie, like I said, my treat. Now, we should get a move on before the place closes.” You walked over to your car before getting in the driver’s seat.

Steven was stunned as he stood there on the sidewalk, eyes distant and cheeks red from the way you stood so close to him just now, remembering the way your knuckles brushed against the skin of his neck when you were adjusting his collar. And that perfume, god that perfume.

“You gettin in or nah?” You started up your car, the rumbling of your engine startling Steven back to reality.

“Steven don’t. Don’t you dare-“

“Leave me alone Marc.” Steven muttered under his breath before going around the back of your car to get in the passenger seat.

“So, anything you wanna hear on the radio? Lana Del Rey? Arctic Monkeys? Fleetwood Mac? Amy Whinehouse? Depeche Mode? Nine Inch Nails? Classic rock?”

“Lana Del Rey? She’s bad news Steven.”

“Oh um-not sure really.” Steven gave you a shy smile. “I suppose your choice is fine.”

“Very well.” You kept the radio on, turning up the volume as one of your favorite songs by Donovan played through your speakers.

You've got to pick up every stitch

You've got to pick up every stitch

You've got to pick up every stitch

Mm, must be the season of the witch

Must be the season of the witch, yeah

Must be the season of the witch

Something twitched at the back of Steven’s mind, something other than the nagging of Marc’s voice. Perhaps it was his instincts or a gut feeling, or maybe even the lyrics of the song, as ridiculous as it sounded. But something seemed to be forewarning him about tonight, about you. And as he turned to face you, watching you reach out to adjust your rear view mirror, his eyes caught a tattoo that sat on the skin of your arm near your shoulder, a dainty symbol of the triple moon. His thoughts drifted back, to the flash of the ring that was nestled on your finger when he first met you at the museum, the silver triple moon with the moonstone at the center, the very same ring that still sat on that exact same finger even now.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” You turned to face the man whose expression remained fixed on you, his eyes ever so slightly widened in size as if he were second guessing everything and doubting your entire existence. “Hey, Steven, everything okay?” You softened your voice before placing a careful, methodical hand on his shoulder only to feel him jump slightly underneath your touch. You moved back in your seat, surprised to see such a reaction from him, the same man who was fawning over you not even a second ago. The hells had gotten into him?

“Steven get out of there. Now!”

“You know what.” Steven let out a nervous laugh as he set down the suit you had given him before attempting to get out of his seat, a hint of panic evident in his brown eyes. “I-uh…….I think I uh left the keys to my flat back at the museum.”

“Wait what?” You scrunched your nose as the man fumbled out an apology. With your hand resting on the back of the passenger headrest, you shifted in your seat to follow his form as he avoided your gaze before quickening his pace back to the museum building. “Steven!” You called out to him, confusion written on your face as you watched him disappear through the front doors. What was all that? You turned back to the front, your eyes darting in thought while your knuckles turned white from gripping your steering wheel. Shit. With a string of curse words spilling from between your clenched teeth, you hit your palm against the steering wheel before unbuckling your seatbelt. Gods damn it. Why did this have to happen right when everything was going according to plan. It was absolutely crucial that you put an end to this, right here right now, or else you would never hear the end of it.

Popping open your glove compartment, the two distinct items once again stared back at you, the two items that you knew you would have to choose from since the beginning. And as your eyes darted between the two, one outweighing the other, your head shot up at a monstrous howl that echoed through the emptiness of the night, a howl that was unlike anything you had ever heard.

“What the-“ You breathed out, turning towards the museum from whence that unnatural sound came. And as you kept a sharp ear, your body upright and your eyes narrowed as you tried to sniff it out, there it was again, that same exact howl. Grabbing the only thing that came to mind, the only thing that would prove itself useful at a situation like this, you sprinted out of your car with your silver dagger held tightly in your hand. This was no Lycanthrope.

Tag List: @lou-la-lou @red-plaidedandcladed @kitkat34857 @anehempel @ahookedheroespureheart @jakelcckley @xzombiealicex @thehornytitties @trinkets01 @cheyennejewell @iloveyou3000morgan @lilith-blackrose @winwin70 @gender-stealer @yaimlight @sexyexoskeleton @brookiebarnes @that-0ne-simp @ennovi-9 @stepasidefilth @darklyndivinely @graciexmarvel @wintersire @that-libra-who-simps @lokissugarmommy

#moon knight #Marc Spector #Steven grant #Jake lockely #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knight x y/n #moon knight x reader #moon knight x oc #moon knight x you #marc spector x f!reader #marc spector x oc #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x you #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector x reader #marc spector imagine #marc spector fanfic #marc spector x female reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant fanfiction #steven grant x you #steven grant imagine #steven grant x oc #steven grant x reader #steven grant fic #jake lockely x reader #jake lockely x you #Jake lockely fanfic

[letmehavemyfictionalmen]

Love, Lunacy, Time: Ch 1

summary: When you fall asleep in the Avengers Compound, you don’t expect your world to be turned upside down when they wake up in the 1950s, alongside a man who oozes Chaos.

pairing: Moonknight x afab!ScarletWitch!reader

warning: 18+ content, Eventual smut, Unprotected sex, Violence, Blood, Age-Gap, Kidnapping, Domestic Bliss, Fluff, a sprinkle of Angst, Strangers to Married, Flirting, Scarlet Witch!reader, Chaos Magic, Not an accurate representation of D.I.D.

next

The morning sun seeps through sheer lace curtains, casting a warm golden glow upon the bedroom. Soft shadows dance along the walls, creating an atmosphere of tranquility.

The stillness of the morning hangs in the air, as if time itself pauses in quiet anticipation. Distant birdsong gently serenades the room, adding a touch of melody to the serene ambiance.

Like mischievous dancers, the sunbeams tiptoe across your features, tenderly awakening your senses. Gradually, the warmth spreads, seeping into your skin and tickling your brain with a delicate embrace of consciousness.

Slowly, you become aware of the softness of the sheets beneath you, cradling your body in gentle comfort. The rhythmic rise and fall of your chest accompanies the whispering stillness that surrounds you.

Reluctantly, you muster the strength to detach yourself from the embrace of sleep, the allure of remaining nestled in the comforting cocoon of your dreams tugging at you.

The desire to stay a little while longer in the softness of the bed is a tempting whisper in your mind.

As you rub your eyes, still in the process of awakening, you gather your thoughts and gradually sit up in bed. The realization dawns upon you that today is going to be a long day.

Last night, Steve called for a team training in the morning, a prospect that doesn't quite excite you, especially if you haven't had your daily dose of caffeine, much like Tony.

And hey, there's always one thing to look forward to after a grueling training session: Tony’s extravagant breakfast spread. The man knows how to satisfy the Avengers' appetites like no other.

From the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee to the mouthwatering display of culinary delights, the breakfast table becomes a haven of indulgence.

Waking with a contented sigh, your anticipation for breakfast lingers in the air. Stretching your arms high above your head, you allow the languid motion to wash away any remnants of sleep.

However, as your eyelids flutter open, any thoughts of a delicious breakfast and team training fade into the recesses of your mind.

The moment your eyes adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings, a sense of unease settles within you, overshadowing any lingering expectations.

The room that greets your gaze is far from what you had anticipated. Instead of the cozy familiarity of the Avengers compound, you feel like you have stepped into one of those vintage homey magazines in Steve’s room.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you take a moment to absorb the details of the room, while your eyes sweep across it.

The walls are painted in a soft, pastel hue, lending an air of serenity to the space. A dainty floral pattern adorns the curtains, their fabric billowing gently in the breeze.

The bed itself is adorned with a neatly arranged floral bedspread, its delicate patterns mirroring those of the curtains. As you run your fingers along the fabric, you can almost feel the intricate stitching beneath your touch.

A wooden dresser stands against one wall, adorned with a small mirror framed by delicate carvings. Its surface showcases a few cherished possessions —a photograph, you can’t see as you are still a bit disoriented, a porcelain trinket box, and a stack of handwritten letters.

Positioned snugly beside the dresser is a diminutive vintage television, the screen, encased in a wooden frame, rests upon sturdy legs.

Your gaze shifts from the television towards the left side of the room, where your attention is drawn to a closed door that leads outside the room.

A small vanity table, adorned with an array of beauty products, catches your attention. Lipsticks, powder compacts, and hair accessories are neatly arranged, as if awaiting the touch of a graceful hand.

A tall wooden closet stands proudly beside the vanity. Its polished surface reflects the gentle light that filters into the room, creating a subtle sheen.

As you sit there, a mix of emotions washes over you. There is a sense of curiosity tinged with confusion, as you grapple with the unknown. How did you end up in this room?

Your mind races, searching for answers and piecing together fragments of memories. Was this the doing of a new supervillian? Was it Thanos again?

After the exhausting battle between the Avengers and Thanos, where you almost lost your father-figure, Tony Stark and your mother-like, Natasha, you don’t think you can handle one again.

Especially after being snapped away for five years by that purple space grape. Not the best experience.

Questions swirl in your mind, each one vying for attention, but none providing a satisfactory answer. You try to recall the events leading up to this moment, but your memory remains frustratingly elusive.

Suddenly, your thoughts are interrupted by a faint rustling sound emanating from the left side of bed beside you. The noise draws your attention like a whisper in the wind, breaking the silence that envelops the room.

The stranger lying beside you emanates an air of tranquil serenity, his slumber undisturbed by the world around him. Rays of sunlight and your shadow gently caress his features, accentuating the delicate contours of his face.

His eyes, closed in peaceful repose, are framed by long lashes that brush against his cheeks. His brows, gracefully arched with an exquisite curvature. His nose, elegantly sculpted and gracefully arched.

His sun-kissed forehead is adorned with tousled curls of dark hair, ruffled by the embrace of slumber.

His lips, slightly parted in peaceful slumber, bear the subtle presence of a small, well-groomed mustache and his strong jawline is sculpted and chiseled.

You continue to gaze at him, almost compelled to keep looking at him. While observing him, a wave of curiosity washes over you. Who is he? How did you end up here together?

While you are pondering this, unconsciously, your hand extends, gliding gently through the air until your fingertips graze his cheek with utmost tenderness.

The touch is electric, sending a subtle current of warmth and connection coursing through your veins. His skin beneath your touch feels velvety and inviting, radiating a soothing heat that envelopes your fingertips.

A soft smile dances upon your lips, a reflection of the quiet awe that fills your being as you witness the tranquility that emanates from him.

With a delicate motion, your hand continues its exploration, guided by a mix of curiosity and reverence. Your fingers traverse the expanse of his cheek, tracing a path of featherlight caresses, to his forehead.

Gently, you brush away the curl that had playfully encroached upon his peaceful slumber, threatening to disturb his serene rest.

Just as your fingertips brush away the curl, a captivating glimmer of light captures your attention. Sunlight caresses your left hand, casting a radiant glow upon something that on your finger.

And there, adorning your ring finger, you notice two rings—a wedding band and an engagement ring.

Your heart skips a beat as realization settles within you, stirring a mix of emotions that cascade like a gentle waterfall. Married?

The word hangs in the air, heavy with implications and uncertainties. You can't deny the surge of anxiety that accompanies the newfound knowledge.

Without a second thought, a surge of urgency propels you to pull the blanket away from his body, your heart pounding with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

As you reach for his left hand, a shiver of uncertainty runs down your spine, the weight of the unknown bearing down on your shoulders.

And then, as your eyes linger on his hand, the weight of the realization settles upon you like a heavy cloak. His wedding band.

The symbol of a commitment you cannot recall making, with a man whose name remains unknown.

A wave of unease washes over you, clouding the air with uncertainty. Questions flood your mind, each one more pressing than the last. Where are you? How did this happen? Why can't you remember? And most importantly, who is this man lying beside you?

You carefully withdraw your hand, your fingertips tingling with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. The silence in the room stretches, heavy with unspoken words and unexplained circumstances.

How did you end up in this unfamiliar room, married to a stranger? The circumstances defy logic, and a knot of unease tightens in your stomach.

A scream shatters the tranquility of the room, jolting you out of your contemplative state. Startled, your gaze darts to the source of the commotion—your left side—just in time to witness a sight that defies all expectations.

In an instant, the man lying beside you springs to life with an almost comical urgency. His body lunges forward, propelled by an inexplicable force, as if he's been startled by an invisible adversary.

With an uncoordinated tumble, he careens off the end of the bed, crashing unceremoniously onto the floor.

The abruptness of his awakening sends shockwaves through the room, breaking the fragile peace that had settled. As you watch his disoriented scramble, you can't help but feel a mixture of concern and confusion.

Swiftly casting aside the duvet, you scramble to onto your feet, with a sense of urgency, which proves to be a bit hard with this light blue, long feathered robe you find yourself wearing.

Caught between a state of curiosity and worry, you rush to the man's side, kneeling down beside him on the soft carpeted floor.

His eyes dart around the room, his breathing rapid and shallow as he tries to make sense of his surroundings.

"Hey, are you okay?" you ask, your voice filled with genuine concern. He looks up at you, his gaze filled with a mix of confusion and disbelief.

"What... where... who are you?" he stammers, his voice tinged with both fear and curiosity. His eyes scan your face, searching for any hint of recognition or familiarity.

"I... I don't know," you admit, your own voice wavering slightly. "I woke up here, just like you. I just remember falling asleep in my bedroom and then I was just here."

His eyebrows knit together, a furrow of concern etching across his forehead. "This is... this is insane. I told Marc not to eat that steak," he mutters, his words a mere whisper in the air.

The man's words hang in the air, leaving a sense of intrigue mingled with confusion. Who is Marc, and why would eating a steak have any connection to your current predicament?

The room is enveloped in an uncomfortable silence as you and the man exchange bewildered glances, both grappling with the bizarre circumstances that have brought you together.

Steven's gaze darts around the room, his eyes searching for anything familiar amidst the unfamiliar setting. As he takes in the vintage decor and the delicate details that adorn the space, his reflection catches his attention in the multitude of mirrors that grace the room.

His gaze lands upon Marc who is equally bewildered and struggling to comprehend the circumstances that surround them. Confusion lingers in his expression mirroring the perplexity etched across Steven's own face.

However, Jake stands in silence, his eyes fixed upon a black and white photograph hanging on the wall. Steven, curious about Jake's intense focus, traces his eyes to see what he is looking at from the mirror.

Walking closer to the photograph, Steven feels his breath catching in his throat as he observes the photograph in front of him. His heart skips a beat, and a shiver runs down his spine.

The realization dawns upon him, and his mind races to grasp the subject and concept captured within the frame.

In the photograph, you stand resplendent, adorned in a beautiful wedding dress that cascades elegantly around you. A bouquet of delicate flowers rests gently in your hands, completing the picture of radiant joy.

And beside you, Steven finds himself in that moment frozen in time, as your groom. Your arms are intertwined, a symbol of unity and shared commitment.

As Steven's gaze fixates on the photograph, his eyes trace the exquisite details, taking in every nuance and emotion captured within the frame. The significance of the date imprinted at the bottom of the photograph—July 12, 1952.

You stand beside Steven, peering over his shoulder as you both gaze at the photograph in front of you. A mixture of emotions swirls within you—confusion, and disbelief.

"Yeah, I forgot to mention it," you say softly, your voice tinged with a hint of disbelief. "It seems we're married. I noticed the rings on our fingers, and it's hard to ignore what that implies."

“MARRIED?!” Marc yells from the mirror, causing Steven and you to jump. “You know my last marriage ended. And now I am married again with a woman who I’ve never even met?!”

"Who was that?!" you question, your voice laced with panic. Instinctively, you turn around, your eyes scanning the room for the source of the voice. And then, to your surprise and growing unease, your gaze lands on Marc’s reflection in the mirror.

With practiced finesse, your delicate hands, peeking out from the feathery sleeves of your robe, deftly weave intricate gestures, conjuring a ball of magic within your grasp.

"¡Puedes vernos y escucharnos?!" Jake's voice echoes from another mirror, his words laced with a hint of disbelief and awe. [Can you see us and hear us?!]

"Sí, puedo, pero qué diablos está pasando?!" you reply, your voice filled with a mix of astonishment and confusion. [Yes, I can, but what the hell is going on?!]

You send a quick thanks to Nat for forcing you to learn various languages.

Marc, his gaze fixed on the swirling red encircling your hand, breaks the silence and draws your attention toward him. "Look," he begins, his voice earnest, "I can explain, as can Steven back there. But please, allow us the opportunity to explain."

His words hang in the air, a plea for understanding and patience. The weight of the unknown still lingers, but there is a glimmer of hope that explanations might shed light on the bewildering situation you find yourselves in.

"You've got one minute," you assert, channeling your inner Natasha with a determined tone. This mirror situation demands clarity, and you are determined to get some answers within the limited timeframe you've set.

Steven takes a deep breath, his voice filled with a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity. "I... I have Dissociative Identity Disorder or D.I.D.," he confesses, his gaze locked with yours. "It's a mental health condition where different identities, or alters, coexist within one body."

He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "Marc, Jake, and I... we share one body. Marc is the original host in the system. Each of us has our own distinct personalities, memories, and experiences. We don't always have control over who's in the driver's seat, so to speak."

You listen intently, absorbing this unexpected revelation. The complexity of the situation begins to unravel, and you try to grasp the implications of what Steven has just shared.

"Okay," you say, your voice softening as you take in the weight of their revelation. "I... I appreciate your honesty, Steven. This explains some of the confusion and the presence of multiple voices. But the mirror reflections?"

Steven nods, understanding the confusion his previous explanation may have caused. "The mirror reflections are a manifestation of our internal world," he explains. "For us, mirrors serve as a gateway to communication and connection between the three of us."

He gestures toward the mirror where Marc's and Jake's reflections had been nodding earlier. "When one of us takes control or wants to communicate, the other's reflection appears in the mirror. It's a way for us to interact and share our thoughts, even if we can't always be in control of the physical body."

You glance at the mirror, now understanding the significance it holds for them. The mysterious occurrences and the presence of their reflections suddenly make more sense. Having gained a deep understanding of Steven, Marc, and Jake's situation, you inhale deeply, allowing your powers to recede. The vibrant red ball of magic that had encircled your hand gradually dissipates, leaving you in your usual state.

"I... I think I understand," you say, a mix of curiosity and empathy coloring your words. "Thank you for sharing this with me. It's a brave and vulnerable thing to do."

Steven's eyes reflect a mixture of relief and gratitude as he meets your gaze. The weight of their secret seems to lighten, and a sense of trust begins to blossom between all of you. "Can you explain the magic?" Marc asks, his voice tinged with curiosity and a touch of skepticism. His curl falls onto his forehead, adding to his already perplexed expression. "I don't think people can usually hear us or see us." You shift your eyes toward Marc, acknowledging the genuine curiosity reflected in his eyes. Given the extraordinary nature of the magic you just demonstrated, it's only natural for skepticism to arise.

"It's something that has been a part of me since I was very young," you explain, your voice tinged with a touch of nostalgia. "My earliest memories involve me being able to use magic."

There's a hint of wistfulness in your tone as you convey the enigmatic nature of your powers. The memories associated with them feel distant, like fragments of a puzzle waiting to be assembled.

"I wish I could provide a definitive explanation," you continue, your voice tinged with sincerity. "But the truth is, even I don't fully understand the origin or extent of my powers. They've always been a part of me, and I've learned to control and harness them over the years."

"I can tell you that my powers are connected to my emotions," you add, offering a glimpse into the nature of your magic. "When I feel strongly about something, whether it's joy, fear, anger, or love, my powers tend to manifest in different ways. The magic you just witnessed was an example of that."

Steven's expression softens as he listens to your explanation, his skepticism gradually giving way to curiosity and understanding. "That's... incredible," he admits, his voice laced with a mix of awe and acceptance.

You chuckle and nod your head, feeling a warmth in your heart. "Thanks. Now, can I get an introduction to my husbands?" you ask playfully, your eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I am Steven Grant," he introduces himself with a warm smile. "I work at the gift shop in the British Museum." His voice carries a hint of enthusiasm as he speaks.

From the mirror reflection, you see Marc wave at you, his voice filled with a mix of confidence and a touch of weariness. "I'm Marc Spector. Former U.S. Marine, and a mercenary who's seen more than my fair share of action," he introduces himself, his eyes reflecting the weight of his past. A mischievous grin appears on Jake's face as he leans closer, in the mirror's reflection, his voice oozing with charm. "Me llamo Jake Lockley, hermosa," he says, his Spanish accent rolling off his tongue. [The name's Jake Lockley, beautiful.] You give them your own name, a warm smile gracing your lips as you extend your hand to Steven for a friendly handshake. "It's truly a pleasure to meet all of you, although, I wish it was under different circumstances."

Shaking hands, you are abruptly brought back to the present moment, reality sinking in as you take note of your vintage attire and the man's matching vintage nightwear. The nostalgic garments serve as a reminder that you and this man are in a different time. With your hand still in his clasp, Steven takes a step back from you, observing your appearance with a mix of intrigue and admiration. His eyes sweep over your long light blue feathery robe, noting the delicate elegance it adds to your figure.

His eyes then wander up to your hair, which has been meticulously curled in a style reminiscent of the year they are in. The waves cascade down, framing your face and adding a touch of timeless sophistication to your overall look.

As Steven takes in your attire and coiffed hair, he can't help but be captivated by your beauty. It's not merely the physical aspects that enchant him, but the way you carry yourself, exuding an aura of confidence and allure.

There's a certain glow about you, an inner radiance that shines through, making it clear that you possess a beauty that transcends mere appearances.

In this moment, as you both stand there, still relative strangers despite the intimate connection forged by your shared powers, Steven finds himself drawn to your presence. He feels a subtle stirring of curiosity, a desire to unravel the layers that lie beneath your enchanting exterior.

Marc and Jake share a knowing look as they catch Steven's lingering gaze upon you. Smirks creep across their faces, a silent acknowledgment of his unspoken thoughts and the emotions he harbors for you.

The sweet serenade of the doorbell fills the room, abruptly pulling you both out of the enchanting moment you shared.

Startled, you and Steven exchange a glance, your gazes filled with curiosity and a touch of confusion. Who could be at the door so early in the morning?

With a shared nod, you both make your way toward the front door, eager to unravel the mystery that awaits on the other side. The possibilities swirl in your mind, each one tinged with anticipation and a hint of apprehension.

☼ Please note that I do not wish to have my work translated or published on any third-party reading websites. I claim the rights to my work.

☼ Where I don’t have any rights to the characters, many ideas and OC are my own creation. Please respect that.

taglist: @lalalily03, @cicithemess2000, @elliewilliamswhore

#female!reader #moonknight boys #moon knight #moonknight x reader #moonknight x female!reader #moonknight #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x you #jake lockley x afab!reader #marc spector x y/n #avenger!reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x afab!reader #marc spector x you #jake lockley x y/n #steven grant x y/n #1950s #westview #marc spector x fem!reader #moonknight x fem!reader #jake lockley x you #moonknight fanfiction #moonknight fic #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #steven grant x fem!reader

[inknopewetrust]

Fanfiction recommendations!

Below is just a small list of my recent favorite fanfics that I’ve read over the past few weeks. I encourage you all to check these wonderful authors out and take the time to show them some love.

I have so much more to read, catch up on, and publish myself, but if there is anyone who would like to promote their own works, let me know and I’ll add them to my list!

Poker // @aniqua // 18+ minors DNI

~ this whole series. wow. just wow. Aniqua has been writing on here for some time now and it’s an absolute honor to call her a mutual of mine. Poker is a fantastic series that melds dark themes with smut and captured the characters in such an interesting and unique light. I love the dynamics between Steven x Reader x Marc and how the strain of deep, intimate feelings can create ridges between people. Aniqua, you absolute QUEEN! There has never been a fic I’ve disliked, you knock it out of the park every time.

Sting // @laters-gators // 18+ minors DNI

~ maybe one of the best, if not the best, stand-alone marc spector x reader fics out there. I see so much praise for it and there is nothing more to say except: so so so well deserved. Sting is spicy, juicy (no pun intended), full of everything I freaking love about smutty fanfics and just so well written. Bravo Jas, you splendid peanut, bravo.

It's Worth It, It's Divine // @the-archxr // 18+ DNI

Holy. Shit. There are few fics that take my breath away (in a great, smutty way) and this is certainly one of them. This is not only brillantly written, but it's full of passion and you can really, really tell how much effort faith put into establishing a reader who has substance and a complicated connection to Marc through being an avatar herself. It may be highly niche in your perspective girl, but let me tell you, those of us who have indulged just. want. more! Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

The Truth is Rarely Kind // @starks-hero // View Warnings

This is a part 2 of Ali's other fic Smoke and Mirrors and I just love them both to bits. Angsty fics are my absolute favorites and the dynamic between Marc x Reader x Steven is great. I think there are a handful of people who write on here that have it down, the dynamic, and this fic is definitely one of them. It's so freaking good and heartbreaking and beautifully written. Well done, Ali.

They're Not the Only Ones // @maximoff-pan // Part I of III

~ Gia has written and absolutely perfect pining pic of Benny B and Reader being absolutely oblivious to their love for each other. I love the intentional involvement of moments from each season thus far, including a hypothetical scene between Pen and Colin where Reader and Benedict have the chance but miss it every time. The end is so cute and fluffy, which is often hard to write but this author does it flawlessly.

Forgive Me // @benedictscanvas // View Warnings

~ Ciara said this is her first Bridgerton fic and tbh, you'd never realize it. Holy smokes was this good! And by good I mean absolutely amazing, amazing, amazing! Friends to lovers is such an iconic trope and so tempting to read every single one but this fic, this fic has such wonderful qualities to it that makes it hard to 1. find a fic that compares and 2. not be sad when its over. READ THIS everyone who loves Benedict as much as I do. READ IT! (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Nine // @foxilayde // 18+ DNI

This one… this is maybe my favorite fic of all? I know it seems superficial to say it but I just love the way this is written. It's long (which is perfect imo), smutty, romantic, filled with a billion human emotions that it's so nice to see in a reader and Poe. The reward of smut with all the world and relationship building is so unbelievably fantasic and it's incredibly witty which is so, so hard to write. There is nothing more to say other than 1. Danny, beautiful job and keep writing and 2. GO FREAKING READ IT! I cannot stress either of those two points enough. (Poe Dameron x Fem!Reader)

Starfish // @cinewhore // 18+ DNI

I read this months ago and go back and re-read it for fun. It's such a good little fic about a show that has a lot of potential and a small, but growing base. Also, I never found Jake Johnson attractive until I watched Minx and now… welp… here we are. Tish does a wonderful job weaving angst, fluff, and smut with a reader character that has her own motivations and wants, not simply a one-dimensional product of the position she finds herself it. I just love this fic so much and I will be re-reading it until the end of time. (Doug Renetti x Fem!Adult Reader)

Also, Sympathies of a Wife??? Bloody amazing. I truly hope there are more coming one day (I know how hard it is to write so no pressure) but it's literally amazing and deserves its own spot. (Nathan Bateman x Fem!Reader)

Masterlist of Oscar Characters // @writefightandflightclub // View Warnings For Each

This entire masterlist, actually, their entire collection of writings, are perfection. I adore them all! I have been a fan of that man's characters for a literal decade so reading fics on Nathan Bateman, Llewyn Davis, Abel Morales, and some of his more popular ones like Duke Leto and Santiago Garcia is the best feeling in the world–especially when they're so incredibly well done. There is not a fic on the masterlist that I dislike, rather, freaking love them all. Each are crafted with such exquisite writing and the variety in types is awesome. Luna I love them all. I re-read them all the time and to be a follower of your writing is an honor.

#x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #fanfiction rec list #fanfiction recommendation #oscar isaac #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #poe dameron x reader #Nathan Bateman x reader #Doug renetti x reader #bridgerton #x female reader #benedict bridgerton #minx hbo #Poe dameron #ex Machina #duke leto x reader

[thisisarcanereverie]

Checkmate (DARK! Moon Knight x Reader) Knight and Pawn series (FINAL CHAPTER)

Hey here it is!!! Thank you guys so much for sticking around and loving this series as much as you do. unfortunately all good things have to end, and this is the final chapter. (I know I kinda left ya at a cliff hanger.) I was originally was gonna post it a week from now but I kinda needed the distraction and next thing you know over 5k words later and I finished it.

Again thank you to everybody who loved this series!!

also don't be afraid to send asks or requests for fics!!

HERE IS MY ASK BOX

You love Marc. 

You have always loved Marc. 

You remind yourself of every good quality your husband has as you pace in front of the sink where three tests lay waiting. You were anxious and began to shake as time seemed to be moving aggravatingly slow. 

What if you were pregnant? How would he take it? How would you take it? 

Both of you didn’t grow up with the best examples, your parents died when you were young and were neglected by your guardians, meanwhile Marc’s mother was a terror and his father only excused her cruel actions and words. Would you both be able to handle raising someone, could you be better than them?

You had been mindlessly washing dishes earlier when you had cut your finger on a knife. You had hissed and looked to assess the damage, you dried your hands and went to put a bandaid on it or something. When you had that taken care of, you looked at the previously white rag, now stained with red. You had no idea why you were staring at it until this cold tingle went down your spine as your hand unconsciously drifted over your abdomen as the question came to mind. 

When was the last time you had your period?

It had only been a month since the wedding and Marc moving you and him back to the states where he bought a large home in a gated community. Apparently the community was for people like him, superheroes. You remember meeting quite a few of them, all of them with their wives. Wanda Maximoff and her wife being the friendliest out of all of them although Wanda’s wife seemed to be a ball of nerves sometimes.  

And before that you had a freak accident, you couldn’t remember it if you tried, and you have, only to be met with migraines so intense it made you vomit. You only remember feeling Marc holding you tightly against him and sobbing. You tried asking him about it only to be met with sad eyes and “I don’t wanna relive it.” 

And you can’t really remember much else before then, probably because life was so calm and normal that it just slipped your mind, time passes by quickly when you’re not paying attention. 

You just know you and Marc had always been together. 

The loud beeping of the timer echoed throughout the bathroom, ripping you from your thoughts. You debated looking at them, maybe if you didn’t know it would go away like it never happened, but at the same time you wanted to know. You didn’t know how to feel about it, you were sick to your stomach but at the same time you can’t stop picturing a tiny child with dark hair like their father and eyes like their mother, you can practically hear them laugh and hear their feet patter against the overall quiet home you live in and instead of it terrifying you. 

It made you feel warm and happy. 

You were terrified, an overall mess of conflicting emotions, you breathed in for a moment and much like ripping off a stubborn bandaid you quickly picked up all three tests. 

Pregnant

You guessed you were in shock because suddenly a still calmness enveloped you, similar to acceptance. You carefully hid the pregnancy test in an old box that Marc never went through in the back of the closet, not yet ready to share the news. 

You then went about the day like normal. 

You finished the dishes, swept the floor in the living room, painted in your home studio, and looked up a recipe for dinner. You just thanked god that the weekly tea and bunch that all the ladies of the community have was pushed back due to the rain. You don’t know how you would handle being around other people at this moment. 

You had finished cooking and were setting the table when you saw your husband walk through the door. At some point you just began to assume it’s Marc since Steven came out mostly for work and cuddling, while Jake has been allusive after the accident months ago. Almost like he was avoiding you. 

Oh god you just realized it wasn’t just Marc who you would have to break the news to, how would your boys handle it?

“Everything alright Starlight?” You hear Marc ask sweetly, his jacket had already been hung up and he was making his way to you, his eyes concerned, “you look pale, are you having those migraines again?” His hand went to hold your face when you flinched, an action that even shocked you. You were quick to grab his hand and kiss his open palm. You smiled at him and willed yourself to calm your excited nerves. 

“Everything is perfect Pretty Boy,” You assured him, “why don’t you get changed and I’ll finish setting the table.” Marc looked apprehensive before placing a kiss on your lips and a silent, “i’ll be right back”. 

Dinner had proceeded normally, Marc had practically inhaled his food, having skipped lunch to come home earlier to you. You both talked about your day, you had conveniently left out the three positive pregnancy tests currently hiding in the closet. 

Marc had helped with the dishes and at some point, some slow song began to play from the radio. Which led to him pulling you both away from the sink and to dancing in the middle of the kitchen, one hand on the small of your back and your hands playing with the ends of his hair. You both hummed to the song as love filled the room. You pressed your forehead against his as you both just swayed away any troubles. By the time the song ended, it felt like this morning had been days ago. 

You loved your life with Marc. 

But would Marc still feel the same way knowing that there was about to be a new member to your new family?

—

It had been days since you took those tests. 

With each day you felt like you were keeping a secret from him and you were getting anxious, not ever being able to keep a secret from Marc for long. And you knew Marc was getting suspicious, not letting him anywhere near the closet, staring out of windows a lot with a far off look, You knew he was being patient but you didn’t know how long that patience would last. 

Finally Marc had a day and night off from Steven’s business and from his Moon Knight duties and you decided today would be the day you told him. 

You had originally planned to do it in the morning, once again ripping the bandaid off, but was….pleasantly distracted by him. Multiple times….in a row. 

God it was no wonder you were in your current situation. 

Then you wanted to tell him at breakfast, but before you could Marc suggested taking a trip to the local beach. He had made sure when moving to move close to one, that dream of visiting the ocean and having you there with him came true. 

You decided that maybe Marc would react better in public. 

Then you got to the beach only to realize that maybe not there, in case he didn’t want this pregnancy you didn’t want this beach to become a tainted place. 

The day passed by quickly, before you knew it you went from laying on the beach enjoying the fresh salt tinted air before the sun was beginning to set on the horizon and you were both eating dinner at home. Having take out from your favorite place. 

There had been a moment of silence as you built up your courage. You knew you would have to put this delicately to him, he was always prone to hysterics. 

“Marc,” You said, He immediately perked up his attention solely on you. You never called him Marc, only your Pretty Boy. Whenever you called him Marc it was because he made you mad or you were serious. 

Both scared him. 

“Yes, my beautiful starlight.” Marc said, adding an extra adjective in front of your typical nickname, hoping the compliment might lighten whatever mood had taken over. 

“So the other day I cut my finger in the kitchen,” You said, Marc following every word, “I went to put a bandaid on it when something was brought to my attention.” 

Oh god did you know?!

Marc could feel his anxiety bubbling up as fear took a hold of him. 

“I’m late.” 

What?

Marc tilted his head in confusion as though he wasn’t following. 

“What um, what were you late for?” He asked nervously, not really following what plans you had made that day that would warrant the look on your face right now. 

“I wasn’t late for anything,” You gently explained as you held onto his hand, “I mean I’m late.”

Marc still wasn’t getting it. 

You sighed and decided to hell with subtlety. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

It seemed like Marc hadn’t heard you at first, he hadn’t moved in well over a minute since you told him. You were about to touch his shoulder when he slumped forward, limp. 

At first you were worried he had died from the shock, but his steady pulse and breathing indicated otherwise. After a few seconds, he came to. Although from the adorably confused look on his face that it wasn’t Marc. 

“Hello sweetheart,” Steven greeted with a sweet kiss to your cheek once he gained his barings, “forgive me for saying this, because I’m not complaining at all, but why am I here? I thought today was Marc’s day with you.” 

If Marc was completely oblivious with subtlety before you knew Steven would be more so. 

“I’m pregnant.” You said. 

Silence. 

“I thought your name was (Y/n)?” 

You loved him but right now your patience was thin. 

“No Steven,” You said calmly, placing a hand over your stomach, “We’re going to have a baby, I’m pregnant.” 

Silence once again filled the room before Steven started hyperventilating, you tried calming him down only for him to slump over, his frame once again limp as you concluded that he, indeed, passed out. 

And much like before not even five minutes later, he’s up again with another confused look. Only now, when his eyes land on you, you see immense guilt and sorrow in them. 

Those eyes hurt the most. 

“Hola Angel,” Jake greeted, his eyes looking away from you, “I didn’t know I was going to see you today.”

“I’m pregnant.” You stated, you saw him stiffen before his eyes immediately darted to yours. Searching for any hint of a joke, finding none he knew this was it…the point of no return. Marc had won, completely and utterly. 

You were doomed, and there was nothing Jake could do to save you. 

“Are, are you um…merida,” Jake cursed in Spanish as you saw a cold sweat break out on his forehead. This man who had killed more people than he could count and enjoyed it was breaking out in a cold sweat over the fact that you were pregnant, “Estas segura?”

“Si,” You said cradling his face, “Si mi Amor” 

Time seemed to move slowly around him, and for you as well as you waited for the reaction, waited for him to oppose, or to love it, you didn’t know which one you wanted. 

You weren’t sure much about anything.

Suddenly, much like the other two, he slumped forward, limp. Instead of being incredibly concerned, you waited patiently, knowing in a few seconds either Marc or Steven would pop back up. 

Sure enough, a few seconds later he’s revived, and at this point the nerves inside you were making you more impatient by the second. Once again by the look he gave you, you knew which one he was right now. Those dark eyes that held so much love that it scared you sometimes, love and obsession. 

“Are you done?” you asked impatiently, already quite annoyed by his fainting over the news. After a few minutes Marc nodded, although shakily. 

“How, uh, how long have you known?” 

“Almost a week,” You revealed, “I was in shock for the first day and a half, but I wanted to wait until you could freak out properly before telling you.” 

Silence passed between you as you reached for his hand and took it, squeezing it in comfort, to ground him from his thoughts. 

“What, um, shit,” Marc cursed, here he was freaking out while you were the one who was pregnant, “what do you want to do?” 

“I don’t know,” You said honestly, “I thought we could talk about this and decide together, you, me, Steven, and Jake.” You saw Marc grimince at the mention of Jake but understood where you came from. If he had it his way Jake wouldn’t get a vote or say anything, but as you’ve pointed out he was very much there. 

Even though Marc could still feel the sting of betrayal at the thought of him. 

“I’ll go first,” You said, pulling Marc from his thoughts, “I don’t know if we’re ready, I mean we never talked about it and we didn’t have the best examples growing up…but,” You paused, “I think we are not the people who raised us. You are not your mother, and I am not my guardian. I think if we both work hard and hold each other accountable, I think we may be able to pull it off.” You already knew you both wouldn’t be perfect, that you’ll fall short somewhere along the line. But a deep part of you, one that was selfish and irrational, wanted to give this a shot.  But you knew if Marc said no, along with Steven and Jake, then you knew not going through with the pregnancy would probably be a wise choice, you would not bring a kid into this world only to be rejected by the other person who made them. You just wouldn’t. 

Marc thought for a while, what would a kid with you look like? Memories of his past still haunted him, but all that he could see is a kid with dark curly hair and your eyes. He could see you laughing as you played with them, he could imagine the sleepless nights, the angsty teenage years, he could see going through it all with you. And you with a smile on your face as you’ve gotten what you deserve. 

A family and a home filled with unconditional love. 

Marc knew that if you both went through with this, you absolutely must never know about the events that lead up to this moment. Hiring a P.I to track you, you falling in love with that P.I only for Marc to kill him in front of you, threatening you, abducting you, killing those you loved in your name, and ultimately your attempt a few months previous to escape him, and how it ended with him sacrificing himself to keep you. 

Marc knew he didn’t deserve you, that what he did was fucked up beyond belief. He understood that quite well. 

But right now he can’t stop imagining a bundle in your arms, cooing as sunlight hit you. 

And he couldn’t say no. 

“She would be a wonderful mother,” Steven said in the mirror, Jake however was silent but Marc could sense it. Jake wanted this child just as much as Steven and him. 

“We will try our best,” Marc said finally, “I will read every parenting book ever made if that’s what it takes.”

You felt like crying, a massive weight was just lifted off of your shoulders and you felt like you could finally breathe. 

But as you wept into Marc’s chest and the night continued, a dark foreboding feeling lingered at the back of your mind. 

You weren’t sure what that was about. 

—

~8 months later~

You woke with a start, you clutched your chest as your heart beat rapidly. You felt damp, all over and you tried to even your breathing as you closed your eyes and counted back from a hundred. But every time you closed your eyes you would get these flashes. It wasn’t the first one, they would happen sporadically, never making sense, but they would always be accompanied with a strange sense of deja vu. Most of the time they didn’t make any sense and they didn’t last very long. Like you staring out of the window, you seemed to have a lot of flashes about staring out of a window, staring out into a world just beyond your reach. Then there are flashes of you reading books, and living inside this penthouse full of windows. 

Then there were others. 

You would be in some run down place with a woman with short curly brown hair, with freckles dusted along the apples of her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. You don’t know why but you felt like you knew her, that you loved her to some degree.

But how could you love a woman you’ve never met?

Then there were days you were unfamiliar with, you were happy, you dressed in business attire and did a typical nine to five day. You came home with a satisfied smile on your face. 

But you don’t know who you were coming home to everyday. 

You only remembered something about amber eyes. Whenever you see flashes of amber eyes your heart always hurts, like it’s been stabbed and you have no idea why. Oftentimes you would leave to go to the bathroom and cry because of the pain in your chest. 

You didn’t want to worry Marc. 

Strangely enough you never had flashes of Marc, or Steven, or even Jake. 

For some reason it unsettled you. 

You go to move when you feel a pop, and suddenly you go from damp to soaked. You looked down and sure enough there was a puddle on the ground that wasn’t there before. 

Fuck

“Marc,” You say as he grumbled in return, “Marc,” You tried again as he stirred awake. 

“What is it, Starlight?” He asked, reaching for your hand, “another craving?”

“My water broke.” You said casually, a long moment passed before you felt him springing from his side of the bed and rushing over to you, almost slipping on the puddle in the process. 

“Ok,” He starts slowly, a complete contrast to his previous actions, “ok, stay um stay right there I’ll go get the hospital bag.” Before you could say anything, he was rushing around your home like a headless chicken. You smiled as you burned this memory into your mind, this memory of your goofball husband that you loved not remembering that he put the bag in the car a week ago. 

“Shit,” He curses looking in the mirror, “STEVEN DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO THE BAG!?!” You get up and start to look for the simplest thing to wear that wasn’t your night clothes. 

“I don’t know I don’t know,” Steven says as you calmly fish out a casual maternity sundress. It was a warm night and you had a feeling you wouldn’t be wearing jeans for a hot minute. 

“Idon’tknowIdon’tknow.” You hear Steven repeat as Marc switches back in order to calm Steven down. You casually put the sundress on and casually strolled by your husband to grab a pair of slippers. After slipping the shoes on without bending down which took a couple of minutes. After seeing that even after all that Marc still doesn’t remember you decide to help him. 

“Marc,” you said sweetly as he was still looking for the bag, “Marc,” You repeated as you touched his arm. He looked at you as if just remembering that you were there and that you were the one whose water was just broken. 

“You should sit down,” Marc said as he gently ushered you in a chair, “we may have to go without the bag we should get dressed-wait a minute,” Marc suddenly stops himself as he notices your change of attire, “when did you get dressed?”

“While you were running around like a headless chicken,” You answered simply, “and you put the bag in the trunk last week because you knew you were going to act like this.” 

“I don’t think that was my thoughtful planning.” Marc said, before the subtle change happened. The frightened look in his eyes was replaced with concerned but calm ones. 

“No, that would be me,” Jake said. 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Steven asked before he changed back to Jake. 

“The Host never asked.” He replies before helping you out of the chair gently, “let’s go angel.” Jake calmly helped you to the backseat of the car, making sure you were taken care of before going and changing himself. It was just a shirt and sweatpants but better than the pair of boxers he was wearing before. 

—

The drive was relatively short to the hospital, however as soon as you got there the contractions started. 

Apparently, your contractions were happening sooner rather than the 12 or so hours later. 

Honestly, the whole birthing process was a blur to you, you felt the pain but you don’t remember Marc holding your hand. 

With each contraction you were back in those visions, those flashes, only this time they had Marc. 

You saw that curly haired woman again, and you saw them together, kissing. You felt your heart ache as you heard her name. 

Layla. 

Another contraction you saw yourself all bruised and battered, barely breathing as people beat you. And out the corner of your eye you saw Marc, dressed as Moon Knight, escape with Layla in his arms. 

Visions kept happening with each contraction, you and Marc fighting, a man named Alec, SWORD. 

You see yourself, trapped on the bus, you had never looked that afraid before, the look of terror etched to your face as you pounded against the door of the bus. You walked closer to Alec and Marc not expecting to hear them over your screams. 

“You’ll never have her,” Alec said his amber eyes were the ones that hurt you, “even if you kill me you’ll never have her.” 

“And why is that?” You hear Marc ask mockingly. You studied him, you could tell by the suit it was him, but he was…darker than you remembered. 

“Because I have something you’ll never have again,”

 a pause. 

“Her heart.” 

And with that, as quick as lightning, you saw Marc snap his neck and Alec lay lifeless on the ground. 

And those dull, unseeing, amber eyes seemed to stare at you, almost tauntingly. As if to say “you thought you could forget this?”

But how could you forget this, you remember this, you knew this was real, but it didn’t make sense. Memories of Marc, all the happy ones. Baking together, loving together, eating popcorn while watching trash tv together. 

Was any of it real?

You bellowed in pain, not just from the labor but it felt like your entire being was being split open, body and soul. 

In rapid flashes you could see what your life with Marc was truly like. 

You were angry with him, but deep down, you were also terrified. You fought everyday to keep your mind and spirit. 

You saw yourself entangled with him, the amount of conflict in you was palpable. You knew you didn’t want it, but you did at the same time. The amount of grief and shame that filled you as you saw yourself holding back the tears as you cleaned yourself up was overwhelming. 

Then events passed in a blur, Layla helping you escape with Jake's assistance, you and Layla talking, a week passing by and then Jake rushing you out. Saying it was for your safety. Then, in the rearview mirror, you saw it, the switch. Then Layla dying in the backseat, the way she lifelessly slumped haunted you. 

“You’re no better than your mother” Your voice echoed in your ears. 

“NONE OF THAT WAS REAL!” Marc’s voice bellowed. 

The cold click of a gun’s safety turning off. 

“NO WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

“Did you mean it when you said I was your world” your body felt like it was falling apart, atom by atom, “your moon and stars.” 

Just as you thought you were going to die, you heard it. 

A baby crying. 

Your baby. 

“Good,” You faintly hear as the world around you begins to fade into black as the pain ebbed away slowly, “You took everything from me, it’s about time I return the favor.” 

—

Marc couldn’t decide if he was in heaven. 

Or in hell. 

He cradled his newborn daughter in his arms, he was so worried. For months he had been secretly dreading this moment, the moment he became a father. But now as he’s holding her, all he could feel was a love he never knew he was capable of. Each and every part of him loved her. Jake and Steven were in awe and for once, quiet. He beamed as he noticed that she scrunched her nose much like you did, something that he knew she inherited from you. 

The fear was still there, and he suspected it always will be until the day he dies. 

But none of that mattered right now. 

Because his daughter was here. 

If he was being honest, he didn’t know how he would’ve handled a son. He suspects he wouldn’t react nearly this affectionately. 

But right now as he held onto your daughter he was worried. He was worried for you, you’ve been staring out that window a lot, the blank look in your eyes only disappeared when your daughter was in your arms. 

He handed his daughter off to the nurse for another check up, one that he had requested to make sure that everything was ok. He kissed her gently on the forehead before walking over to where you sat. Marc sat gently on the bed next to you, and tried to notice the slight flinch that your body gave. 

“What’s going on, Starlight?” Marc asked as he reached for your hand. You didn’t move your hand away but you also didn’t return the affection. 

You mumbled something so quietly he didn’t understand what you had said. 

“What?”

“Did you mean it?” You asked, not looking at him.

“What do you mean?” Marc asked. 

“Did you mean it when you said I was your world,” You said bitterly, “your moon and stars.” 

His blood ran cold as he saw your eyes and as the words tumbled out of your mouth. Those were one of the last words you spoke before…before the incident. 

“I remember,” you said, still not looking directly at him, “I remember it all.” 

Those were the words he never wanted to hear, he could handle anything else, but not that you remember. 

“I’ve been having these flashes since I found out I was pregnant,” You explained, “they were tame at first. Just me sitting sadly by a window, and then a girl I didn’t recognize, then this pair of amber eyes.” You took in a shaky breath, “the girl's name was Layla…she was my best friend and your first wife, and those amber eyes belonged to Alec or I guess his real name was Mack.” Marc fell to his knees, tears streamed down your face as he grasped both of your hands. He was on his knees for you, and you could barely look at him. “You killed them all.” 

“For us,” Marc said, grasping your hands tighter, “I did it all for us.” 

“How am I still alive?” You asked. 

“I made another deal,” Marc said as he realized it was no use hiding it all from you now, “with Khonshu. My life for yours.” You nodded blankly at the wall before letting out a shaky breath. 

“I couldn’t escape you in life,” You said, “and I couldn’t escape from you in death.” A long moment of silence ensued as you gave his hands a firm squeeze. 

“I’ve been thinking,” You said, “I’ve spent the last 24 hours thinking. I love our daughter, I love her more than I ever thought possible. She deserves the life we never got, one with loving parents and a nice home.” A spark of hope lit up inside him. “There may never be a day where I will come to forgive you. I will always remember what you did and that will haunt me forever, and the guilt that people died because of me and I repay them by playing house with their murderer will weigh on my shoulders until the day I die.” Your thumb strokes his knuckles, “but I love my daughter more than anything, she is my world, moon and stars. And I want her to live as happily as possible, and if that means I have to learn to love you despite what you’ve done then that means that’s something I have to do.” Marc started crying in your lap, from relief or sadness he couldn’t tell. 

“Smile Marc,” you said as you lifted his head and he saw your sweet smile and bitter eyes, “You’ve won.” 

—

You had decided to name her Eva June Spector. Named after the new life she breathed into you, and for the month she was born in. 

Sure enough appearance wise she took after her father, tanned skin, dark and curly hair, even the nose was a smaller version of his. But her eyes, her eyes were the same as yours. 

Eva loved her father, and Marc was an amazing father, sure he blundered here and there. But he was nothing like his parents, and neither were you. 

There were moments of affection between you two, it was almost impossible when you're constantly reminded that you made something wonderful with this man, but some days were too much for you and you couldn’t stand to look at him or to have him touch you. But you shoved it down in front of your daughter. 

Because you would walk through hell with a smile on your face for her. 

When you came back from the hospital you knew you weren’t the only one trapped within this gated community. 

You knew Wanda was possessive, and with that she was extremely possessive of her wife. The same with the ex Captain of America, the Winter Soldier, the Black Widow. This entire gated community was full of trapped people. 

And as it rained outside and with baby Eva on your lap, you sat across from Marc, a sly smile on his face as he moved his piece on the chess board. 

“Checkmate”

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@themapoftinyperfectthings

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[curlygirlybitchachos]

Hi Love!

So, I was wondering if one of the boys would be like that:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMNdAE5Hg/

To Female Y/N?

My mind automatically said "this is something good shit. My boi Jake is perfect for this". So here we are. I don't know how but you just touched a week point of mine. I have kinda thick thighs and I'm a little insecure about them. So I hope Jake gives us some praises. Enjoy pls.

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

Female Y/n

*y/n laying in bed*

*Jake looking at her*

Y/n: what?

*Jake, laying down between y/n legs*

Y/n: are you okay?

Jake: squeeze me.

Y/n: Jake?

Jake: did I shutter? Thick thighs save life Y/n. Now squeeze my head like a watermelon!

#moon knight #incorrect marvel quotes #incorrect quotes #jake lockley #jake lockely x reader #female reader