#marc spector x female reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bit-dodgy-innit · 2 years

Text

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

4K notes · View notes

moonknightyws · 2 years

Text

I'm going feral

(Gifs are not mine)

6K notes · View notes

spacecowboyhotch · 2 years

Text

Breakfast

gif by @paper-n-ashes

summary: marc interrupts you when you’re trying to make breakfast, and steven finishes up.

pairing: fem!reader x marc spector, fem!reader x steven grant

content: 18+/nsfw/MINORS DNI, pwp, fluff, kissing, unprotected sex, breeding kink, overstimulation if you squint, oral sex (fem receiving) cum eating

an: i just felt like writing something spicy for the moonknight boys <3.

word count: 1.6k

moonknight masterlist | requests are open

One of your favorite things to do is get up early and sit on the window sill, watching the streets of London while Marc or Steven sleeps. There's something about the glow of the summer sun peeking out from behind the clouds. You don’t sit for long, wanting to make sure they get the rest. Before the sun can flood the space with its golden light you close the window and draw the curtains, heading into the kitchen.

You preheat the oven to keep his food warm in case he sleeps late, and get coffee brewing—decaf only as they already have enough trouble getting enough rest. It’s been an adjustment for you, but you’d do anything for Marc and Steven. With the soft hum of the coffee machine going, you start getting together the ingredients for french toast and hashbrowns.

You’re moving slowly so as not to wake them up though your room is down the hall. Completely immersed in cutting bread and making the mixture for the french toast you don’t hear when Marc opens your bedroom door and pads down the hallway to you.

His hands are on you as soon as you're in arms' reach. A grunt of pleasure comes out of him as he runs his hands over the curves of your breasts before resting them on your hips.

“Morning,” You lean your head back onto his shoulder as he kisses his way down your neck.

“Mornin’,” He whispers between kisses. “French toast, huh?”

“Mhmm,” You hum lazily, dropping the whisk and planting your hands on the counter so that you can press further into him. You know exactly where this is going and there’s no point in resisting. It’s not like you want to anyway.

“Steven’s gonna be jealous.”

“I make it for him whenever, you both know that,” He continues to kiss your neck, scraping his teeth over your pulse point before he bites gently. “Marc,” You sigh, pressing your ass into his erection.

“Quiet, let me make you feel good, baby.”

“Yes,” You agree easily, breakfast forgotten as his hands make their way up the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing.

“You wanted me to come out here and fuck you didn’t you? Is that why you’re dressed in just this?”

“Yes,” You breathe as one of his hands slips into your panties, his fingers gliding effortlessly through your wet folds.

“Oh, baby, you’re so wet. So easy.”

“Mhmm,”

“Let’s see how easy it is for me to…” He stops talking as his fingers plunge into you. “Only this wet for me and Steven, right?”

“Yes, all yours. All his,” You nod your head feverishly, drunk on the smoothness of his tone and the strength of his touch. Marc always touches you with such weight compared to Steven. He leaves bruises from holding your thighs apart or applying pressure to your throat. His touch is life-affirming, keeping you in a bubble where you only focus on him. Right now he’s all that matters.

“Ours.”

“God, please, Marc? I need you,” You whine as you reach your hand back to run it through his curls.

His hand leaves your breast, turning your head so that you have to look at him. His eyes are uncharacteristically tender as he gazes at you, “I need you, too.”

The admission squeezes your heart but it’s short-lived as he wraps his hand around your throat, and rids you of your panties. He kisses you hungrily as he uses one of his feet to spread your legs further apart, bending you slightly so your spread open for him perfectly. He continues to lick into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip as he lines himself up with your entrance, snapping his hips forward so that he’s sheathed completely inside you.

“Baby,” He mumbles against your lips, his dark eyes blown full of lust.

“I know, it's so good, you're so good,” You murmur, taking his bottom lip between your teeth before sucking on it.

Your move almost sends him into a frenzy, the innate need to race to his climax flowing through his veins, but he has to get you there first, “You too.”

He starts slow, focusing on pulling himself out to just the tip before slamming into you. You push all of the ingredients to the side so that you can bend over completely, your nipples rubbing against the cold counter through the shirt every time he’s deep inside of you. His grip on your hips is deliciously tight— it almost hurts, and you know that Steven will grill him for the bruises that'll form in the coming days.

Eventually, he starts to pick up his pace but he doesn't sacrifice the depth, fucking you hard and fast and deep. You're incredibly wet and warm, your pussy practically sucking him in, your trembling under his heavy touch. The kitchen is filled with nothing but the wet squelch of his cock entering you over and over and mingled heavy breathing. You start to rock back against him, effectively pushing the tip of him into your cervix. It's the perfect mix of pain and pleasure and you bite down on your arm, hiking your leg back and around his waist so that he can somehow get even deeper.

You wonder what it looks like, him fucking you this harshly, his nails digging into your skin so hard that he might break skin. You know that his eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth agape and turned as he concentrates on how warm and tight your pussy is around his cock. His eyes probably are zeroed in where you connect, his chest heaving and glistening with sweat.

You on the other hand are flush against the cool counter, doing the only thing you can: taking what he's giving you. The pleasure is building in you steadily, as you greedily push your hips back against his.

The softest, filthiest, words of praise leave his lips, “You feel so fucking good, you’re perfect. My perfect little slut, made just for me. I can have you however and whenever I want, can’t I?”

“However and whenever,” You repeat, and he lips turn in a devilish smile.

“You’re everything to me.”

His words take you by surprise, tugging at your heartstrings once more. You open your mouth to say something back but then he bends forward so that his chest is flush with your back, and you clench around him a new threshold of pleasure met from this angle, “Fuck, Marc.”

“You can take it,” He declares, it isn't a question; all you can do is whine beneath him, your words of agreement stuck in your throat as you move closer to your orgasm. “Say it.”

“I can take it,” You murmur, trying your best to keep pushing back against him though there's no space between you.

“Yeah, you can baby,” He praises, planting a kiss on your sweaty forehead.

“Will you cum inside me? Please?”

“You want me to fill you up?”

“Yes, please baby,” If you had the mind to care you would cringe at how desperate you sound.

“Fill you up so much and we can watch it drip out of you,” His voice is low, gravelly in your ear.

The image of him and Steven looking at your pussy while it's messy and full sends a shiver down your spine. “Mhmm,” You whimper, turning your head to give him a sloppy kiss.

“Cum for me first baby, and I’ll fill up this sweet little pussy of yours.”

He continues to pound into you like his life depends on it and before you know it you’re coming undone, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. As soon as he hears the telltale gasp leave your throat he snakes his hand between you and the counter, rubbing harsh circles into your clit to intensify and prolong your release. If he wasn’t keeping you pinned between him and the counter you would collapse to the ground, your body turned to jelly from the sheer amount of pleasure that radiates through your entire body.

He doesn’t stop as you clench around him, driving himself as deep as he can get. It's all he can think about, reaching the furthest part of you, so he can breed you thoroughly. Standing upright again he brings you with him, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other one getting you steady as he fucks you brutally. He thrusts into you with a deep, guttural groan before stilling, and you feel the warmth of his cum fill you to the brim. His hips pull back before he snaps them forward again, wanting to fuck his cum as deep inside of you as possible.

Abruptly he pulls out of you, and drops to his knees, his hands splaying you open to watch his cum seep out of you. With no warning his mouth is on you, sucking at your clit and lapping at your center to collect his own cum. His groans are constant and filled with a hunger that quickly brings you to your second orgasm. This one is quick and just as powerful as the first, your pussy fluttering around nothing, and he continues to eat you until the moans stop ripping from your throat.

Turning you around, he scoops you up bridal style before carrying you over to the couch. His hands rub up and down your arms as he peppers kisses over your face, waiting for you to recover from your second release.

You’re effectively useless, your breathing still heavy. You feel like you’re spinning, up in the clouds, the only thing grounding you is his warm touch. When you finally feel like you’ve returned to earth, you clear your throat and look up at the man before you with heavy lids, “Steven, I know it’s you.”

A cheeky smile spreads across his face as he leans in to kiss you, “How’d you know it was me, dove?”

“You have that kink, not Marc…at least not yet.”

Steven just laughs before dipping his head to steal more kisses from you. You kiss him back happily for several moments, the kisses wet and slow before you realize that you were doing something before you were interrupted by them.

“Wait, Stevie, I was cooking breakfast,” You pull away, glancing over at the kitchen.

“Don’t worry about it dear, you just lay here and I’ll finish it up.”

“But it’s your favorite, I should make it.”

“I think you’ve done enough for us today, yeah?” His hand raises to caress your face affectionately before cupping your cheek.

You nod softly, a smile pulling at your lips, “Yeah, okay.”

“I love you, always. Marc too,” He says firmly, pressing his forehead to yours.

Steven’s love confessions always lift you out of the misty, but welcome fog that is Marc and the way he carries himself. If Marc is intense, brooding, and drawing you in, then Steven is light and airy— he’s bright and clear. They’re the perfect pair, a balance that you’re extremely grateful for.

In your tiredness from the intense sex, you feel your eyes grow a bit teary, your voice thick with emotion, “I love you too, both of you.”

if you’d like to be on my moonknight taglist, let me know!

moonknight taglist: @laurensprentiss, @angelfxllcm, @in-between-the-cafes, @honeybrowne, @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch

3K notes · View notes

dont-feel-so-good-peter · 2 years

Text

𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 [𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃]

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐀𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐫/𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

[𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭!𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐓𝐚𝐠: @thetempleofthemasaigoddess

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐈𝐬𝐢𝐬, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐝𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐈𝐬𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐊𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐮. 𝐊𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐬𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰. 𝐈𝐧 𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐊𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐮'𝐬 𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐊𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐮'𝐬 𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐜𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞.

Word count: 16K+ [more of story because the smut is at the end, I’m sorry, perhaps a part two with Steven if y’all want it]

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐳𝐲

—Among the numerous deities and Gods that had to be out there across different cultures, you would have never expected the mother of Egyptian gods to choose you but it's been six years since you've been chosen to be her avatar. Being an avatar for the mother of Egyptian Gods was a lot of pressure on you. Other gods and their avatar's consulted you, you almost felt like a mother to all of them because every day was a meeting with the gods in your underground club.

Raider's Reef, the underground club that you created specifically for the avatars and gods. Other gods and avatars from other cultures were welcomed, of course. It took a while to not be weirded out seeing the avatar's God's, it freaked you out for the first few months but eventually, you got use to it.

Your club wasn't only just a club for the avatars and gods, business happened down there as well between the gods to discuss what's next with their plans. And today wasn't any different as your office overlooked the club below. Your office had see-through windows that you could look down upon the dance floor, the bar, and the numerous doors that lead to the business meetings and doors that lead to other parts of the planet and planes of different ancestral worlds.

With your office overlooking the club. You pressed your forehead against your black granite desk with a large sigh. The meetings were endless, the gods were very intense for you to handle all the time and you weren't in a particularly good mood because of your powers. The powers that Isis gave to you weren't limited but they did require a lot of energy. Having to keep this club a secret as there was another club on top of the one you created as a disguise.

Having to manipulate fabrics of reality to fool people was exhausting, and even worse, the avatars that came to seek to aid used your power. And today was a constant day of using your power because word on the street that something shifted in the world and the gods were anxious, using their avatars to find this shift and using you the most as well.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up." You commented to Isis. She was behind you equally as anxious but she kept a neutral expression on her face but you saw the worried creases tense on her forehead.

"They need us." Her angelic yet strong voice made you perk your head up lazily from the desk. "They seek our help because there's a shift. A terrible one. . .I can't describe it but something is happening."

"I would like to know what that is because this is getting exhausting." You said, turning around in your chair to look at the goddess herself. Her long, black-haired cascaded down to her lower back. Her piercing dark cat like eyes stared almost blankly at you but being with the goddess for years, you knew her every emotion, desires, passions, everything about her. The golden crown that fell over her forehead with gold stringing swayed each time a tremor shifted in the air.

Isis was calculating, you could see it on her face. You could almost groan knowing what she wanted you to do. The downside of being a powerful avatar is that you have to help every and any avatar by her command. The expression on her face indicated that she wanted you to help another avatar. "Who is it now?" You sighed heavily.

"My dear friend Khonshu," Isis spoke, leaning against the windows as her eyes trailed to the club below. "He's planning something. I gave him the power of the moon and I can feel from the moon's lights that he has something to do with this tremor. I'm not sure if it's directly or indirectly."

"Khonshu? I haven't spoken to him since Harrow left. . ." You muttered to yourself as you got up wobbly; from the hours you spent sitting on the chair, your legs were sore. The energy was still drained from you but all you needed was to eat something to gain your energy back. You walked next to Isis gazing down at the club and watching the avatars speak to their gods about what to do next. No one knew what was going on and you were the one that had to get the answers for them. "It's been. . .what? A couple years?"

"He's not very social. I was pleased to see that he got along with you well. I almost thought you were his favorite human." Isis teased a bit.

You rolled your eyes at the tall goddess. Sometimes, you had to crane your neck to stare at her. But today, she decided to be around your height to make it easier on you. "He was only nice to me because no one wants to challenge you everyone knows that I'm your favorite human." You deadpanned.

Isis faintly smiled not denying your statement. "I need you to seek out Khonshu and tell him to come here. This is the only place that is truly safe for us Gods."

"And you're worried about him?"

You already knew the answer to what was she feeling and she was a stubborn woman to admit to when she's worried about another God. She can admit to being worried about other avatars and humans but Khonshu to her was a different story that you knew well of. "Go speak to him and tell him to come here. I know he's stubborn as well to ask for help but I can feel his need for it."

You nodded, turning around to head to the door that was used for you only. Isis granted you magic to meet any avatar or god around the world. Going to the gold door with black imprinting of Isis on it, you pressed your hand on top of it. The way the door worked was that you had to think of Khonshu, the door only worked if you had a connection to the God or avatar. Isis ensured that you had a connection with every god for that matter.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. The vast darkness surrounded your area. The echoes of whispers of the dead language of the god's filled your ears. The images of London flickered in and out of the vast darkness. Khonshu was perched on top of a building talking to what you assumed was his new avatar but you couldn't see his avatar clearly; almost as if his face was blank. A warmth of vibrations sent shivers through your body, the connection was made and the bird God craned his head towards an empty spot next to him.

Khonshu knew you were coming. The door disappeared, you opened your eyes and walked through the golden light. The light transported you to London, on top of a building where Khonshu was sitting at. The cold breeze of London took you off guard as you wobbled around trying to gain your balance. You hated going through those doors, the transportation made you want to throw up.

"Khonshu." You greeted.

His dead, eyeless skull face looked over at you. "[NAME], HOW UNEXPECTED." He deadpanned, his deep voice laced with sarcasm.

"Nice to see you too." You replied, taking a seat next to him as you tilted your head to look up at him. You wished Khonshu would size down a bit but you knew he was too prideful to care for anyone else's well-being. "You must know why I'm here."

"YES," Khonshu said, tilting his head to look at the moon. "THE MOON BETRAYS ME. ISIS COULD FEEL THE PREDICAMENT I'M IN. IT SPOKE TO HER, DIDN'T IT?"

You nodded. "You know about the shift in the air. It's worrying the gods and. . .we need your help. I know that you need our help as well." You only hoped that Khonshu would agree but you knew how he felt towards the other gods.

"THE GODS BETRAYED ME! OUTCASTED ME! WHY WOULD I EVER NEED THEIR HELP?" The sudden yelling didn't startle you because you got used to their intense, loud voices but you sucked in a breath, preparing yourself again.

"Isis needs you. I know you have a soft spot for her." You said, gazing down to the ground below to faintly see his new avatar walk away from a broken mirror. You saw his body tense and brooding as his fist were clenched to his side. It was hard to tell how he looked like from your position but somehow, you knew soon enough you would see him again. "Are you at least treating this new avatar good?"

"IS THAT A RHETORICAL QUESTION?" Khonshu asked, grasping his staff tighter. "HE IS MY AVATAR OF JUSTICE. THERE IS NO TIME TO TREAT HIM WELL. I GIVE HIM MY POWERS, HE SHOULD BE THANKFUL. IT COULD BE WORSE."

"Hmm." You hummed lazily watching his avatar disappear behind the buildings away from your sight. You were almost disappointed that you couldn't see him and hoped he was better than Harrow; you didn't have a good friendship with Harrow and when he disappeared, you silently thanked whoever caused that to happen. "You need my powers, Khonshu. Whatever is happening in the air, it's dangerous. You need to come to Raider's Reef. I'm giving you twenty-four hours to come or else Isis is going to be mad. I care for you, Khonshu. I didn't outcast you, I may be your only friend at the moment."

"I DON'T NEED FRIENDS." Khonshu's voice muttered low. You knew how Khonshu felt being betrayed and outcasted, Isis told you the stories of how it happened and why. The compassion seeped through hearing his story and you wanted to befriend him, perhaps you're his only friend that he will never admit to but you were there in those once-in-a-blue-moon moments where he did ask for your aid.

"Perhaps but you need an ally that will help you because if the other gods find out that you're doing something where the humans can find them out, they will punish you." You warned, slightly patting his hand that rested on his lap, feeling the rough bandages underneath your palm. "Isis nor I want to see you get punished for trying to do something good."

Khonshu stayed quiet for a moment, turning his hand around to feel your much smaller hand on top of his. Sometimes, he could be a good god. "YOUR COMPASSION ANNOYS ME. ARE ALL HUMANS THIS ANNOYING WITH COMPASSION?"

You lightly chuckled, patting his hand one more time before standing up. "Just think about it because whatever is going on, we don't have much time. I'm always here to aid you and your new avatar. I can help your avatar in whatever is happening."

You didn't wait for a reply, knowing the aloof moon god, he wasn't going to say much. You turned around and walked to where a golden, rectangle of light shone a few feet away from Khonshu. Before you stepped in, you looked at the brightly lit full moon. The rays of the moon reflected down on Khonshu as if Isis was watching the whole ordeal and you knew she was, they glistened brightly against him.

You couldn't tell the emotions of the gods if you were a regular avatar but being a consultant for all gods, you knew almost their every reaction and emotion. You could tell Khonshu was thinking deeply, trying to not show what he was truly feeling. You hoped he would make the right choice and seek help. With one last look at him, you entered the passage door leaving Khonshu alone with his thoughts.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Marc sat on the bed of Steven's flat. His hands were covered in blood, chapped at his knuckles where his skin was torn and his bones showed. The regeneration of healing slowly started to combine together to form new skin as if it was trying to wash away every terrible deed Marc did. The physical pain can heal but his spirit was broken from having to harm people but this was his punishment, he was always a killer ever since the death of his brother.

Marc looked over to the reflection to see Steven with a deep frown, brows etched together. "What do we do now?" Steven softly asked. The most important piece of information that Marc had was gone, slipped through his fingers and now, Harrow has it.

Marc almost felt hopeless. He lost the one thing that will possibly end everyone's life. Souls will be judged before their time if they have a mere thought of just harming someone. The weight of the world was on his shoulders, if he didn't succeed, he truly did become a killer. He would indirectly kill innocent people from his failure.

Marc rested his face in his hands, feeling his hand's tingle from the healing trying to recover the old skin. "I don't know, Steven," Marc muttered into his hands. "If you just let me take the damn body, I would have stopped Harrow and his followers!"

"Yeah? By killing people?" Steven scoffed from the mirror, shaking his head. "I am not letting you kill anyone else!"

"Oh yeah? What are you going to do then, huh?" Marc shouted back, taking his face from his hands and turning towards the mirror on the wall. "You're going to try to sing a Disney song, talking about the magic of friendship? Guess what Steven, this isn't My Little Pony where you can just talk the villain out of harming people. This is the real world!"

"I don't even know what My Little Pony is but I'd rather try to talk them out of it than murder a bunch of people."

Marc inhaled deeply, parting his lips to argue back but he felt the presence of Khonshu. He turned his head to see the god standing there, shaking his head. "I THOUGHT THE WORM WAS CONTAINED." Khonshu deadpanned.

"I'm trying," Marc muttered through gritted teeth, rubbing his knuckles to feel his skin completely repaired. He glanced down to his knuckles to only see stained blood that wasn't his splattered over his hand. "Since Harrow took the scarab, he's going to release Ammit soon. What do you propose we do now?"

"THERE IS ANOTHER OPTION. . ." Khonshu almost sounded defeated as he shook his head. Marc rose an eyebrow at this, he had never seen the god this hesitant about something. "RAIDER'S REEF IS AN UNDERGROUND CLUB WHERE THE AVATARS AND GODS GO TO THE MEET THE AVATAR OF ISIS. THE GRAND GODDESS OF EGYPTIAN GODS. THE AVATAR IS EXTREMELY POWERFUL, HOLDING THE MOST POWER THAN ANY AVATAR."

"Huh, so do you have friends." Marc sarcastically replied, rolling his eyes. "Stop with all the vagueness, where is this Raider's Reef club? And why do I need to go there?"

"SINCE YOU FOOLISHLY LOST THE SCARAB, YOU NEED ASSISTANCE AND. . .THE AVATAR IS THE ONLY PERSON WHO WILL BELIEVE YOU ABOUT WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN. I CAN TAKE YOU TO THE LOCATION BUT NO MORE QUESTIONS." Khonshu commanded, walking over to Marc. "FIND ISIS'S AVATAR AND TELL THEM WHAT'S GOING ON."

"Great, finding an avatar that I don't know or know how they look. Thanks, Khonshu." Marc deadpanned as Khonshu held out his staff towards him, he assumed that he had to grab on to the staff. His fingers grasp around it and Khonshu lifted it and hit the bottom against the floor three times.

Marc felt the air swish around him, violently swirling around him as a bright, white light filled his vision. He closed his eyes from the burning light and felt his body being transported. It almost felt like an eternity but the transportation stopped, he opened his eyes to see a lit-up building.

The building was a black color, the windows were blacked out but the glow around the building was a light blue. There was a sign on top of the building reading Ice Lounge Club. A penguin lit up next to it with a drink in its hand. He furrowed his brows at the building. "I thought we were going to Raider's Reef club?"

Khonshu heavily sighed. "YOU FOOL, IT'S UNDERNEATH THIS ILLUSION."

"Illusion?" Marc questioned, following the tall god towards the entrance. To his surprise, he watched Khonshu open the door. This made him more confused but he went with it and walked in behind the god. Music blared through his ear as fog swarmed around his feet. His feet almost completely vanished underneath the thick fog.

The club had people dancing around almost everywhere. The blue under glows and low lights made the club extremely dark. He had to squint to see where he could find Isis's avatar. "Khonshu, what do you mean Illusion?" He questioned again, following the god through the crowd.

"WHAT YOU'RE SEEING IS FAKE. THE BUILDING IS REAL BUT THE INSIDE IS NOTHING BUT MERE MAGIC." Khonshu replied, outstretching his staff to hit against one of the bars. His staff went through the wooden, oak bar causing Marc to gape at the sight.

"Wait, are all these people fake too?" Marc questioned, looking around with furrowed brows, questioning his reality. If everything was an illusion that must meant that these people aren't real or seeing something in their minds that believes it's reality. But Marc chose the former and that these people aren't real.

"PRECISELY."

"Wow," Marc muttered, waving his hand around the supposed people but his fingers went through the dancing people feeling nothing but air. He immediately took back his hand and stepped away. "Creepy."

"THERE'S NO TIME TO ACT LIKE A CHILD. WE MUST GO." Khonshu demanded, walking to a golden door in the far back of a hallway.

Marc grumbled under his breath and followed Khonshu down the hallway. It was eerily dark and quiet compared to the music playing behind them. He wanted to know how much power this avatar of Isis contained if they can make a convincing illusion like that one. Khonshu stopped in front of the black door with a symbol on it.

"That's the symbol of Isis. If we are going to meet her, I'm going to freak out." Steven said from the reflection on the wall with wide eyes.

Marc rolled his eyes at his alter. Steven was easily impressed and overly eager to meet a god. To Marc, he didn't want to deal with any more gods than he have to. He didn't want to have to deal with any god in fact but he wrote his soul away on a contract and he was punished for that exactly.

Khonshu pressed against the symbol with his large skull hand. The door lit up a golden color and disappeared under his touch. Once the door dissolved, Khonshu walked through the door and Marc followed.

Marc looked around to see people surrounding the lower levels, talking hurriedly among each other. This club was different compared to the other one. With the dark red walls, the floor was black marble. The room wasn't too dark, it was lit up by chandeliers that hung highly by near the second floor where he saw a room with windows that looked down to the lower floors. "I'm assuming the person we're looking for is up there?" Marc questioned.

"PRECISELY. NOW HURRY UP, IDIOT."

Marc complied with an eye roll from the bird god insult and followed Khonshu but as he passed the people in the lounge, they turned their heads to stare at him. He assumed they must have known he was Khonshu's avatar and wanted to see who he was. "This is bloody uncomfortable," Steven spoke with shakiness.

"Yeah, I'm not liking it as well," Marc muttered, narrowing his eyes around as Khonshu walked up the stairs.

"YOU'RE LUCKY THAT YOU DON'T HEAR THE GODS SPEAKING BECAUSE THAT'S MORE ANNOYING THAN THE AVATAR'S STARING AT YOU," Khonshu said, gripping his staff as he walked to the door where the building resided at. "DO NOT BE DISRESPECTFUL, IDIOTS. THIS AVATAR CAN HARM YOU WITHOUT FLINCHING."

Marc glared at the backside of Khonshu but stayed quiet as the door opened and they went inside. He was fairly impressed to see that the room was nice looking. The black granite desk that was in front of the large windows that peered down to the first floor of the club, a few step stairs where a conversation pit where the sofa was U-shaped, and a glass table was in the middle of it. Doors along the walls that must have led somewhere.

The dark colors of blues and blacks splashed around every color of the room. Marc glanced around and landed his eyes on a person, a male who sat on the large sofa. The man was fairly large with muscles, he looked tall even as he was sitting down and handsome. Marc should have known that the mother of Egyptian gods was going to pick someone who was built well and handsome.

Marc walked over down the small steps. "Are you the avatar of Isis?" He questioned, sitting down on the sofa, on the other side of the mysterious man.

The man stared at him confused. "What? No. I'm the avatar of Babi. The avatar of Isis is coming soon. . .you must be the avatar of Khonshu."

"Yeah, unfortunately," Marc muttered loud enough, looking around. "What is this place? The club on top is full of illusions? How did the avatar of Isis manage that?"

The man opened his mouth but another voice interrupted him. "You're a curious one."

Marc turned his body to where the voice was at. His eyes slightly widened seeing a fairly short woman standing there. Your [color] eyes sparkled with mischief. The beauty of you took him by surprise. The way your hair cascaded in a style showing off your [color] skin. The way you radiated confidence as you strode around the room to get to your desk, and sat down in the chair. The smile etched on your lips as you looked where Khonshu was at.

Wait. How did you know where Khonshu was at?

"You're the avatar of Isis?" Marc didn't want to come off as rude but his voice was in shock. A small woman like yourself held an immense amount of power. He was impressed, he thought this mysterious man was the avatar of Isis; he was completely taken back.

"Indeed. . ." Your lips twitched in amusement. You turned your head to the man sitting across from Marc. "I'm sorry, Rick. We don't have time to speak at the moment. I have an important meeting at the moment and tell Babi that I apologize as well for not getting to you but soon I will."

"Oh no, it's okay. All the gods are freaking out about what's going on." The man stood up and walked over to the door with a friendly smile. "If anyone can help fix it, it's you." With that, he left.

Marc arched an eyebrow as he walked out of the conversation pit and walked toward your desk to sit down in front of you. "Seems like everyone comes to you for advice."

"Well, being the avatar to Isis, everyone seeks for her aid and advice." You shrugged, leaning forward on the desk. Marc can see the bags underneath your eyes. They were dark and heavy, the whole situation that was happening with Harrow must be taking a toll on you but the thing was that you didn't know it was Harrow. "So, Khonshu decided to come. It didn't take that long, Khonshu. How are you today?"

"ANNOYED," Khonshu stated, standing behind Marc as he hit the bottom of his staff on the ground. "I DID NOT COME HERE FOR SMALL TALK, WE'RE HERE BECAUSE WE MUST DEFEAT HARROW."

You furrowed your brows and looked back at Marc with parted lips, confused. "Harrow? You know what's going on with the shift that's making the gods and everyone nervous. Can you tell me what's going on?"

Marc took a deep breath. It was hard to focus because there was something about you that felt familiar. Too familiar. His heart hammered in his chest as his fingers curled around the arm seats. He didn't know why he was so nervous. Marc Spector was never nervous but something in him was shaking.

"Harrow is Khonshu's old avatar as you probably know but he believes he can raise Ammit and get rid of sinners before they ever sin," Marc said, straight to the point of what's going on. "Raising Ammit will kill and harm a lot of people. He's hell-bent on this mission. He took the scarab that leads to Ammit and he's not going to stop. . .Khonshu said that you can help us."

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you sighed heavily, groaning as your face fell against your desk. Marc furrowed his brows as he frowned, he expected you to be composed but you weren't at all as your shoulders slumped at the information. "Well, that's just great." You raised your head, looking to your side. "Isis, you must warn the other gods as I go with. . .I'm sorry I didn't get your name."

"Marc Spector."

"Hi, I'm [Name] [Last Name]." You quickly introduced, swirling around your chair to hurriedly got out. "I'm going with Marc to help him track down Harrow. We must prepare for a fight." You turned quickly to Marc as you frantically walked around your office to gather your things. "I will help you, Marc. We can't allow him to raise Ammit. I will aid you in any way you need."

"HMM, THIS IS WHY SHE'S MY FAVORITE HUMAN."

Marc rolled his eyes at Khonshu's comment and saw a small smile form on your lips as you merely glanced at Khonshu. "You're doing this without questioning me?" Marc asked confused. "Because we tried to talk to the other avatars and they wouldn't listen."

"That's because they're fucking idiots." You said truthfully. "I had suspected that Harrow had a grudge against Khonshu so yes, I believe you."

Marc was liking you more by the second. When Khonshu had called upon the meeting, no one had believed them and only focused on the things that weren't important but thankfully, you went down to business and believed them. There was something about you that he couldn't pinpoint but something was stirring in Marc, it was a weird feeling because he never trusted anyone this quickly but for some reason; he knew he could trust you.

Maybe it was the energy you radiated or the goddess giving you that ability for people to trust you but the weird tingling sensation that spread across his chest was something he tried to push down.

You pushed your chair back and looked over to Marc. "Let's go."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Marc leaned back against the boat that floated on the lake that will take them to where Harrow was last seen at. His arms were crossed as his legs were spread open, his body leant against seat. The fluorescent hues of blue and purples cascaded over his face, his brows were scrunched together deep in thought. Your eyes trailed over the man curiously, he was handsome. His hair parted to the side, neatly. His eyes carried rough and darkness but there was a hint of darkness to him.

Magic or not, you can tell he's been through a lot from the way he's carrying himself. He's quiet and mysterious. It almost always seems his eyes are glazed over, deep in thought to another world. The warmth of radiating heat spread across your cheeks when you realized you'd been staring at him for a few minutes. It was hard to think about anything else than the way his thick legs were spread trying to keep at bay the thoughts of sexual desire but Marc's eyes glanced over to you, catching you in the act.

Your shoulders raised, tense from being caught. But he didn't say a word about catching you, he tilted his head and arched an eyebrow slightly. You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Sooo, how long have you been an avatar of Khonshu?" You questioned awkwardly hoping that he didn’t have the power to hear thoughts.

"Couple years." He shortly said. You had a feeling you won't get much out of him, he seem like a man of very few words.

"It's not easy being an avatar for them, is it?" You said, trying to get more than a few words out of him.

Marc shuffled in his spot, sighing softly. "No, it isn't. From the way you were acting earlier, I suppose you aren't this stressed out?"

You rose your eyebrows, surprised that he was willing to make conversation but you let out a short breath of a laugh. "No." You shook your head. "I'm usually more composed but every single Egyptian God and Goddess and their avatar have been bothering me for the past two weeks about what's happening. I'm the main consultant because I'm the avatar of Isis and they ask for her help. I haven't rested in those past weeks well."

Marc let out a chuckle. "I know how that feels. . ." He trailed off, leaning forward, and rested his elbows on his thighs. The mere action of him leaning forward made you fidget in your spot, why did the person you had to help was so hot just barely doing anything. "But you must be powerful for the gods to look up to you. I saw the illusions at the upper part of the club, that's magic, isn't it?"

You nodded, holding your hand out emitting a gold energy that sparkled brightly. Marc's eyes dilated as he stared at the magic in awe. He's heard of magic before and seen on the news where the heroes were showing that magic off but nothing looked pretty as the magic you emitted out of your hands. There was a warm glow to it, something he could stare at for hours and not get tired of it.

Something was familiar with your magic. "I REMEMBER WHEN ISIS WOULD HEAL THOSE WHO NEEDED IT. I REMEMBER HER MAGIC. IT LOOKED LIKE THE SUN." Khonshu stated besides Marc, a few feet away. He was right, the magic resembled the sun. Marc’s eyes flickered to your face, the glow of the magic glimmer a light on your face; he saw the stars in your eyes as you stared at your magic with awe. Your beauty matched the sun, he wondered if your powers resembled how you were physically or internally.

"Isis use to tell me about how Khonshu would follow her around to ask to see her magic." You said, teasingly looking over to the bird god who tilted his head at you, huffing.

"Were they lovers?" Marc questioned, glancing over to Khonshu who looked the other way from them.

"Something like that." You stated, closing your palm and the magic went away. "I can create anything that magic allows me but I'm bound to the rules of magic. The laws of nature. I'm the most powerful avatar because of the magic I possess."

"I just get armor, strength, and have a healing factor," Marc grumbled, glaring over to Khonshu. "There's not that much I can do besides kill people he asks."

"I assume these people are the worst?"

Marc nodded. He didn't know why but he was almost afraid to hear your opinion of what you would have thought about him killing people. He didn't know you well but this weird feeling as if he did. "I only kill those Khonshu deemed who did the worst sins. I don't take innocent lives."

"Well, I don't judge you for taking lives. We do what we must for our gods. I don't take innocent lives either. I rarely do that, I help those who Isis deems worthy of helping. You're not a bad person. . .at least I hope you aren't." You lightly chuckle, shaking your head at yourself. You felt nervous, you hated feeling nervous but he was making you feel nervous under his gaze. Khonshu definitely stepped up from what Harrow was, you just hope that what Marc was doing won't destroy him in the process. "Taking a life is hard. I know that, when I took my first life, I couldn't stop throwing up after two days. I felt terrible taking a person's life but it was for the greater good, the life I took. He was a predator, and to know that I at least helped a potential victim in the future not get harmed by this person. . .it was worth it."

"You don't feel guilty about it?" Marc questioned, furrowing his brows.

"Not as much anymore. There's a checklist in my head and with the checklist, I say all of the bad things those people did. I only harm the worst of sinners. Murderers, abusers, rapists, and those who meet that criteria. I imagine that their victims would be happy that they're dead, I take the burden of doing what they dream of. Killing their abusers. If I can get rid of someone's monster then I don't mind."

Marc took in your words. He thought he had to become a killer because of what he did to his younger brother. He thought he had to become the very thing that his mother kept calling him. The tremendous amount of guilt he felt each day was rooted in how he accidentally killed his brother and how he blamed himself for that. He focused on his guilt that he didn't realize that the sinners he killed did something good for the victims. They can't harm anyone else, not when they're dead.

Justice isn't brought in court. Most cases are overturned because the system is flawed. The ideal of justice of harming those who deserve it was brought on to Marc by Khonshu. He should be thankful that Khonshu isn't asking him to harm innocents but all Khonshu cares for is justice so the breaking line of harming innocence may come if that means justice prevailed.

Marc knew he couldn't entirely erase the guilt of taking lives but he can feel better at ease knowing he at least helped someone. No one helped him when he was a kid with his abuser, he hoped he got rid of someone's abuser.

"There is chaos in you, Marc Spector." You suddenly said making him present in the moment again. He knitted his brows curiously. "Isis tells me that Khonshu chooses people with that chaos in them. . .I wonder, what is your chaos that Khonshu finds so alluring?"

It was like you almost asked that question to more to yourself. "Do you believe that I have that chaos in me since I take people's lives?" He gruffly asked.

You shook your head. "No."

You didn't answer any further as you looked in the distance the boat swayed to the water trying to get to land where Harrow was believed to be at. Marc stared at you curiously and confused. What chaos are you talking about if it isn't taking people's lives? Khonshu and Harrow said that about Marc as well.

Chaos. . .The idea of unsettling chaos in him made him uncomfortable and confused. Marc remembered how Harrow said that his scales weren't balanced, the scales kept shifting trying to decide his fate but his fate and future were unclear. Maybe the chaos was Marc's future.

The boat halted. You lightly patted his thigh as you stood up. "Come on, let's go find Harrow so I can finally sleep."

Marc nodded, getting up as Khonshu followed them. You were a curious being to Marc, he was surprised he didn't know much about you but he assumed that Khonshu kept you as a last resort. If you were powerful as you said you are then you would end this quickly. Raising Ammit will be out of the question with you.

He stepped out of the boat, onto the dock following closely next to you. "What's our story if anyone tries to ask?" He questioned.

"Hmm. . ." You trailed off in thought. You looked up at him and smirked. He rose his eyebrows as your hands laced between his, he stiffen for a moment. "Calm down. Have you ever had the touch of a woman?"

Marc rolled his eyes. "Oh, fuck off."

You snicker, bringing his hand up. Marc tried to contain his smile but he failed as he felt the twitch on his lips. Sometimes, he forgot the gentle touches of others. He never had any gentle touches in his life but there was something about your touch. The familiarity of warmth spread across his chest as he watched you narrow your eyes at his finger.

"Why don't you fuck my finger from the way you're staring at it," Marc commented. Flush spread across your cheeks.

"Don't be an ass, I'm trying to conjure an illusion." You muttered, rolling your eyes. His comment took you off guard, the thoughts of his fingers buried inside of your pussy passed through. You cleared your throat trying to shake those thoughts away. The padding of your finger traced along the scars on his hands as if you were trying to map out the stories behind them. Marc fluttered his eyes a bit from the touch of you, it was soft and welcoming. He gazed down at you as your finger went to his rings.

The cool metal of his rings made you shiver. There was something about his hands that made your walls clench around nothing. The prominent veins on his hands, the scars that littered around his knuckles, and the roughness behind them. You promised yourself that you wouldn't fall for someone, that you wouldn't develop a crush on another avatar but when your eyes flickered up as the glow of your golden magic flowed from your hand; your eyes met with his.

Isis always told you that the avatars of Khonshu and her were always destined to be together. Each century was the same story of the avatars falling for each other; it was destined love. But it was a curse because Isis and Khonshu could never truly be together so instead, they pour their love into their avatars witnessing their love flourish together. But she warned you of the sickness, if one of them can’t accept the love of their soulmate; they die. It was a grim and honestly, it may be against your will but to have Marc Spector as your soulmate?

You always thought that was a load of rubbish but the familiarity with him spoke otherwise. You gave up on the idea of love when you became Isis's avatar but she told you to be patient for one day your destined lover will come. For a moment, you thought it was Harrow but you were glad it wasn’t.

You shook your head at that thought. Among the deities, you were the avatar of Isis; there was no room for love. There was no room to play around with foolish feelings. You gave up a long time ago on love. The glow of the golden magic faded as his ring turned golden, a carving of yours and his initials with a small heart next to it. He rose an eyebrow impressed. "So, the story is that we're married?"

You nodded trying to chase away the butterflies at the thought of that. "Where's your ring then?" Marc questioned, tilting his head at your hand.

You rose your other hand up. The glow of golden formed around your finger and a ring with a diamond. It was simple yet elegant. "Our story is that we're married. We traveled across the world looking for lost treasures for our museum back in Canada. We heard that there was a map here that marked down the day of the greatest love story ever told in Egyptian history. You wanted to get me that map for our sixth year anniversary." You explained, lacing your fingers through his and feeling the cool metal of his rings brush against your skin.

"Huh, you have it all figured out, don't you?" Marc was fairly impressed that you were able to make up that story in a matter of seconds.

"When you pretend as much as I have, lying comes easy." You stated with a mere shrug, walking along with Marc, your fake husband, to the man who knew where Harrow would be at and to also steal the map because Marc explained before that the map was important to finding where Ammit's voice will be.

Marc hummed. "I know that all too well."

“But the illusion only last if you believe in it. So, if you believe that you’re ring looks like that, it will last.” You explained.

Marc nodded. “Okay, got it.”

The two of you stayed silent as you walked with Marc along the dock and to where the man would be at. You thought back to Isis and how she was keen about you finding your soulmate. The thousand-year century of the avatars of Isis and Khonshu falling for each other. Isis always said that the greatest gift she ever gave Khonshu was the powers of the moon. You wondered what was the greatest gift you could give Marc Spector.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Well, the plan couldn't have gone more south than how it did. If this man was truly your soulmate, he was a dumbass because of how he was being suspicious. You gave Marc time to find the map he was talking about but you heard distant mutterings of arguing between himself. You tried to preoccupy the man in front of you as much you could but he called his guards and now, you were fighting alongside Marc.

"DID YOU AT LEAST GET THE MAP?" You shouted moving your hands around in a circular motion gathering enough energy to blast at the men who were shooting at you and Marc.

Marc had his cape draped over you as he knelt to your level, protecting you from the bullets. "YES!" He shouted back. "YOUR BLAST BETTER HELP US GET OUT HERE!"

"JUST COVER ME!" You yelled, turning around as his cape was draped behind you. The glow of your golden magic burst around you, throwing the men with their guns to the ground in one swift motion.

Marc brought his cape down as he stared impressed. Khonshu was right to using you as a last resort. You were extremely powerful and the golden suit with intricate white patterns; he was turned on by the sight. He could feel his dick twitch in his suit at the sight of you as the glow of your magic sparkled and popped into little droplets of sunlights emitted around you. Before he could say anything to you, he felt his eyes flutter as Steven took control. You turned around and rapidly blinked confused. "Who are you?"

"That was amazing!" The accent change threw you off as well the suit he wore. A sharp, white tux with batons in his gloved hands. He wore a white plain mask as his eyes glowed at you, staring at you widely. "Hiya, I'm Steven with a V Grant and I just wanted to say that you were cool fighting. That little witchy woo magic, you are amazing, darling. And your outfit, I might have to change my suit to that color." He gave you a thumbs up, nodding his head.

You stood there with parted lips, trying to understand what was going on. "Where's. . .Marc?"

"Well, that's a little bit complicated, love." Steven gestured his hands around crazy, putting his batons away behind his back. "Me and Marc, we live in the same body. We switch and it's frustrating because I want him out of my body but that won't happen until we stop Harrow."

You were right, there is chaos in him but you didn't expect a British man to be part of that chaos. "Uh-huh. . .okay, Steven with a V Grant, that name sounds awfully familiar." You muttered to yourself more, that name did sound familiar. Before you became an avatar, you study film in college. The number of films you watched was long but you remembered most plot of the movies well enough, his name sounded familiar to you. There was no time to think about his name though. "Well, let's go stop him."

"Right, yeah. Did I mention how cool you look?"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Riding in the Jeep to the outskirts of the large dunes of sand, Steven sat excitedly in the passenger seat rambling about how cool it was to be around the avatar of Isis. He kept asking different kinds of questions about how she looked, how she was as a goddess, and questions about you. You were confused yet intrigued by this man. Isis whispered in your ear how the chaos runs deep within Khonshu's avatar and how troubled he is.

No shit the chaos ran deep within him. You tried to make sense of how there were two people in one body but you remembered how you had a friend who studied psychology. Your old roommate had an essay about DID and how a person can create alters from traumatic experiences. You wondered who was the main person and the alter. You suspected that Steven didn't know about his mental illness situation, you weren't going to break it down to him because he needed to figure it out with Marc. It wasn't your place since you just met the two of them.

"With all that magic you have, are you truly more powerful than Marc?" Steven questioned, resting his head against the car seat, gazing at you with such fascination. He never met anyone powerful, hell, he barely went anywhere. He had a sense of adventure and although he disliked Marc, the adventure came to him when Marc started showing. This adventure lead him to you, a fascinating person who was the avatar of Isis; what more of an adventure could he ask for?

"In a sense, he may be stronger than me but yes, I am more powerful than him." You confirmed, pulling the jeep over and turning the ignition off. "So, Steven, since you're into this Egyptian stuff, why don't you try to piece together this ripped-up map." You handed him the shredded fabric.

Steven happily took the fabric, opened the door, and stepped out. You followed his movements as he sat on the sand, playing around with the fabric as you watched him. Kneeling next to him, his hands moved delicately but intently, he knew what he was doing with the map. "Look at you, aren't you a beauty?" Steven muttered, gazing back at you.

You smiled at his comment but your smile faltered a bit realizing he meant the map. "Oh. . .yeah! Egyptian artifacts are. . .a beauty." You closed your eyes, cursing at yourself mentally for the embarrassment. You thought he complimented you, all the stuff about Isis whispering in your ear of how Steven/Marc was your destined lover was getting to your head.

"I was talking about you," Steven said, raising his hand and shaking the map around. "But I finished the map. This is a star reader where the stars will point to where we need to go."

Steven's comment caught you off guard. He was way different from Marc. His warm, chocolate brown eyes were more welcoming than Marc's. His shoulders were loose, free of tension, and how Steven carried himself was carefree. He was energetic and truthful. The complete opposite of Marc. You looked back at your fingers, the illusion still there of the rings. You gazed over at his hands and saw his golden ring. Illusions went far and yet, this illusion was sticking for longer than normal; maybe it was your conscious wanting the illusion that you could fall in love with someone.

"Oh. . ." Your cheeks burned as you scratched the back of your head. "Thank you. . .but if I remember correctly, those maps were for specific nights. The stars were different back then."

"Right, yeah. Look at you, you know your Egyptian facts." Steven joked, lightly elbowing your side. You suppressed a smile, shaking your head. "Well, that's the problem, innit? Since those stars are only for a specific night, we have no way of finding the tomb."

"I REMEMBER THAT NIGHT. . .I REMEMBER EVERY NIGHT. THAT WAS THE NIGHT ISIS GAVE ME THE GREATEST GIFT. A TOKEN OF HER LOVE."

You smiled at his words knowing the story. Isis would sit on the edge of your bed the first year of being an avatar, when you woke up from the nightmares, she would tell you the story of her giving Khonshu the gift of the moon. She wanted to show how much she loved him.

"You had a lover?" Steven lightly scoffed. "Yeah, right. I refuse to believe that you had a lover before me."

". . .I WILL KILL YOU, WORM." Khonshu hit Steven with the tip of his staff on his head.

"Ow. You silly bird, you need me so you can't kill me." Steven rubbed his head, rolling his eyes. "Since you remember every night. . ."

"THIS WILL GET ME IN TROUBLE WITH THE OTHER GOD'S. THEY MAY IMPRISON ME BUT YOU HAVE [NAME] WITH YOU. SHE CAN PROTECT YOU, FREE ME SOON." Khonshu begins to walk up to a certain spot, holding his arms out. "DO AS I DO, WORM."

Steven held his arms out as the suit-esque formed around his body. He followed Khonshu's position. You watched the two and stared at Khonshu worriedly. You knew if he turned back the night to the same night where the stars were aligned with the map, he would be imprisoned. You weren't going to be there for that, you weren't going to watch your friend be imprisoned for trying to help save the world.

The brightly lit sky of stars turned rapidly. Your eyes stared in amazement, the vast darkness of twinkles of stars were violently going back in time. You glanced over at Steven who was standing a bit prouder, the thing about him was that he wasn't as confident as Marc but with each interaction with him; his confidence was changing.

"HURRY UP AND FIND THE RIGHT COORDINATES."

You grabbed the map, pointing it to the sky. Your eyes glowed golden, the magic flowed through you as your eyes searched across the dunes. This type of magic required too much energy, the amount of energy was immense to search for something miles away. The rapid ground flowed away as the location of the tomb presented in front of you, you saw Harrow's men creeping around the outside of it.

"I got it." You muttered, feeling faint. "We will free you, my friend."

Khonshu stayed silent for a moment. "I TRUST YOU, [NAME]."

For a moment, your heart ached. The unbearable weight of feeling Isis pass through you, she took control for a moment. "We will free you, my love." She said through you.

Khonshu merely nodded, lowering his arms and accepting his fate as he disappeared into thin air. Steven fell to his knees as you did as well when Isis disappeared as well. Your body slumped against the ground next to Steven. His eyes widened in worry as the suit esque melted away, his arms cradled underneath you, shaking you lightly. "Hey, hey. Are you okay?"

You hummed softly, nodding. Fluttering your eyes open, you saw his concerned eyes gazing down at you. The warmth came back, the same one that kept reoccurring through the night. Steven felt the same warmth, he softly smiled at you, pressing his head against yours. "Bloody hell, I was terrified. . .Khonshu is gone, what do we do now?" Steven questioned, lifting his head to stare at you for answers.

"We have to find the voice of Ammit then, we throw it in the ocean or something but we just can't let Harrow obtain it." You said, shakily raising your body as Steven helped you up. "You have me, I'm not going anywhere. I will protect you as long as I'm alive."

Steven grinned at you. "Then let's go kick some child-killer ass."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Everything went south again, you got separated from Steven because of a monster creature. It was a horrifying sight as it ripped apart a man on the table slab. You wanted to gag at the sight, you had no clue what the hell that creature was but you didn't want to stick around to find out if it will do the same thing it did to that man.

With that separation, that creature did sadly follow you but you used your magic to disassemble it before it could get to you. After that disassemble, you saw someone you didn't want to see. Harrow. "Well, I'm impressed as ever but you never fail to impress me," Harrow said, his voice almost holding a condescending tone to it.

You rolled your eyes. "You're an idiot for coming here alone. I can rip you apart without blinking." You said, holding your hand out as the golden magic emitted into a sphere.

Harrow held his hand out, chuckling. "You're going to hear what I have to say before you do all of that." You narrowed your eyes but held your position. "Hmm, at least you're a reasonable person."

"My patience is wearing thin. I'm being reasonable for now but once your time is up, I won't be as reasonable. You have five minutes before I throw you off this ledge."

Harrow's smile never left his lips as his fingers clutched around his cane. "You were always my favorite avatar. You were always reasonable and compassionate with everyone. Even now when you know what I'm going to do, you still want to hear me out." Harrow shook his head, chuckling almost at himself. "I always admire you for that but now's not the time to appreciate you. You have chaos in you, [Name], that was always a fact and the reason why Isis chose you. Every god and goddess chose a troubled avatar. They're easier to control and to manipulate."

"And that's not what Ammit is going to do to you too?" You scrunched your face, shaking your head, and scoffed. "You think she's going to show you mercy and not make you her avatar because what? You freed yourself from that chaos? I know you, Harrow. This is all some revenge plot against Khonshu, he made you into what you are and you want revenge. Is this even about damning the sinners before they sin?"

Harrow simply smiled at you as he walked over to the ledge and sat down, resting his cane next to him. He folded his hands. "Do you know why Isis chose you?" He wondered out loud. You stayed silent. "You were about to kill yourself. You lost hope in humanity because you found out that your family was killed, brutally murdered. You were locked in the killer's basement for weeks, tortured."

"That happened before she chose me." Your voice wavered but you held your ground. You weren't going to show any weakness. You knew what he was doing, he tried to get under your skin, tried to use your trauma against you. "That happened when I was a child, I didn't know her then."

Harrow let out a laugh, a dry one at that. "No, she chose you the moment you entered the world of suffering. You were longing and desperate for love but no one loved you. No one chose you at the orphanage, no one chose you throughout your life. You were always the last choice of everyone. Hell, you were never anyone’s choice."

You felt a tight feeling in your chest as you shook your head. Your teeth sunk to the bottom of your lip as you let out a harsh laugh. "No, you don't know anything about me."

"You're broken and troubled. The chaos started in you when you were a child. You cared so deeply for everyone else that you threw away everything that you loved about yourself." Harrow sighed as if he was saddened by your past. As if it affected him. "You didn't get your revenge against those who hurt you but Ammit can give you that revenge. Ammit will always choose you. You deserve the world, [Name]. Isis chose you because you're broken. Isis chose you because she believes that you belong with someone broken as well."

"Marc." You muttered out but you shook your head. "I don't want to hear this anymore."

"Isis and Khonshu were long-lost lovers who couldn't have each other!" Harrow begin to shout, startling you a bit as your hands softly glowed a bit brighter. Your emotions use to control your magic but after years of practice, you controlled your emotions but right now, you couldn't. "They tried to do everything and anything to be together. They put this sick curse in their avatars so that when they do fall in love, they can possess their bodies and truly be together. Your free will be gone but Ammit can assure that the curse and they will be gone. You will have free will to love anyone on your terms not because of their curse."

"You belong with someone who will always choose you. You can get your revenge. The man who murder your family is still out there. But Ammit can give you everything you desire. If you want to be with Marc Spector, you could be without the curse. You could be more powerful than you imagine." Harrow almost sounded like he was pleading but the cracks in his argument were showing. "Why don't you submit to Ammit?"

You stayed silent. You stared at the man in front of you. His desire of hatred and his need for revenge took over him. He was no longer the man you knew years ago. He was making sense in his rambling but there was a fatal flaw in his argument. "I won't submit because I got my revenge. Why do you think I chose to become an avatar? I killed the man who murdered my family. I killed the nuns in the orphanage because they were harming me. I killed those who only deserved it. I know all about the love story of Isis and Khonshu. The cracks in your arguments are showing, you can't fool me."

Harrow tilted his head as a genuine smile spread across his lips. "I can see why your scales are balanced. You can admit the truth to yourself. You took pleasure in taking those lives, didn't you?" Harrow didn't need a reply because he knew the answer. "Hmm. Yet, the destined lovers, do you think that you can work out with someone as broken as you? Marc Spector is a troubled individual, you have no idea how deep the chaos runs in him. It will only get you killed."

"Maybe he will get me killed one day. But, if he and I were destined to be together, I'd choose him every and any day. I'm not broken, Harrow. The only broken person here is you."

Harrow's smile never wavered as he grasp his cane and got up. "Well, thank you for hearing me out and for buying me enough time."

You narrowed your eyes. "Enough time for what?"

Shots ranged out behind you. You whipped around with wide eyes. "Steven." You whispered, looking back hurriedly to see Harrow disappear into the hallway. "No." You ran to the hallway to the tomb. Upon arriving, Harrow beat you. You didn't know how but he did, the American accent of Marc came back as he was shouting at them. "Marc!"

Marc merely glanced at you as his fingers held tightly around the pipe. A shot rang out as it hit directly in his chest. You let out a cry. Your hands shot up as golden magic burst out of your hand. You moved your fingers through the air as your golden magic swirled around their necks, snapping them in an instant.

You looked at Harrow who was laid out on the ground, groaning from the burst. You stomped over to him, raising him in the air. The golden magic laced around his body as your fingers waved through the air. He let out piercing screams as you ripped his insides, tearing his muscles apart. "I hope in the afterlife you suffer." You waved your hand in the air, snapping all of his bones. The crunching sound of his bones echoed through the tomb as did a raspy gasp of one last breath. "I should have done that earlier."

You threw his body against the wall and ran to Marc who was gasping for air. You shuffled through the water and knelt beside him. "Don't worry, I got you." You said, raising your fingers above his wound. Your magic weaved around your fingers, connecting to the bullet, and pulled it out of him. "Sana eum."

You threw the bullet to the side as the golden magic weaved through his wound closing it together. Your fingers brushed against his face as he let out gasps of breath. You sighed thankfully, he wasn't going to die. His chest heaved heavily as the wound closed. He took another deep breath as he gazed at you. "What happened to protecting me?" His voice was gruff yet teasing.

You scoffed, hitting his shoulder but you smiled at him. He can still be an ass even though he almost died. "We did it." You stated, gazing around the tomb that was full of dead bodies. A stinging pain of guilt burned your chest but you did what you had to.

"We did it?" Marc questioned, sitting up from the water as the sounds of splashing water echoed in the air. His eyes landed over on Harrow's twisted body. He scrunched his nose up. "Yeesh, remind me to not get on your bad side."

You let out a laugh. "I could have done that earlier but he was monologuing about us being destined lovers." You joked teasingly but Marc rose an eyebrow, confused.

"Destined lovers? I don't buy that crap." Marc stated, shakily getting up as you helped him up.

"Yet you're an avatar of Khonshu." You pointed out, letting go of his upper arm.

"Well. . .destined lovers? It seems like a bit far fetch from gods but. . ." Marc sighed frustrated. "I guess not entirely impossible. He never told me about destined lovers."

"I will tell you about it after we get the voice of Ammit thrown to the ocean."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Marc and you decided that the voice of Ammit should be kept somewhere. Kept safe from everyone. You could only think of one sorcerer who would be able to keep her contained somewhere safe. With that, you freed Khonshu. Everything was set in motion and Marc could finally ask what you meant by "destined lovers."

You begin explaining what Isis has told you before and what Harrow had said. Marc listened intently occasionally making short replies and questions. He could tell Steven was over the moon about being a destined lover of Egyptian gods. If that were true, then why didn't you show up in his life earlier? He heard that the greatest gift that Isis gave Khonshu was the moon but what could you give him?

Marc couldn't believe the idea of being someone's destined lover. He didn't feel worthy of being loved by someone, not after what he's done. He allowed you to finish your explanation of the destined lovers. He stayed quiet for a few moments, soaking in the information. He let out a scoff, shaking his head. "And you believe in that shit?"

"Marc. . ." Steven called out from a nearby reflection with a slight frown. Warning the man who he knew would erupt into a sudden burst of anger; his emotions were unpredictable but the topic of love was predictable because Marc was always angry at the thought of love.

"I don't believe in destiny. Shit happens for a reason. I don't believe that destiny brings us together because two gods couldn't fuck each other." Marc was angry, he didn't know he was so angry. It wasn't even towards you that he felt anger, it was towards himself. He couldn't allow himself to be happy. He stood up angrily, the chair scraped against the black marble "Look, I appreciate that you helped me stop Harrow but this," he waved his arm between him and you. "This isn't destiny. I needed help stopping someone and you agreed. We barely know each other, you know nothing about me. Is that love to you? Is that destined love?"

You merely rose your eyebrows. You didn't feel hurt because you knew this anger wasn't towards you. He was just frustrated in general. "You're free to leave, I offered an explanation. You can do what you wish with the information I gave you because you're right. We know nothing about each other but the familiarity that I felt indicates that we know each other more than you know."

Marc pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, narrowing his eyes at you. "You don't know anything about me."

"I know about your condition." You said with a slight frown. He stiffen, his narrowed eyes never wavered. "For a long time, I believed that no one could love me. Isis chose me because she thought otherwise. She wanted me to love someone who she thought deserved it as well. I may not know you entirely but I know the feeling of not believing you deserve love. I won't ask you to stay, it's weird for me as well to accept the destined lovers but. . .I don't know, just think about it."

You waved your hands in the air. The door on the wall opened, the glow of the golden rectangle showed. "You're free to go home. You've done your part of stopping Harrow. It was nice to meet you, Marc Spector. Steven Grant." You nodded your head.

Marc felt guilty because you weren't frustrated or hurt by his words. It made the situation worse because you were being understanding and compassionate. His chest clenched at his actions and shook his head. He turned around and didn't look back, he merely glance over to you as he walked over to the door with Khonshu.

"Bye, Khonshu."

". . .THANK YOU."

You simply smiled, nodding your head as Marc entered the door. He didn't say goodbye, he couldn't say anything because destined lovers was something he couldn't believe in. He stopped believing in fairytales after his brother died. He couldn't believe in them, with destined lovers, nothing was ever simple. Nothing was ever destined, things happen for a reason. He wouldn't allow himself to be happy after what he's done.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Do you think it was a good idea to blow her off like that?" Steven questioned with a frown as Marc sat on the bed, barely glancing at the mirror.

Marc shrugged. "Who cares?"

"I care. She was a sweet person." Steven replied from the mirror. Marc shook his head, laying down on the bed. "Marc, if she said is true, why not give it a chance? Why not love someone? You know, I don't understand you, Marc-"

"Because you don't understand me at all, Steven." Marc snapped, propping his elbow against the bed, and looked over at the mirror seeing Steven flinch. "You know nothing about me."

Steven stayed quiet, gazing down. "I do know one thing, Marc," Steven said lifting his head. "You're a fucking asshole and you were being one with her."

Marc scoffed, laying back down and resting his hands on his face. He let out a frustrated groan. "THE WORM IS RIGHT. YOU ARE DESTINED TO BE WITH HER."

Marc let out an aggravated laugh as he sat up seeing Khonshu stand in the middle of the apartment. "You too? You believe in this crap?"

"WHO DO YOU THINK INVENTED DESTINED LOVERS? WHAT HARROW SAID WASN'T ENTIRELY FALSE. WE CAN'T POSSESS OUR AVATARS ENTIRELY BUT WE ONLY CHOSE PEOPLE WHO WE BELIEVE DESERVE THE LOVE WE NEVER GOT."

"So, you're okay with people dying but you draw the line where people don't get laid?" Marc asked, narrowing his eyes to make sure he was hearing and seeing Khonshu correctly.

"PRECISELY. BUT YOU CAN NOT FULLY LOVE HER BECAUSE YOU HAVEN'T ACCEPT THAT PART OF YOU THAT YOU DEEPLY DESPISE." Marc arched his eyebrow. "THE WORM. YOU HAVEN'T SHOWN YOUR MEMORIES. WHO HE TRULY IS. THE TRUTH."

Marc rolled his eyes, sighing. "And if I don't?"

"YOU WILL GROW SICK AND DIE. THAT'S HOW WE MADE IT TO BE, IF YOU DON'T ACCEPT THAT YOU'RE DESTINED LOVERS, THEN YOU WILL FALL ILL AND DIE."

"That's perfect." Marc pinched the bridge of his nose and clenched his jaw. "That's great. I have to believe in this shit or else, I'll die. That's perfect. I never asked for this."

"IN THE BACK OF YOUR MIND, YOU'VE BEEN WANTING HAPPINESS. WHY DENY IT? SO YOU CAN DIE? THAT SEEMS LIKE A PATHETIC WAY TO DIE."

Khonshu was right, it is a pathetic way to die. It was a stupid reason to die. To die for unaccepted love. It was downright stupid. "So, you force people to fall in love with each other? Against their will?"

"NO, WE CHOOSE BROKEN SOULS THAT WE BELIEVE DESERVE TO FIND LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE WITH EACH OTHER. YOU TWO ARE SIMILAR MORE THAN YOU KNOW. ACCEPT THE DESTINY OR PERISH."

"Great options." Marc pressed his lips into a thin line. "How do I show my memories to Steven then?"

"DON'T WORRY, I'LL HANDLE THAT."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Khonshu gave them a sense of dread through Marc and Steven within a limited amount of time. If they didn't show each other memories, they will be taken by the souls of Duat and die in their sleep. It wasn't a horrible way to go but the choices were limited. Either show Steven his memories, why Steven was created, and who he truly is to accept the destined love or die.

Marc's options weren't great. It was terrible going through each memory, knowing that the hourglass's sand dropped a passing second of their impending death if they didn't succeed. Khonshu always knew how to make everything dramatic. But the thing was, Marc looked through his memories and realize why he created Steven.

Steven was the person that gave him the most power. The power of comfort and self-love. If Khonshu said you were similar to Marc, then that must mean you created something out of loneliness. What was it?

Marc had to accept the destiny. If he was able to accept himself and what he created out of his loneliness then perhaps he can accept loving someone. Through the painful memories, it showed that he could love someone. He was worthy of love, his brother's death wasn't his fault. He wasn't alone because if the gods saw him worthy of loving someone even though he harmed and killed people then someone could love him for who he is and what he’s done. There was only one person that could love and understand him.

Marc walked through Raider's Reef illusion club. The club music thumped loudly through his ears, vibrating through his body. The fog was thick, he could barely see past the floor. His chest felt the bass of the music as he descended to the hallway, going up to the door where the real club was at. He pressed on the door and closed it behind him.

"Do you think she's mad at us?" Steven questioned through the body.

"I don't know, only one way to find out," Marc replied, walking up the stairs. There was no one today in the actual club. It was quiet, too quiet for Marc's liking. He wondered if you were okay. He jogged up the stairs and stopped in front of the door. He hesitated, for a moment because he was nervous.

Marc Spector doesn't get nervous but how are you supposed to tell your destined lover that you want to give it a try? He did find you very beautiful. He was attracted to you, he could barely concentrate during the mission. His eyes would wander to you, especially during the fight, you were powerful. Your power attracted him for some reason. You truly looked like the sun.

It's funny because he's supposed to represent the moon and you look like you represented the sun. The glow of your golden magic emitted beautiful around you. The sparkles that popped around your body as your eyes shined gold. He ran his fingers through his hair, he hated how the effects of the destined lovers magic were affecting him.

He raised his fist against the door but before he could open it, you opened it peeking your head out. Marc felt his breath hitch in his throat. He hasn't seen you for over two weeks. After he showed Steven the memories, the two of them took time away to understand what was happening and what was next.

Marc knew that this moment was the next step but having to actually be here, it made him nervous. He shuffled on his feet, sighing heavily. "Hi." He greeted.

"Marc, what are you doing here?" You asked, opening the door more. You leaned against the doorway as you crossed your arms. "Did something else happen again?"

"No, no. Nothing happened, I was hoping to talk to you." Marc said, pressing his lips together tightly. His heart hammered against his chest. "Can I uh come in?" He hated how awkward he was being.

“Is The Marc Spector stuttering?” Steven teased, snickering from a nearby reflection. Marc muttered at him to be quiet.

"Yeah, come in." You said, opening the door more and walking inside.

Marc muttered to himself about how stupid he was. He followed you in, he noticed how you were in a loose, large shirt with the imprinting of an avenger on your shirt. Small black shorts that were barely covering your ass. His eyes trailed down to your ass seeing the soft plumps of it.

"Don't be a perv, Marc." Steven scolded.

Marc rolled his eyes. "Technically, she's ours, Steven. I can stare all I want." He muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" You asked, jumping backward on the desk and crossing your legs together, tilting your head at him. Marc didn't know if it was the time away from you but his cock twitched from the sight of you. The curving of your legs, the way you propped yourself against the desk. Thoughts ran through his head, the destined lovers shit was getting to his head at once.

"I was uh talking to Steven."

"Okay. . .what was it that you wanted to talk about?"

Marc inhaled through his nose, running his fingers through the mess of curls. He parted his lips to say something. Anything but he couldn't. His eyes remained fixated on the plump of your lips. The way they were dragged between your teeth. The tilt of your head as your eyes stared at him curiously. Rational thoughts left his mind, he always took cautious steps.

Marc was reckless but he wasn't reckless when he didn’t trust someone. Those cautious steps to see if he could trust someone were the core of his being. Everything he was about to do was irrational. But his desire that burned through his veins was more prominent than his mind screaming to think rationally. "Marc?" You asked concern.

"Fuck it," Marc muttered, walking up to you carefree. His shoulders were loose, and his posture showed how much he gave into the idea of being someone's destined lover. He wasn't cautious, he wasn't careful. He abandoned his nature to give in to the one thing he never truly had.

Love.

Before you could say anything, he brought his hands to cup your face. He bent down and pressed his lips hungrily against yours. Your scent invaded his nose as his nose bumped against yours. Your eyes were wide from the sudden kiss but you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your legs, inviting him in.

Marc stepped closer, standing between your legs. His tongue swiped against the plump of the bottom of your lip. Goosebumps formed on your body as you felt one of his hands leave your face. You missed his touch but he instantly brought his hand to the hem of your shirt. He lifted his face away from yours, quickly throwing it over his shoulder.

His eyes gazed down to your bare chest. Your nipples perked from the cooling of the room. He arched an eyebrow at you as he smirked. "No bra?"

"I didn't expect visitors." You muttered as heat spread across your cheek.

"Oh? You weren't expecting me more specifically." Marc teased, lowering his head. His lips brushed against yours. The warm fanning of his breath made you shiver. You stared at him with half-lidded eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Is what we're going to do means that you've accepted the destined lovers shit?" You questioned, bringing the padding of your fingers against his jawline, tracing the prominent bone feeling his faint stumble.

"Something like that," Marc muttered, gazing down at you. Your head was tilted back as the padding of his palm traced the underside of your breast. The cool padding of his rings brushes against yours. You glanced down and saw his golden ring, the illusion only wears off if the user wishes to. Marc didn't wish for the ring you made him to go away.

The embedded initials of your name and his were marked along with the heart beside it. His thumb grazed over your nipple, you bucked your hips against his feeling the straining of his cock in his jeans. "I don't know why it took me so long to admit I wanted this but fuck, the wait was worth it," Marc muttered, pressing a quick kiss to your lips as he trailed a litter of kisses against your cheek along your jawline.

Soft whimpers left your parted lips as you rutted your hips against his to feel friction. But the mere light fabric rubbing against your clit wasn't enough. "Calm down, sweetheart," Marc muttered against the crook of your neck. His warm breathing fanned against your delicate skin. You narrowed your eyes at nothing.

"I want to feel you, Marc." You whined.

Marc chuckled against your neck. "Just wait, you'll get a reward for being patient." His tongue swirled around your neck, you let out a small gasp as he already knew your sensitive spot. He lowered his body down as he got down to his knees, he cupped one of your breasts into his hand, grazing his teeth against your nipple. His warm palms encase your other breast as he massaged the skin roughly. He closed his lips around your nipple, sucking it harshly.

The scraping of his teeth made you moan. Your neglected clit begins to throb at the sensation. Marc didn't even care to try to create friction to relieve himself, he was enjoying the moment he was having with you, focusing solely on you. He hallowed his cheeks as his tongue lashed against your nipple.

"Marc." You called out with a soft sigh, running your fingers through his hair. "If you wanted to fuck me, you could have done it in the tomb."

Marc chuckled against your breast, the vibration rattled against your skin causing you to shiver. "Who knew you were that dirty to fuck where dead people sleep."

"We all have our kinks." You merely shrugged jokingly.

Marc shook his head, smiling a bit as he languidly circled his tongue around your nipple. Fingernails dug into his scalp as you tugged at the root causing Marc to groan against your chest. His tongue rolled around to salve your sensitive bud as he continued to thumb at the other, palming the soft flesh. His mouth sucked around your breast leaving litters of different hues of colors of pinks and purples.

Marc could feel you rutting against his cock, the desperate need of your moans and your body wanting him. You looked beautiful underneath him. His lips parted away from your breast, and the silvering string of salvia drooled over your breast, bringing his head back. The string of saliva disconnected. Your chest heaved as you stared down at him, with half-lidded eyes. "Thank god I got a soulmate that knows how to suck tits."

Marc rolled his eyes, bringing his hands to the hem of your shorts. "Lift your legs for me." On his command, you did. You lifted your hips as he pulled the thin fabric down your legs and threw it aside carelessly. He couldn't believe how careless he was being. There was no such thing as soulmates but when the sickness started to hit him after a week, he realize that it was very real.

Marc pressed you down against the desk. The cold desk pressed against your arch back. You shivered from the coldness watching Marc kneel closer to the desk, wrapping his hands around the thickness of your thighs, pulling you down closer. A surprised gasp left your lips.

His eyes gazed at your bare cunt. It glistened underneath the low lights of your office. Marc grinned at the sight. "How long were you waiting for me to come back?" He questioned, stroking his index finger through your messy folds. The creamy slick coating his finger as you bucked your hips against his touch, he brought his palm against the lower part of your stomach to hold you down. "Answer me."

"I waited for you every day. I cummed at the thought of you every night waiting for you to do this in person." You admitted shyly. His fingers were something that you wanted to stretch you out since you first saw them, hell, you wanted him in general.

Marc smirked. "Well, who am I to deny your fantasies?" His tongue slipped between your wet folds feeling the wet muscle nudging against your clit. Your body jolted from his tongue, you let out a moan and felt his hands pressed down on the lower part of your stomach to keep you in place.

Marc stroked his tongue along your slit, lapping up the fresh slick that oozed from your tightness, prodding you with his tip. The padding of his free hand grazed against your tight hole, he spat on your slit watching the clear liquid trickle down your folds against his fingers. He pulled his fingers out of your tightness, capturing the essence, and pressed his spit into back of your fluttering walls.

You whined at his fingers feeling his lips latched against your clit, twirling his tongue against your puffy clit. His tongue lashed, slide to slide against your clit causing you to erupt in meek whimpers. He peered at you through his lashes feeling squirm underneath his palm. He didn't understand why didn't do this earlier, the simple taste of you drove him over the moon. This whole soulmate thing wasn't so bad but what made it better was that he had a powerful avatar underneath him, squirming and whining from his touch.

It felt pleasant to know that he can bring someone like you under his submission. He thought about Steven, he knew the sick fucker was watching the scene through his eyes as well. He knew Steven was fucking enjoying this as well; you were his soulmate as well. The intoxication of your tastes can make any man fall to their knees.

You grind your hips against Marc's mouth as Marc pressed another finger into your quivering cunt. He felt you pulsating violently around him, squeezing tightly around him. "She looks perfect," Steven muttered from the reflection as Marc moved his fingers rapidly in and out of your pussy. Your fingers gripped the edge of the desk, your knuckles turned white trying to contain yourself from the upcoming orgasm.

Marc hummed in agreement, he trailed his hands from the lower part of your stomach down to the underside of your thighs. The lost contact feeling of his fingers left your pussy. He gripped your thighs as he slid your legs over his shoulders, his hands roamed up to your waist, lifting you. You squeak out in surprise as he carried you on his shoulder, his tongue never left your clit, lashing his tongue in circles.

Marc felt his jaw hurt but he didn't care. He walked you over to the big windows and pressed your back against it. You gasped from the cool glass, fingernails trailed against his scalp, pulling at the root. "Marc." You cried out, rutting your hips against his tongue feeling the familiar warmth heat in your lower stomach.

Drool dripped down the corner of his lips. With your back arching off the glass, you felt yourself succumb to the pleasure. Your toes curled from your walls quivering trying to release from the built-up pleasure. "Hmm, let go, baby," Marc said, circling around your puffy nub.

You allowed falling deep in your pleasure as you threw your head back against the glass wall. The warmth spread across your pussy as your walls quivered violently as your legs shook around his head, clamping around him as you released. You let out a ripple of a cry from your lungs as the orgasm seeped through you. Your slick coated his chin, dripping down along his faint stubble.

You shuddered against his lashing feeling overstimulated by his tongue. "Marc, please. I need you, stop teasing me." You cried out.

Marc chuckled against your clit, the vibrations sent through you sending you in the same pleasure you desperately craved. He peered at you through half-lidded eyes watching your chest heave, panting. Sweat coated your naked body as you tried to take in deep breaths.

He moved you down from his shoulders, helping you on the ground as your legs wobbled. You grasp his upper arm, smiling at him. "I need you, Marc. I need you inside of me because that's all I've been fucking thinking about." You said breathlessly, gazing at him.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll give you what you need." Marc replied. He grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, throwing carelessly off to the side. The ripples of his muscles contracted under the light. The muscles that you dreamt of for the last two weeks made your pussy clench in anticipation.

After he had left you in your office a few weeks back, you knew he would be back because of the sickness Isis implemented to ensure that the avatars will end up together. Perhaps it was against your will as Harrow said but god, you were lucky it was against your will because you wanted his cock inside you so badly ever since you first met him. He languidly unbuckled his belt, allowing his jeans to fall as along with his boxers.

You shamelessly licked your lips. Forking veins curling around his girth, the swollen tip leaked with pre-cum, dribbling down the underside of his cock glistening underneath the fluorescent lights. You weren't sure how he was going to fit in you but you were thankful for Isis creating the destined lover's spell. "I'm going to mark you up as mine," Marc uttered, grasping the underside of your thighs, he gave you a rough squeeze against his large palms. He hoisted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist; you felt the underside of his leaking cock brush against your clit. His aching cock laid flat against your pelvis as he pressed your back against the cool surface.

The cool glass melted away the heat that spread across your body. The rational thoughts of this situation were completely gone. You promised yourself that you wouldn't fall in love with another avatar but of course, Isis had other plans for you. His fingers roamed against your neck, the cold metal of his rings made you shiver under his touch. His necklace swayed with his movements.

With his other hand, it roamed around your outer thigh circling around a certain area causing you to quiver. His hands curl around the meat of your thigh as his cock stroked along your clit to around your sloppy folds feeling your slick coat his swollen thick tip with each rut of his hips.

You whimpered trying to lift your hips to feel his cock inside of you but he held your waist down easily. Marc glanced to the side of your head, the reflection of Steven's glazed eyes hooded over with lust. He was waiting to come out for his turn, Marc was sure once he was done with you that you would be tired out but the two of them were a package deal, he couldn't deny Steven's desires. "Easy, sweetheart. You will get it soon, wait like a good girl." Marc said squeezing your thigh, roaming his hands up to rest his hand on your hip.

Marc knew that once he officially did this, there was no escape. He had to accept the situation of this whole soulmate business. To be loved by someone who knew too well of loneliness. He glanced around for a mere second, he realize that your comfort place must be the underground club. The safety and security of knowing that you're in control of this place and that the other avatars confided in you. Your comfort wasn't a person but rather a place you called yours and people that you looked after and who looked after you.

No wonder you were the most powerful avatar and he was glad that his soul was tied to yours.

"I'm lucky that I have you because you're mine for the rest of our lives." You whispered, running your fingers through the back of his head feeling his curls get loose from your threading.

"You're just saying that because you're needy for my cock." Marc teased slightly, nudging his cock at your entrance hearing your soft whimpers, throwing your head back. "But because you're needy for it, I'll give it to you." His cock sheathed inside of your cunt with one quick rut of his hips. A loud cry ripped from your lungs, he didn't give you a second to adjust to his size as his thick cock split your insides causing you to capture your teeth on your bottom lip. Your walls quivered around him from the intrusion, he let out a low groan.

"Fuck, I've been waiting for this," Marc muttered, his forehead falling against your bare shoulder as he moved his hips roughly. The sound of skin slapping filled the air as your meek whimpers fell against the shell of his ear. The sultry tone of his voice from his breathless pants had you falling into a ruined bliss.

Your eyes rolled back as your hips rolled against his. Your hair messily fell behind you, tangling against the glass. At any moment, an avatar or god could walk in. They could see you getting senselessly pounded into by Marc Spector but you lost your senses when you wanted him the moment you found out he was your destined lover. Fuck, you wanted him so badly but you waited until he chose you.

And Marc did, he chose you. Perhaps it was against his free will too but ultimately, he chose to believe in the soulmate spell because he wanted love as much as you wanted it. His fingers squeezed around your neck teasingly, pressing you firmly against the glass wall.

Marc let out a groan, feeling the tightness of the first ring of muscle as he languidly pulled out of your pussy. "Fuck." He rasped out watching the thick head of his cock slowly disappear inside your velvety glistening cunt. He lifted his head gazing at you with half-lidded eyes, full of lust. "I would have fucked you earlier if I knew you were this tight."

Heat spread across your face as he buried you to a hilt, completely burying his cock back inside you as he rutted his hips roughly against yours. The simple thrust of his movement pressed your back harshly against the glass causing it to crack behind you. Marc smirked at you seeing your wide eyes. "If you stay still for me, you won't fall through. You don't want that, do you?" He questioned, falsely concerned stopping his thrust.

You were amazed by his strength but terrified of fairly. The loss of contact of feeling his hips thrusting against yours made you let out a whine as you shook your head. His fingers squeezed tightly against the sides of your neck. You spluttered around the force of his large palms gazing at him. "Words, sweetheart."

"N. . .No." You muttered, shaking your head.

"Good. You're being extremely obedient. You must be very desperate for me." Marc remarked, roughly snapping his prominent hips against yours. You moaned, throwing your head back against the cracks of the glass. "You don't give a shit that the other avatars and gods can see that you're getting fucked like this. I wonder, are you a whore?"

You hated to admit that you are one but you couldn't lie to your soulmate. The more time you spent with him, the more he could feel your emotions. Your emotions will betray what your mouth will say, so you decided to tell the truth. "Yes, I'm a whore."

Marc stared at you satisfied as he hummed. "And you're my only whore." Your walls fluttered from his words as your blunt fingernails scraped against his neck forming red lines that went down to his shoulders. He hissed from the pain but grunted, he oddly enjoyed the pain.

Marc gazed down to stare at the stretch of you. Your slick coated around his cock, glistening under the low lights of your office. He gazed back at you as he pressed your body harsher against the glass hearing the sounds of cracks echo through the air of slapping skin and heavy pants. The cracks of the glass behind you cracked longer along the glass, he rose an eyebrow at this.

He knew his strength alone was more immense than yours but he didn't imagine he was using most of it during this. It intrigued him knowing that just from one powerful thrust of his hips that he could crack the glass into millions of pieces. He didn't know what was more exciting, the thought of the glass breaking or someone coming into the club and seeing him fuck you into oblivion.

It was the latter because whatever came first would enlighten Marc. He truly lost all of his rational thoughts. The airy moan left your parted lips as you gazed down at his hips connected to yours. The prominent veins that formed alongside his cock dragged violently against your inner walls perfectly as his pelvis grind against your clit with each forward thrust. His tip touched your cervix, he truly went insane for not wearing a condom nor caring for one.

You didn't care for one as well. Rational thoughts left both of your minds, who cared about the impending thoughts of the what-ifs. You went through the what-ifs during the day, and at night, riding out your fingers thinking about him. With him finally inside of you and with each breathy moan that fills your parted lips, the what-ifs went throughout the window.

Marc Spector was fucking you against the glass wall that looked down to your club. There were no what-ifs about this, you took in the moment of knowing that you could have someone to fuck you like this without any shame. Without the shame of knowing that someone could walk in and watch. Hell, you wanted someone to walk in and to watch.

Marc pressed his thumb against your puffy clit, circling around it sloppily. You let out a cry, the fullness in your stomach made you blubber as your walls pulsated against his cock from the added sensation of thumbs. "Fuck, I wish someone walked in and saw how good I'm fucking you. I wish everyone could watch me fucking you." His rasped of forbidden words made you screw your eyes shut, scraping your nails along his shoulders, digging into his soft flesh.

"You can fuck me against everything and around everyone, and I wouldn't care." You admitted, the glow of your golden magic-filled at the corner of his eyes as you cast an illusion. The stares of fake illusions of people were on him, watching.

Marc let out a quick laugh, shaking his head. "God, you're a fucking slut. I should have known you would have wanted an audience." He said, condescending, his thumb left from your clit. You whimpered from the loss of contact as his hands roamed against your hips, holding you tightly as he moved you away from the cracking glass.

Marc pulled you out of him. He saw the silver strings of slick mixed together break apart. "Marc." You whined feeling him turn you around as he pushed your chair out of your desk.

"Patience, we have an audience in front of us. You don't want to disappoint them, do you?" Marc questioned, bending you over your desk as he stepped behind you watching you wiggle your ass back against him, desperate to feel his cock in you again. He chuckled seeing how needy you were as he rested the cool rings of his fingers against your lower back. "We shouldn't disappoint our guest, sweetheart. Let's give them a show."

"She liked when you played with her clit." Steven interjected from the reflection of the desk.

Marc rolled his eyes at Steven as he grabbed his cock in his large palm, resting the length against the swell of your ass; between your cheeks. "I know what I'm doing, Steven. I have more experience than you, you'll get your turn later so shut up and let me do the work, okay?" He didn't hear anything else from Steven but saw an eye roll.

He gripped your hips tight, maneuvering your body against the desk. You were sprawled out on the table in a perfect display to the fake illusions of people. He felt excited, sure it wasn't real people but the thought that it could be real people made his cock twitch in anticipation. You were truly powerful and desperate for others to know that you were his now.

"Marc." You muttered, fluttering your eyes feeling the plush of your thighs press against the edge of the desk harshly waiting for anything. "Please."

"We do have an audience to put a show on for. I'll give them what they need." Marc darkly answered, lining himself up at your entrance as he stroked his cock along your glistening folds, gathering your slick around his swollen head. He felt your inner walls pulsate from his intrusion as his cock sheathed inside your cunt with a quick rut of his hips, his large length once again splitting your inside causing you to ripple a cry from your lungs.

Your cunt clenched around his intrusion as Marc did as what Steven said to do. He snaked his hand around your hip, pressing his thumb sloppily against your clit. "I knew you would listen to me," Steven said almost proudly causing Marc to roll his eyes at his alter.

Marc moved his hips back to pull out of you. You felt every ridge of his length drag against your inner walls as the throb in your core stretched. He was teasing you in front of these illusions of people. His other hand roamed around the lower part of your back to your shoulder blades, moving your hair to the side. You loved how his rings brushed against you each time he would touch you.

His large palm formed around your neck, forcing your head to lift from the desk to stare at the fake illusions of people watching Marc fuck you into oblivion. It was dirty, an invasion of privacy. Never in your life would you think you would cast an illusion spell of fake people to watch you get fucked on your desk.

A meek whimper left your lips as Marc let out a dark chuckle. "Look at them look at you. You're showing them the true whore you actually are. Are you embarrassed?" His question was supposed to make you feel shameless but you didn't feel shame. Excitement radiated through your body.

"No." You answered truthfully. "I like putting a show on."

Marc felt the corner of his lips turn into a smirk as he watched your ass bounce from each rut of his hips. "I can tell." He muttered, gazing back at the illusions of people making eye contact. His new kink became the thought of someone catching him or watching him fuck you. Already, with just one day of fully accepting you as his soulmate, he was already discovering new kinks.

While Isis gave Khonshu the greatest gift the moon, you gave him the greatest gift of discovering new kinks within an hour. He was fairly impressed by you, he didn't expect to be enjoying it this much as he initially thought. But this great gift of yours that you had given him was something worth waiting for.

His prominent hip bones rammed against the plush of your ass, burying deep inside of you. You thought that against the wall fucking sent him into deeper levels inside of you but you were wrong, you could feel him in your stomach as it made your stomach flutter from how buried deep he was inside of you.

His thumb circled around your puffy clit as his grip tightened around your neck, cutting off your oxygen once more. Your cunt constricted around his cock, tilting your head to the side as your eyes fluttered from his actions. Marc let out a series of grunts and low moans. "You like that, you fucking slut, don't you?"

You should be ashamed that there was an audience in front of you, an audience that you cast for the mere purpose of them watching you get rammed in your sacred office but you didn't feel ashamed. You shook your head. "Yes, I love it, Marc." You whimpered as you shamelessly rutted your hips back against his trying to get to your desperate need of release.

Marc's Adam's apple bobbed as he panted through huffs feeling his release coming soon. His sloppy motions against your puffy clit were helping you close to your orgasm. You felt your legs quiver from the pounding sensation of warmth that spread in your lower half. You were so close to cumming. "Marc." You cried out in loud moans. "I'm close."

"Don't be shy, sweetheart. Cum in front of them." Marc urged, his thumb was on fire but it didn't matter because he wanted to witness you to cum in front of all these illusions of people. But the way they reacted didn't feel like illusions. It truly felt like he put on a show for these people. "Don't be shy."

You felt Marc's fingers slip through your mouth as you clamped your mouth around his large fingers, moaning against them. Tears prickled in the corner of your eyes as they fall on your cheeks from the need for overstimulation. You were still tingling from the orgasm before he never stopped sending you to the edge. Your legs shook violently as the familiar coil of heat spread across your lower legs. "Fuck, Marc." You cried out as your walls fluttered against his cock, he grunted at the constricted force of your walls around him as your toes curled; releasing around him.

Marc panted heavily as he continued to rut his hips against yours, his cock twitched violently inside of you as he felt the familiar warmth take over him as he spurted his release inside of your velvety walls. He let out a low groan as he languidly rolled his hips against yours.

Your body slumped against the desk as the eyes of the illusions of people gazed at the sight. Your hand lifted from the slumped form, and a glow emitted around your fingers as you waved your hand around. The illusion of people disappeared into thin air as Marc pulled out of you. The silvery string of both mixed cum glistened along with his forked veiny cock as the releases seeped out of your pussy onto the floor below.

Among of all the deities, Marc was glad he was connected to you as his destined soulmate because, in a matter of hours, his mind was changed. For a long time, he always fought against his irrational thoughts and was cautious of everything. But now, he felt like he could be as careless as he wants to be with you on his side.

Marc gazed down at you seeing your back heave, trying to calm down. Your glazed expression of a being fucked into oblivion was expressed on your face. Your parted lips let out soft breaths as hair fell over your hair messily. He offered his hand to you, and you chuckled at him, grasping it as he helped you up.

Wobbly, you sat against the edge of the desk staring at Marc. You busted out laughing, covering your mouth. "What's so funny?" Marc asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I had a feeling you were coming so I put on the smallest outfit I could find." You admitted, shrugging your shoulders. "And that I saw your ass cheeks.

Marc gazed at you with parted lips. "You're a child." He pushed your shoulders as you let out a laugh. A smile spread across his lips. "I guess one of your traits is that you're childish."

"You have a lot to learn about me, Marc Spector since you're officially my soulmate now. . .I hope?" You bit the bottom of your lip with a hopeful glance.

"I just fucked you in front of fake people and you said that?" Marc questioned, resting his hands on your hips as he let out a short breath of a laugh.

"You could be a one-night stand type of guy but at least I know you have felt a touch of a woman before." You teasingly said, glancing down at his gripped hands on your hips and hearing him scoff. "You kept the gold on the ring."

"Yeah, I did." Marc shrugged as if it was nothing because to him, in the back of his mind, he truly wanted a ring where yours and his initials were embedded on a ring. He was thinking too early ahead but if you were his soulmate forever then why not have a ring dedicated to that? "You kept yours as well. You planned this, didn't you?"

"Hmm, more like destiny did." You said with a smile.

Marc groaned. "I'm sure destiny did plan that." He lightly smiled.

“By the way, is Steven’s name from that one movie Tomb Busters?” You asked, weaving your fingers through his hair.

Marc felt heat spread across his cheeks as he pressed his lips into a thin line. “Yes. . .” Speaking of Steven, Marc looked down at your desk to see Steven looking back at him. His desperate needy face indicated a feeling all too well with Marc. He gazed back at you as you stared at him with raised eyebrows. "Well, as much it was fun; Steven and I do come in a package deal and I believe it is his turn on you."

Among those deities that you swore to protect and consult; never did you expect the avatar of Khonshu to be your soulmate. Let alone him and his alter to fuck you senselessly in your very office where anyone and everyone could see. And Steven was going to fuck you just as harshly as Marc did.

#marc spector x reader #moon knight #steven grant x reader #marc spector #steven grant #marc spector smut #marc spector x female reader #marc spector x you #marc spector imagine #marc spector fanfiction #marc spector fluff #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant fluff #steven grant smut #steven grant imagine #steven grant x you #marc spector x fem!reader

3K notes · View notes

fandoms-writings · 8 months

Note

Hey babes!!! For your milestone party could I get Marc Spector with "Is that my shirt?" and "Let me hear you make that sound again" please? I ❤ U

Pairing: Marc Spector x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, SMUT, p in v sex, unprotected sex, kitchen counter sex, slight sir kink if you squint, he calls reader 'bunny'

A/N: this took me so much longer than i intended and i'm sorry for that ;-; but holy shit i turned myself on writing this one I hope you enjoy it! <3

Masterpost || Event Post

"Is that my shirt?" Marc's voice sounded from behind you just before his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

"And if it is?" You asked, bringing up your freshly made coffee to your lips, taking a sip.

"Mm," He hummed before placing his lips on the crook of your neck, "I like it on you."

"Yeah?" You asked, turning your head to try and get a look at him.

He nodded into your neck before lightly biting the skin there, "Yeah, especially when I know you aren't wearing anything underneath." His hand pushed up the edge of the shirt from your hips, gripping the flesh of your ass.

"Oh?" You set your mug down and pushed it away from the edge of the counter, "What if I did that on purpose?" You slightly pushed back into him, feeling how hard he was already getting.

"I might have to do something about it then," His fingers brushed forward, reaching down to the apex of your thighs, ghosting over your clit before going further, sweeping through your folds. He chuckled at the wetness he found waiting there for him. "Wet already, hm?"

You couldn't help the small whine that slipped through your lips as he buried two of his fingers in your heat while trailing wet kisses over the back of your neck. His fingers curled, dragging against that perfect spot and you gasped, grabbing hold of his wrist.

"There it is," He smirked into your shoulder, curling his fingers again and again until you couldn't take it anymore.

"Please Marc," You looked over your shoulder, finding his lust blown gaze locked onto yours.

"Please what?" He asked, holding his lips just a breath away from yours, "Tell me what you want, bunny. Use your words."

You swallowed the butterflies down, your lips brushing against his as you whispered to him, "I want you."

“How do you want me?” He asked, his fingers working your cunt, preparing it for him. You hated how shy you sometimes got, how he knew it and would make you say it anyways, even when he knew exactly what you wanted.

You gripped the edge of the counter and pushed into him, swirling your hips against the hard tent in his sweats. “Wan’ you to fuck me, Marc,” you whined, “right here.”

He smirked at you, pushing the heel of his palm into your clit before pulling his fingers free.

“Open,” he ordered, watching as your jaw dropped for his fingers to rest on your tongue, your lips wrapping around them and sucking them clean. “Can you bend over for me bunny? Reach for the other side of the counter.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself to pull the shirt off but his hands stopped you.

“Leave it on.” His hand lightly pushed at the center of your back as you bent over, trailing down your spine before gripping pulling your ass cheek to the side so he could see how you were dripping for him.

“Spread your knees for me bun,” he nudged your knees with one of his own, watching your legs move and reveal more of yourself to him.

“Mm,” he groaned, pushing a thumb at your hole and smirking at the whine you let out. “Such a pretty pussy dripping for me, and she’s all mine. Isn’t she?”

You nodded, reaching for the other edge of the counter, “Yes, all yours.” You muttered.

“That’s right,” he thumbed at your hole again, earning another whine from you and he cooed. “You sound desperate, bunny.”

“Stop teasing,” you whined, the warmth pooling in your core growing by the second, “please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” his thumb left your slit and his hand slid up under the shirt along your spine. His other pushed his sweats out of the way and lined the head of his cock at your entrance.

You tried to push back onto him but his hand on your back held you in place against the counter, the coldness of the granite seeping through the fabric of the shirt. He slid the head of his cock through your folds, brushing against your clit before lining himself up again.

“You ready bun?” He asked, his voice hoarse as if he was holding himself back from taking you the way he wanted. But that’s exactly what you wanted him to do.

And you knew how to get it.

“Yes sir,” you moaned out, “want you to — oh fuck — “ he cut you off as he slammed into you, sliding into you with ease but hissing at the sensation.

“Oh god you’re so warm,” he moaned with his head thrown back. His hand on your back turned and gripped the back of the shirt, pulling it tight against your breasts as he rocked into you.

The chill of the counter brushed against your nipples through the fabric, sending shocks through your nerves and pulling out the lewdest sounds from your mouth. His other hand gripped your hip, slamming you back against him.

He angled his hips up, hitting your cervix and making you gasp and moan at the same time. You could feel the smirk in his voice as he ordered, "Oh," He stopped, releasing the shirt and moving his hand down to your thigh, ordering you to lift it. He guided your knee to the counter, opening you even more to him, allowing him to get even deeper.

"Now," He gripped your hips in a way that told you you were going to have marks later, but you didn't mind at all, "Let me hear you make that sound again."

He set a bruising pace, his cock hitting that spot over and over and over again. The sound of skin slapping and the lewd sound of your pussy sucking him back in every time he pulled out filled the kitchen.

It didn't take long for the band in your belly to tighten, his relentless pounding driving you oh so close to the edge. "Marc -- fuck -- please!" You were practically sobbing now, needing him to say the words to push you over the edge.

"C'mon bunny," he grunted, one of his hands leaving your hips to rub tight circles of your bundle of nerves, "Make a mess on my cock, go on."

The band snapped and you came with a cry, your walls clenching around him bringing him to his peak as he buried himself as deep as he could into you and you felt his spend coat your walls.

"Oh fuck," He moaned, leaning forward and slamming his hand down on the counter next to you, catching himself. He kissed across your shoulders, gently coaxing your leg down from the counter and kneading your hips as you laid on the counter.

"Maybe I should wear your clothes more often," You giggled, smirking at him over your shoulder.

He eyed you, his pupils still lust blown and he smirked. "You should," He pulled you up and spun you around, "but now I want it off and we're heading to the bed."

Divider credit to @novanitee <3

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #marc spector smut #marc spector fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight smut #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector x female reader #fandoms-writings #mcu fanfiction #mcu smut

312 notes · View notes

davosmymaster · 2 years

Text

Fallen from Heaven, Grown on Earth

A/N - Hello everyone! Long time no see. Here is a story I wrote for @beautifulbows924 's writing challenge. Thank you so much for this! <3 Before you start reading I'd like to say I'm very proud of this, even if it's not as good as I'd like it to be. I had never written such a long story, (and finished it) and obviously not in English. As always, English is not my first language, and this had no beta reader so forgive me and please, laugh out loud if I write something that doesn't make sense. Also, my first time writing smut, please don’t come at me.

Also, this fic turned out a bit dark near the end, I'm obviously against any type of violence. If you need help, there's plenty of resources out there for you. You're not alone.

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, eventual smut, graphic descriptions of sex, blood, mentions of self harm and suicide (they do not happen, they are only mentioned but just in case), dubius consent because DID (?), DID probably not accurate, canon-typical violence, angst, hurt/comfort, nightmares, panic attacks, sleeping disorders, jealousy, alcohol consumption, no beta, probably more warnings but I'll update if I find more.

PAIRINGS - Steven Grant x fem!reader ; Marc Spector x fem!reader.

WORD COUNT - 25k (yes I know, I started writing a one-shot and this happened)

SUMMARY - The arrangement was to become friends with Steven Grant, that was what you'd promised to your lifelong best friend, Marc Spector; but things quickly get out of hand.

FALLEN FROM HEAVEN, GROWN ON EARTH

The ride to Steven’s workplace was calm, calmer than you had expected it to be. The driver hadn’t talked to you apart from asking where you wanted to be dropped, and you had wondered if your face was revealing that much about your current emotional state that people knew better than to bother you with small talk. You didn’t really know. And in the end, you didn’t really care either. What you did care about, though, was that you hopefully seemed nice enough not to scare a certain person away.

The taxi slowed down as it took a soft turn at the last intersection. Behind the maze of buildings that was London, the British museum emerged like a vision.

From afar, the British museum looked intimidating. That thought hadn’t changed since your last visit. It was an enormous monster in the middle of the city, a bleach type of white emerging from the road, a minotaur in the maze pushing the rest of the world outside. You couldn’t stop looking at it, but shook your head to get rid of the anxious thoughts anyways. You were about to go inside. You had work to do.

You had promised.

You decided that biting the bullet was the best way to end the nightmare soon, so you rushed inside. Maybe if you focused on the exposition it would be easier. After all, you quite liked it las time you were there with the school. At least the small cardboard pyramids didn’t look as bad as the gigantic building did, and the mummies were fairly interesting even when you didn’t have a class full of kids to keep busy and entertained.

The hall was surprisingly small, and you crossed it as quickly as you could trying not to look like a madwoman. In the exact same second that you could see the first sarcophagus in the room, majestically standing up on the floor behind their protective glass, your heart seemed to slow its pounding in your chest. The icy cold air and the ringing in your ears dissipated into the nothingness at the same time, leaving you with a warm sensation in your chest and trembling fingers.

Don’t worry, you thought to yourself. You’ve seen him a million times. You grew up together. Surely he cannot be that different, right?

In the middle of your soothing speech, a hand gently grabbed your shoulder. All your muscles instantly flexed, and suddenly your heart was back at a hundred per minute. You turned slowly as if you were about to be caught doing something you weren't supposed to be doing; which was the case. But instead of a pair of brown orbs and dishevelled curls, you stood in front of a security guard.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. We’re closing in half an hour. I thought maybe you’d like to know.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“Yeah, I’m aware of that”

He seemed confused, which was fair. The exposition was an hour-long, at least. That was without the videos and documentaries streaming in the adjacent rooms. It had taken you the whole day to reunite the strength to come here, but not just the strength; also all the doubts swirling in your mind asking if you were doing the right thing. It was an unending carousel in your head, always looking for an answer you were satisfied with and never getting one. It was madness.

You hardly knew the name of the person you were looking for, and at the same time, you had known him your whole life. You didn’t even know why you were so scared.

Fucking Marc, you sentenced. Fuck Marc and fuck my inability to say no to him.

The guard went back to his monitors, not entirely happy with your answer.

The exposition was impressive, you could give them that. Once you saw the recreation of the Great Pyramid of Giza, everything got easier. The walls were full of old artefacts behind stainless glass. If the sarcophagus were not real, and they probably weren’t, they seemed to be very accurate. Most importantly, the subject you were looking for wasn’t in his spot. Maybe he had finished sooner today. Hopefully. Maybe you could leave and create an elaborate lie for Marc. Some little white lies had never hurt anyone.

You were looking at the faded colour of one of the sarcophagus when you heard his name.

“Stevie!” it was almost a whisper, but a very loud one. “C’mon, go there and try to sell something!”

You couldn’t help but stare at the woman. After all, the word curious was something people had always associated with you. She had your whole attention as she almost shouted (whispered?) at his employer. You felt a pang in your chest as Marc… no, Steven, walked into the circular room from behind a column anxiously fixing his name tag. In exchange for her disrespect, Steven successfully whispered something back at her without looking too much into her eyes and positioned himself behind the counter. He tried to fix some of the candy and the postcards in their small glass containers, but as soon as the woman vanished he stopped and looked ahead.

His eyes locked on yours, while you were looking at him.

Swallowing every last bit of pride and listening to your self-preservation instinct, you broke free from the enchantment. Your eyes locked with the red staining the lines of the sarcophagus, except your mind was in an entirely different place. Your body was screaming at you to run, it didn't say where, just to run away from such an open room without walls to keep his eyes away from you.

You felt guilty. You felt caught red-handed. You could feel his eyes piercing you in the head and getting his hands on all your thoughts and intentions. Marc had warned you Steven was incredibly smart, after all. And he had said that if you thought you couldn't do it, it was better not to try. Steven couldn't know about Marc. Never. No. Nada.

In the pockets of your jacket, your hands became a pair of fists. And although you were stuck in place, frozen for god-knows-how-long, you managed to take a calming breath and walk slowly in the opposite direction; pretending you were looking at some scriptures that were hanging on the wall. The circles and edges of the complicated hieroglyphs caught your attention, your eyes stuck on them as you felt someone walk behind your back. The whole scene looked like something out of a horror movie.

"Are you reading those?" Steven asked, pointing at them "because if you are you must be a bloody genius."

The accent shook you to your core, even though it wasn't the first time you heard it. A sudden, soft chuckle came out of your mouth and you had to keep yourself from laughing in his face and say `My god Marc, you sound so posh".

In your mind, you were eighty-seven, in a nursing home and still making fun of Marc because of it. The image was enough to calm your nerves enough to talk. You'd have to thank him for that.

"Not really. No," you said "but I have to admit I tried..." you squinted at the black lines. "...very hard, actually."

"Well," he said, jokingly, both hands in his pockets and moving slightly on his feet as he looked back and forth from the scriptures and yourself. "You can try as hard as you want for the next twenty minutes, but I figure you won't get anything out of the bloke who wrote this just by killing the words with your looks."

His gaze shifted, slightly scanning you up and down in a quick glance; so quick and subtle you wouldn't have noticed if you hadn't been staring at him without blinking for the whole interaction.

He expected an answer, but you were so astonished by that look, the way that this person who looked so much like Marc had given you, that you had entirely forgotten the question by the time you snapped out of it. At the same time, you saw the lightbulb lightning inside his pupils and turned instantly self-conscious.

"I- I mean- I didn't mean it like that," he stumbled upon his own words, a soft laugh emanating from his lips. "I meant, you know, if looks could kill... it's a set phrase, you know?"

Something weird moved in your chest. It was something warm and fuzzy, and you couldn't help but let the feeling sink in. His struggle was cute, despite how bad it might sound.

You had never seen Marc act like that with anyone. He had always been very reserved, only talked the exact amount not to seem rude and sometimes not even that. He hurt your feelings many times and broke your heart many more. Sometimes you wondered if he even cared about you in the slightest and other times you were certain that the only person he cared about in the world was Layla. He looked at her as if she held all the answers in the universe.

Marc had never looked at you the way Steven just had. No matter how much you wished for it or how long you waited. In fact, it was obvious that he hadn't even given you a second thought. Because if he had, he would have figured out by now that you had loved him for sixteen years.

It was a thorn in your heart that you could never get rid of. No matter how many boyfriends, friends with benefits or one night stands you had. It was a lost cause.

"Don't worry, Steven," you said, trying to calm him down with a smile and getting rid of all your thoughts regarding Marc. "Of course I get it, I'm a teacher after all."

His eyes lit up at the mention of his name. It had slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it, yet it didn't really matter because he was wearing a tag with his name. Maybe next time you'd need an elaborate excuse.

There could be no more slips.

"Yeah, I recognized you. Saw you here at the beginning of the week with the primary school, right? I thought you looked familiar, but I didn't want to bother you or look like a creep."

"It's alright, you don't like a creep at all," you said, although you wondered if he was flirting or he in fact thought you looked familiar.

Maybe if he squinted very hard he could see you in Marc's memories, right? No, obviously not. If I'm gonna be doing this, I definitely need more research, you thought.

"That's good, 'cause I don't know your name and I'd like to change that."

Your gaze went straight to the floor as if something had stained your shoes. The faintest blush began to cover your cheeks and you cursed yourself for that. You introduced yourself trying not to make much eye contact, looking at the black lines on the wall instead.

'Oh, he's really good.' you thought 'How did he get in this situation, even? How is he as lonely as Marc said?'

You were seriously starting to doubt his words.

In that next instant, he quickly glanced behind him and his whole body became tense. Her boss was a blonde shadow in the back of the room, luring over him like a hawk waiting to get his next meal. At that very moment, you thanked fate that you loved your job and your superiors were mostly nice; because she looked terribly angry.

"Woah... looks like I'm in trouble here," he muttered. "It was really nice to meet you. I'll let you try to decode the rest before she eats me," he said.

Steven took a step towards the cash register and then turned back again.

"By the way-" he spoke, raising his voice. "We have wonderful stuffed gods-animals and delicious sweets on the counter."

You couldn't help but laugh. Then he took a step forward and tilted his face an inch closer to yours, completely unexpectedly. His fingertips touched your arm. You could feel the gentle pressure above the fabric of your jacket. A flash of lightning started where his fingers landed and ran up and down your spine. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, and goosebumps erupted in both your arms.

He smiled and you could have sworn that he lit up the room. Then he whispered, just for you.

"Enjoy the rest, will ya?"

You nodded.

When he turned and left your side, you physically felt your lungs deflate like a balloon. You were by yourself again, looking at meaningless black lines. You asked yourself why you had been so anxious and concerned and on the verge of a panic attack for so long. Marc had said you two would get along. He wasn't wrong.

You checked the time on your phone. You still had time but not enough to finish the exposition in the room.

'Too bad,' you thought, almost laughing. 'I'll have to come back again'

A pang reappeared in your chest, harder than ever before in the face of such a hostile fate. The fate in which you accidentally ended up falling for Marc Spector again. You breathed through it. After all, you were setting yourself for failure. You could not feel like that again. It was nonsense. You couldn't possibly make up fantasies in your head, not again.

It was exhausting to get your heart broken, but it was even worse to try and pick up the pieces of yourself from the floor and realize some were missing while others were barely splinters and impossible to reach. You couldn't do that again. You couldn't witness someone you loved break you apart again, insult your feelings and spit at your image and then ask you why you were so sensitive. You just couldn't.

You swore you would not fall in love with Steven Grant. And it only took you the realization that Marc would beat the shit out of you if you did to get convinced of your own words.

You could have ended your interactions with Steven for the rest of your life right there, tell Marc some dumb excuse and go on with your life. Hell, you could even tell Marc to fuck off and he would never bother you again. After all, he had been too busy for a while now to even call. He wouldn't realize. He wouldn't care.

However, Marc was very concerned about Steven. According to him, Steven had no one around. He had no friends, no girlfriend, no one to take care of him when he got ill, no one who missed him if he abruptly disappeared, no one to call if he found himself in trouble. Now setting Marc aside, you felt sorry for him; because he seemed like a genuinely nice person waiting to show the best of him. You just hoped you weren't making it up just because he had Marc's face.

So you could have stopped everything right there, you really could, but didn't want to.

Steven was starting to get everything into boxes when you approached the counter. To say you were nervous would've been an understatement because you were about to ask him for a date, and you had never been the type to ask guys on dates, not in high school and certainly not after, but fate had a fun way to mess with things, especially with your things. You had no doubts about that. You couldn't possibly find any other way of getting to know him and getting his phone number.

"I'd like one of these," you said, taking in your hands one of the stuffed animals. It was a hippo, or so you thought. You tried to read her name on the label. "What's his name... Uhm.. tawel-"

"Taweret," he answered, a grin on his face. "Egyptian goddess of childbirth and fertility. Certainly not towell. And her pronouns..." he pointed at her raising his eyebrows "...are she/her."

Steven took it from your hands and put it in a bag. He gave it to you and leaned over the counter until his chest almost hit the surface.

"Oh, wow. You really are passionate about this"

"I am," he answered. "It's a bit of an odd hobby to have, but I mean some people like football."

He chuckled first and then you couldn't help but follow. Would he ever stop being so goofy? You hoped not. Being Steven's friend could be easier than you expected.

"How much is it?"

"This round's on the house."

Your jaw slightly dropped, your lips parted. "Oh, that's really not neccessary."

"It's not, but I want to," he said. "You seem like a really nice person."

"Tell that to my students, they are wishing a get in a car wreck or something."

He laughed, then ran a hand through his hair seemingly anxious and took the receipt out of the cash register. With a pen, he started writing something in it.

"I was wondering if- well..." you started. "...if you'd like to go for a beer, or coffee or whatever, some time."

Steven stopped writing, his head shot up.

"Sorry..." he said, mumbling, the accent was music to your ears. "Are you asking me out? Like... I'm not going to say no, but I was writing my number here hoping..." his gaze shifted between the receipt and your face. "...woah, yeah, sure. Coffee or tea is fine. We can do that."

It had been easier than you thought it'd be, and you couldn't believe your luck when you saw his number and name written on the receipt.

Problems started with the next step of the plan; hanging out. Steven was difficult in that aspect, and you started to understand why others seemed reluctant to form a meaningful relationship with him. After work, you had plenty of free time that you silently loathed, so it wasn’t difficult —at least on your part— to meet your lifelong group of friends and coworkers. You figured finding time for a date and eventually getting to know Steven would be effortless, but that was far from the truth.

For the first date, you had chosen something informal, just grabbing up some coffee on a Saturday afternoon; but he never showed up. You dialled his number and called. He picked up the phone on the last ring.

"Steven?"

"No, Marc."

On the other end of the line, he breathed heavily in short quick breaths.

"You got his number, that's a start. Congratulations."

He said it in a way that made you feel bad about it. Which was fine to an extent, because forcing a friendship out of pure pity and lying was the last thing anyone wanted. But the charismatic, kind and fun nature of Steven made it feel as if you had known him your whole life —which wasn't technically a lie— so at the end of the day it was easy not to think much about it. Besides, you figured that at least part of that guilt was completely justified.

"Don't say it like that," you said. "We were supposed to be meeting for coffee. Twenty minutes ago. So you, Steven, you're body, whatever are late."

"Can't right now," he said.

A loud thud filled the line. A shuddered breath, the sound of metal clacking and something crushing.

"What is that sound? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm busy at the moment. I'm confident Steven will make it up to you later somehow. Bye."

And just like that, he hung up.

Marc had never been the social type. Already in high school, he had loved a good friendly get-together to get drunk on cheap beer and play cards; but he didn't like parties with loud music; especially if he didn't understand the lyrics. He loved renting films on Blockbuster and watching them on his then brand-new VHS player, and if he did it with the right person, he also loved everything that followed.

Despite not being very social, he was certainly not ugly. He was no Casanova and had no desire for it, but he found out pretty soon in life that if he wanted he could have any girl he liked. That is, if he actually put just a little bit of effort into not being a dick.

He got too drunk once, and you suspected that also high. His brown irises were completely engulfed by his pupils. Both of you were on the end-of-school-year trip to Brighton. It was his last year in college (Marc was a year behind what he was supposed to), and you had just started it, but lived as if it was your last because most of your friends were Marc's age and you didn't really care. He appeared from nowhere in the lounge of the hostel and pulled your arm up from where you were seated on the floor. It was so sudden and violent that you almost slapped him in front of everyone. However, your anger quickly dissipated when you saw the state he was in. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair messy with curls pointing out in all directions; his soul lost somewhere in the empty space between you and him.

"I need to talk to you for a second," he whispered.

Some of your classmates, who you were talking to before he showed up, tried to convince you not to go, worried about his state, but they ultimately gave you a look of disbelief as you left. By then you had already known Marc for a few years and he was your closest friend. You knew they were worried he would hurt you, but they didn't know Marc at all, not like you did.

He did apologize once you were outside, but didn't say anything until the beach was visible. He took a seat on a bench on the promenade, facing the sea. You sat next to him, crossing your legs on the bench on a warm summer night; and waited.

His eyes welled up with tears without saying a word, and your nerves spiked up. Something had to go horribly wrong for him to act that way. You had never seen him cry before. So you did the only thing you could, you hugged him, squeezing him in your arms as if you could make anything that might cause him the slightest discomfort disappear. You knew you couldn't, but you had to try anyway.

You let him go eventually. Marc gave a long sigh, trying to get his pieces together. And he spoke.

"I left my parents' house last week," he said, solemnly as he watched the waves break against the shore. "And I'm not going to uni. I'm going to join the military."

You had the awful realization that being drunk and high was the only way Marc was able to open up to you. The pang in your stomach became unbearable, the pain blooming there threatening to open a wound that would never close. Tears began to stream down your face without warning. Marc broke crying again, covering his face with his hands. Your arms surrounded his whole figure, even though he was much bigger and taller.

Until then, you had a clear image of what your future would look like. At least for the next three years following college. You wanted to apply to London Met when you finished A-Levels, to pursue teaching. Marc, on the other hand, had always been unsure about his options; but he had never even considered doing anything other than university. The thought of the two of you living in the same student flat or even in the same building on campus kept you up at night sometimes. You'd often surprise yourself by searching for rent prices, figuring out which areas in London were best to live in. How wonderful would it be to wake up in the same house as your best friend? To talk for endless hours about your hopes and dreams and fears and nightmares and stories you've told each other a thousand times; to come back home wasted from a party, have a bowl of cereal and attend classes only half sober. He was reluctant as to look way too much into the future, Marc was a pessimist as good as they come, yet at some point, he had declared that he would happily do all the cleaning and laundry as long as he didn't have to cook anything other than a sandwich.

Now the image was shattered, broken, as each tear and sob tore your throat apart. Still, your eyes didn't leave Marc's now small figure as you cried. You were frightened that if you did something as insignificant as blinking he would disappear into thin air. It was the first time in your life Marc Spector had actually looked his own age, his own personality and demons looming over him and often making his features sharper, darker and overall angrier than he really was.

Then it happened.

His hands fell from his face and landed on the bench. His fingers gripped the metal under his flesh as if it was his only anchor to the human world. The vein in his neck swelled, his pulse clearly visible from where you watched. His face twitched as if he had taken a bite out of a lemon. His eyes rolled back to his head.

"Marc?"

Pure panic, as a hot white flame, rushed through your veins and infected every cell of your body. The world around you gave a sudden turn around you as you reached for him, burying your nails in the tender flesh of his shoulder.

"Marc!"

As soon as it started, it stopped. His features changed, and his beautiful dark eyes appeared again. They had a glint you couldn't quite comprehend, one you could only describe as the look children had in a toy store. It was subtle, very subtle, something you'd have missed if you weren't leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder and the other not-so-gently grabbing his face.

He mumbled something you didn't discern. All you could hear back then was your pulse beating behind your ears and your gasps for air. The image was burned into your eyelids forever. That night you'd have nightmares about it.

"Are you alright, Marc?" you asked.

He squinted, bewildered and petrified at the same time. Then turned his face away and Marc fronted once more. That was the first time he told anyone about his DID, and the first time he got some comfort about it. That was, also, the first time you heard about Steven Grant.

The army posted him two weeks later and Marc left without saying goodbye, only calling you after he landed and just before reaching the out-of-range area. During those two weeks, Mr Spector called your home landline every other day. You refused to pick up the phone. He was a reasonable man, a good man. At least that was what your mother said each time, after hanging up the phone on a desperate father in the search for his son.

"I'm sorry, Mr Spector. She doesn't know where he is. No. She doesn't know. No, she will not do that. I hope your son gets in touch with you soon. I'm sorry. Bye."

Saturday passed and at midday on Sunday, there he was. Steven calling. The phone hadn't reached your ear yet but you could already hear his apologies.

"I'm so so sorry," he said, his voice quick and reverberating and stumbling over his own words. "I don't know what happened. I think I slept through the whole day yesterday. Please don't hate me."

It broke your heart to hear him talk like that about himself, and given the fact that Marc would quite literally kill you if you said anything to Steven about him, your hands were tied.

"It's okay, Steven. You must've been very tired. Surely you needed it."

It took him a solid minute to respond.

"Oh, Woah... I actually thought you'd be fuming," he said. "As in I-don't-want-to-see-you-ever again fuming. Don't get me wrong, I-"

"Steven," you interrupted, playing with the remote's battery cover in your other hand. "I swear I'm not mad at you. Actually, I was a bit late and thought you had left already," you lied.

"Oh, god" he answered, he let out a soft relieved laugh. "Sounds like a hell of a date right? You know...we can grab some Starbucks near the museum in an hour or so- I mean, if you fancy it."

You shook your head at his words, the smile on your lips not wearing off for a second, and thanked the universe that he wasn't looking. Steven was too much of a nervous wreck sometimes. You took a mental note about it. That was something so unlike Marc that it was even comical that they were, in a way, the same person.

"See you in an hour, Steven."

"Alright, yes! See you."

Steven was still wearing his name tag when you met him at the museum's front door, which fought the urge to call him Marc when he appeared in your field of vision. Despite that, you absorbed every detail about his features to find out if it was actually Steven or not; you didn't want to fuck up.

It wasn't difficult to differentiate them, not when Steven held a box of chocolates close to his chest and he had two coffees to go waiting on the base of one of the museum's columns.

"I'm so glad you could make it," he said. His smile was genuine, you didn't get used to seeing it on his face.

His greeting was a quick hug, too quick for your liking. Despite being a completely different person and sounding like one, Steven still smelled like Marc. That, is, at least behind the smell of the rubbing alcohol at the entrance of the building. There was a desire burning for Marc's closeness somewhere near your heart, in that tiny spot where you always felt it empty no matter what you were doing. His fingers were hot against your cold skin.

"I'm so sorry about yesterday," he said once it was over. Even though you tried to talk him out of it, he didn't let you. "No. No. Don't be nice. It was a bummer for ya, you don't have to hide it. I brought you a little something to make up for it."

You took the box of chocolates and couldn't help but think that Steven could be a dream for someone whose love language was gift-giving. The stuffed hippo he gave you was now one of your favourite things, along with The Killers' concert tickets Marc got you for your birthday after the last time he came back from Egypt.

"You didn't have to. Thank you very much."

"You're very much welcome," he answered, his brown eyes shining. "I have thirty minutes I saved from my lunch break, forty if Donna doesn't catch me; 'til then I'm all yours."

The confession shouldn't be as cute as it was. The fact that he didn't have time for you and still made an effort to create it was a kind gesture that you were not used to. It was well-known the fact that people who want to see you, will go out of their way to do it, even if they have scarce time for you. You'd hear it everywhere, even from your friend's mouths, but had never actually experienced it. In the end, you were the one to always say it was okay when others cancelled plans or when Marc said he was busy, which had been a daily occurrence even after he left the military.

You took a sip out of your coffee, and you had to admit it was better than what you usually ordered

"I didn't know how you liked it so..."

"It's perfect, really."

"Good," he said, nodding and looking at the stairs as he hid a smile. He was just mumbling to himself. "Yeah... that's perfect."

Steven was going to kill you with his awkwardness, in the best of senses. He grabbed his coffee and the two of you turned and walked away from the building. He was still wearing his name tag.

"Steven," you called him, stopping in your tracks for a second, your hand gently touching his elbow to make him stop as well. "Let me help you with that."

He frowned and for the first time he looked a bit similar to your childhood best friend. You took the tag out of his ash-coloured jacket, careful not to poke him with the sharp end of the pin, and when you tilted your head to look into his eyes, there were merely a few inches of empty space between the both of you. Steven's lips opened slightly, his eyes fixed on yours and red blood taking away the paleness in his light brown skin.

You wanted to stay right there. Steven had a twinkle in his eyes that you couldn't get out of your head, a way about him that you can't help but be drawn to. You couldn't understand how others didn't see it, as difficult as his circumstances were, you couldn't quite understand that no one wanted to befriend him just because he had some small flaws.

You extended the pin to him, who looked at it in bewilderment and put it away after thanking you.

You can't fall in love with Steven Grant, you told yourself. But knew it was already a matter of time before your ultimate fall. It was impossible not to be attracted to him physically, you dreamed of kissing his cheeks and long lashes and burying your fingers in his curls. And for what little time you had spent together, you knew his personality was awkward and somehow also calm and kind, and that was something you liked as well. You'd seen him talk to several of your students, sell sweets with a smile and return lost phones. Back then you'd been so impressed by the sight of him that you didn't dare to get any closer, but the kids laughed and asked and talked and despite not being a guide, the kids referred to him as such when they got back on the school bus.

You just hoped you weren't making everything up just because you loved Marc, or still loved Marc. No, loved. That's right. Past tense.

It only took you another date, this time in a vegan restaurant in Soho, to realize you actually liked him. And not in a friendly way. More in a we've-talked-for-five-hours-and-the-waiter-is-kicking-us-out kind of way. You drank wine until you felt like figuring out what colour Steven's sheets were; despite promising yourself you wouldn't get drunk in case the word Marc spilt out of your mouth by accident. It didn't. Maybe Marc didn't give you much thought, but Steven definitely did, and wasn't that everything you'd dreamed of? Happiness looked real nice on Steven. You didn't want to break that for anything in the world.

Just before leaving he excused himself to the bathroom; and after waiting for a while, you decided to do the same thing. It wasn't your intention, but the walls were thin enough that you distinguished Steven's weird accent without effort, and as drunk as you were, you didn't have the morals nor the self-discipline not to eavesdrop

"You have to meet her, mom," he said. "She's absolutely gorgeous, I swear. I'll bring her soon. I mean... if she stays long enough..." a long pause. "Uhmm, sorry for that. Yeah, forget it. I drank a bit. Yeah, I know, me drinking. Pfff. Anyways, she's awesome. I think you'll love her. Looks a lot like an actress but I can't quite think of who, maybe that's why she looked so familiar the first time. I have to go now, she's waiting. Love you. Laters, gators."

It was a stroke of luck that there was no one else in the toilets because the alcohol made you start crying. Marc didn't talk to his mom, never had, really. And now certainly he couldn't. Marc's dad called you when the shiva for Marc's mother started. He didn't attend, and his dad wanted him to have someone by his side. You figured he didn't have Layla's phone or he'd have called her, and you weren't even sure he knew that Marc had gotten married.

That call was everything Marc always wished for but never could. You wondered who was Steven calling, and which number he dialled. You didn't even know how the whole thing worked, what was the arrangement, how Marc was so good at it that Steven never noticed any traces of Marc in his life.

You splashed water on your face, but that didn't take away the sadness or the alcohol boiling under your flesh. You hoped Steven didn't notice. He did anyways.

"Hey, what happened?" he was on his feet as soon as he saw your face. You hated it. "What's wrong, love?"

His hot callous fingers caressed your red cheeks. He took the wet baby hairs out of your face and tucked them behind.

"I drank too much, I'm so sorry"

He hugged you and blamed himself for filling the glasses so many times. Of course, you denied it.

"Let's get out of here, alright?" He said, left some notes on the table, took your handbag and carried it.

His arm tried to embrace you and pull you close to him as you walked out of the restaurant. You backed off, suddenly feeling like a child in need of comfort —and refused to feel that way—, but he didn't take it like that. The hurt showed on his face, in his pressed lips, in the way he walked next to you at a safe distance.

Your fingers slid around his wrist and curled around his fingers once you crossed the entrance, and a small dimple appeared again. It was so easy to make him happy, you liked how effortless everything was. He stopped in his tracks.

"Everything alright?" he whispered, slurring his words.

You nodded profusely, more than you should have. Your sight fell on his shoulder — for some reason— and you couldn't help but leave a kiss there.

Steven's breath was caught in his throat.

It's so easy.

He leaned against you, still holding your hand as an anchor. He ran his fingertips along the back of your neck, and pulled you closer to him slowly. He left a chaste kiss on your forehead.

Squeezing your eyes shut, a different kind of warmth spread through your body, different from the uncomfortable hotness of wine. Letting go of his hand, you grabbed the fabric of his shirt above his ribs, fighting the urge to slide your hand under it. You wanted him a little bit closer, but he took a step forward and you had to take one back, you hit the wall. His fingers still hidden in your hair.

He silently gasped, his laborious breathing against your cheek, the smell of wine in his breath, his lips parted.

"M-May I kiss you now?" he said. His eyes closed shut, nervously, his forehead pressing onto yours. His hot breath sweet over your own lips.

A soft chuckle came out of your chest. You leaned over him and left a kiss there, where his neck and jaw found each other.

He gasped, hard.

"You don't have to ask, Steven."

Even though he had warned you, you didn't see it coming. His kisses were supposed to be calm, loving, at least you had imagined them as such. Instead, he furiously joined your mouths, a moan reverberating in the depths of your throat as he grabbed both sides of your face and lifted you to have more access. You thought of returning the favour and buried your fingers in his hair and pulled. The moan he let out was animalistic, his breath was hot in your mouth as he quivered and it became raggered a second later.

If Steven didn't kill you, you for sure were.

His forehead pressed against yours. With his eyes closed, he kissed you on the lips once more, and then your cheek. You took a deep breath, drunk in every way.

"Thank you," he whispered. "You've no idea how long I've waited for that."

Oh, Steven, if you knew.

"I'd take you home if we weren't so drunk," you mumbled, although you hadn't meant to say it out loud.

It was pure delight to see his eyes get drowned in the darkness of desire. A look so strange and new in him and still, the naive glint didn't leave.

"On the second date?" he whispered, the tip of his tongue wetting his lower lip. "People do that?"

"This is our third, technically, but yeah, they do," you chuckled.

Steven shook his head and apologized before taking a step back. You wondered why he was saying sorry for, but then he looked down and you could see exactly why. It was impossible to take your eyes out of him, of how big he seemed even with jeans on. It was an astonishing surprise to still find out things that belonged to Marc —in part— that you didn't have a clue about.

Steven closed his eyes shut and tried to hide the bulge in his trousers by standing face to the wall. Redness engulfed all his features in a split second. "Think about deserts, think about deserts," he mumbled.

You can’t stop looking at his face.

“It’s easier if you think about our English teacher in college”

As soon as your lips stopped moving, you felt every organ in your body descend to the core of Earth. Your skin tingled uncomfortably and you felt yourself start shaking. The comforting smile on your face vanished completely. The dimly lit street gave a soft turn around the confused look of Steven.

“That actually works, mine was a nightmare,” he chuckled. “But you said our.”

You frowned on purpose and took your sight to somewhere behind him. You were not the best liar and hated to look at people’s eyes when you had to become one, but that probably only made you look more suspicious. Then you looked back at his face.

“I didn’t.”

“Actually you did,” he said, all smiles. Every muscle in your body relaxed, slowly. And all the blood in your feet seemed to go back where it belonged. He kissed your cheek. “It’s okay, it’s the alcohol talking. I guess every English teacher’s butters,” he said, then he looked down and grabbed your hand. “Yezz, look at you. You’re shivering.”

“Am I?”

Your voice was almost a whisper, and again, you shouldn’t have said that. In your defense, the world was a bit blurry, everything still doing circles around you even with your eyes closed. Steven took his coat and placed it over your shoulders.

“I’ll cab us home, yeah?” he says, his voice was calm and kind with a touch of worry. “You can stay at mine”

“No.”

“It’s okay. I’ll give you my bed.” Steven said “I don’t even sleep much, I promise. It just doesn’t feel right to leave you alone now.”

Before you could think about where you were heading, Steven was already opening the front door of an old building in Brixton; which you had no idea of. Last time you had been in Marc's house, it was also Layla's. And after that, you had only met Marc a few times, always in cheap cafés or bars after the sun had set.

Once he opened the door of his flat, he stepped aside and gestured with his hand for you to come in. It was almost a bow. "Welcome, my lady."

His flat was a one-bed studio without walls. It had a bookcase in the middle of the room, full of books and vintage decorative figurines, although it was fair to say the entirety of his home looked like the backroom of any library with more than fifty years. Although the sheer amount of clutter made it look dirty, it really wasn't. It was cosy and inviting, but also a comfortable and disorganized mess. You took off your heels before you had hardly taken a step into the flat.

"Give me a second, yeah?" he said, his smile trembling over his lips. "I have to hoover first. It's a bother, I know. Stay there."

You couldn't stop but frown at his words. "Steven, what are you talking about? I don't care about that."

You wondered if he was about to laugh, and followed him. He scratched the back of his neck, turned on his heels and quickly walked. Then you saw it.

The shelves were blocking your vision, but not anymore. His bed was barely a mattress on the floor inside a wooden structure with four columns, almost like a cage. And around it, a circle of sand. You stood there, feeling confused and awkward at the same time.

"Steven, why do you...?"

"It's just a second, sorry," he said, as he struggled to take the hoover out of a small wardrobe with cleaning supplies.

"Steven, Steven," you caressed his shoulder in a comforting manner but failed at trying to take his attention. "Please, leave that alone and look at me."

He did after a few seconds, and stepped aside when you asked him to. You left everything inside and closed the door behind you.

"That's an awful lot of sand."

He replied crestfallen, with both hands behind his back, as if he had just been caught doing something he shouldn't and punishment was about to be announced. "I know."

"It's okay, it's your flat. I'm just curious about it."

He bit the inside of his cheek and finally looked at you, a look of embarrassment plastered all over himself. Then he sighed, his shoulders falling like a dead weight. He started walking towards the kitchen.

"Fancy a cuppa?"

You followed him, and he served a cup of tea for both of you. He left them on the table and fetched two glasses of water as well.

"I have a sleeping disorder," he said. His fingers were trembling around the cup, and his eyes looked at you almost waiting to read your body language. "I sleepwalk sometimes. And other times I sleep for more than ten hours and still manage to be exhausted. I have dreams, very vivid dreams. And-"

You took one of his hands in yours. He was going to break the cup if he kept imprinting his fingers in it. You held his hand, and he frowned at you, the corners of his mouth turned down. He looked just like Marc.

"Nightmares?" you asked.

The lines on his forehead became deeper as he recalled his memories. "I wouldn't say nightmares. Well, yes, sometimes they are; but they don't usually feel like nightmares. I don't know."

You wondered if it had something to do with Marc, with the fact that he also had to have some kind of life beyond all the time Steven took to live his.

"Look, I know I'm a walking red flag," he pressed his open hands to his forehead. "But I promise I'm not bonkers, I just have a little trouble sleeping. I use the sand and the restraints to check I haven't left the bed during the night, that's all. I know it's crazy to have strains on the bed..."

"I didn't say that."

His eyes shot open, and the most incredulous and relieved laugh you had ever heard left his mouth. You couldn't help but chuckle as well.

"Oh, you didn't just say that," he replied.

The atmosphere was light again between both of you. His frown had vanished from his features. Steven's face was Steven's once again; with his bright dark orbs, raised eyebrows and little smiles. His shivers had stopped almost entirely, you could notice by the way his hands rested over the table and you couldn't stop yourself from taking one of them in yours. He looked at both your fingers, yours on top of his as you slowly traced a path to his palm. You witnessed how his sight lost focus for a few seconds, and waited until his eyes fell on you again to talk.

"Steven, we all have problems, but that doesn't mean we don't deserve love and understanding," his brows frowned slightly, while his puppy face remained; he was trying not to cry. "If someone, anyone, denies them to you, just because you're not perfect, you're simply asking the wrong person. There are plenty of people out there who'd love you for the very same things other people would despise you for..."

He wiped away a treacherous tear with his free hand and you kissed the back of the other.

"...and that's okay. Not everyone has to like you, you don't like everyone either. Some are just pricks."

Another chuckle. Another tear. He wiped it away and covered both his eyes with his palms. He sighed, hard. He seemed tired as his shoulders fell.

"God, I shouldn't be crying my eyes out."

Getting up from your chair, you left a chaste kiss on his cheek. Your arms went around his shoulders from behind, and you couldn't help but leave another kiss on his temple.

Steven was suffering, and it was something you had never thought about. Since you had met him in person you had begun to understand him a little, but before that, since Brighton, you had never thought of Steven as a person who lived and suffered. The few times you had thought of him before —because Marc never talked about it again—, you had imagined Steven as a drugged version of Marc: a quiet boy, almost like a rag doll o a puppet, who took all the pain that Marc couldn't bear without complaint, taking and taking like a punching bag. Feeling no discomfort, no pain.

The more you got to know him, the more you realised that Steven embodied the best parts of Marc. No, not the best parts of Marc, the best parts of himself. He was a wonderful man, shy and charismatic at the same time. Talkative and awkward and a true gentleman who opened doors for you and bowed and laughed a lot.

You could love him, and that was not even a new realization, but you had never felt it as true. Steven didn't have to do any of the things he did to be charming, and yet it was part of his persona, part of what Steven really was. Marc and he shared a body, maybe half a life and time on this Earth, but nothing else.

Steven Grant was unique, without a doubt one of the most beautiful souls in the universe. And you thought you might regret it tomorrow, but Marc would have to get used to it if things went further. Maybe you could find a way he could understand. He had to. The possibility of him reacting badly tied a knot in your stomach that made you suffocate with every passing second. He was still your best friend. And you still loved him too.

Steven stood up from the chair, took both cups and left them in the empty sink. His face was as red as it could, his nose a bright red colour and eyelids wet by the tears. He put his hands on his hips and sighed.

"You should go to bed. I'll lend you a t-shirt to sleep in if you want," he said, looking at the black dress you were wearing.

Steven opened a drawer in the space that belonged to his bedroom and took a t-shirt and a pair of grey joggers. You took them from his hands.

"Thank you," you whispered. "I really shouldn't be here."

"That's bollocks, you can come here whenever you want."

He ran one hand over his eyes again, even though there were no tears.

You didn't say anything back because he had no idea of what was happening, but you knew you shouldn't be there. The closer you got to Steven the more you liked him, and you had never stayed the night at Marc's. Never. You wondered what would happen if Marc fronted in the middle of the night and found you sleeping there. Maybe you could come up with something. Either way, you squeezed your eyes shut, tried to shake off the feeling and finished getting dressed.

You had wrapped the elastic of your pyjama bottoms around your hips, but you could still step on some of the fabric. The T-shirt was beyond repair, but you usually slept in T-shirts and sweatshirts two sizes too big anyway, so that was fine.

"It's so big on me," you said, jokingly as you walked out of the bathroom.

You caught him getting dressed too. He was just pulling his t-shirt over his shoulders when you opened the door. From where you stood, the views were immaculate. The muscles in his back stretched and contracted before he pulled the t-shirt over his shoulders. His bottoms were a tartan printed pyjamas.

"Maybe you should just... jump right into bed," he said, now approaching you and glancing at the sand on the floor. "You know, don't get your feet full of sand. I'll be in the living room. Having fun with..." he joked as he took a book from his desk and showed it to you. Egyptian Mythology: A Guide to the Gods, Goddesses, and Traditions of Ancient Egypt. "...Mrs Pinch."

You got into bed without jumping, somehow, taking a long step from the floor to his bed. Steven stood closer as you did, almost grabbing your arm to help you. Before he could turn on his heels and leave, you kneeled on his bed, right in front of him. His eyes were still glossy from the crying.

"Try and get some sleep," you said. He gave a long sigh and shook his head.

"It's better if I don't."

"Please, Steven..." you almost begged. "Get in here with me, just try, I'll leave when you fall asleep."

You saw the doubt in his eyes, the indecision, but also the fear below all of that. Finally, he shook his head again.

"Maybe we could try next time, if you still feel like it," He raised the book in the air and gave you a smile. "I have a second date tonight, don't be too jealous."

"Why don't you read to me, then?"

He considered it for a brief second, then he instructed you to get comfortable under the sheets while he locked the front door. Steven turned off all the lights except for the kitchen lights, which plunged the room into semi-darkness, but still bright enough to read. He also took a long stripe of blue tape and stuck it just above the locks in the door. Then he got into bed.

You laid on your side, looking at him. His pillows smelled of him. It was a pleasant smell, the same smell that had flooded your nostrils when you had kissed his jaw earlier, only with less cologne. He didn't get under the covers. Instead, he crossed his legs on the mattress and leaned a little towards the headboard. He almost looked like a tall child.

He gave you a quick glance from the text, almost waiting for you to stop him; but you didn't.

"Let me know if you get tired of me."

He smiled, half-joking, but you knew he was been very serious about it. Then he started reading.

"Originally the Egyptian reverenced on God only whose likeness was never represented, “he is being worshipped in silence. His characteristics, however..."

The next thing you knew, you were woken up by the morning light, slowly and calmly, bit by bit regaining consciousness of the context around you. It was an odd feeling, not to wake up in your own room, or by the loud noise of your alarm app, to see a different ceiling and furniture around you. In the usual morning amnesia, you looked under the sheets to check if you were still dressed. You were, but those clothes weren't yours.

You got up, and there was something yellow in your vision for a second. It was so sudden that you wondered if a ray of sunlight just blinded you, but then you looked at your lap and saw it. It was a sticky note. It was probably on the headboard before it peeled off from the headboard.

We need to talk. -Marc.

It was raining when you left your own studio that evening, and it was almost nine when you got to your destination, a cafe just a few blocks from Steven's flat. Marc had chosen it because it was the only one in the area which stayed open until half-past ten.

By then you had been ignoring his calls for thirty-six hours, which should have been easy given the fact that Marc barely used his phone anymore, but he had called you twice yesterday and you had ignored them, giving him some excuse about having too many assignments to grade. It wasn't a lie, he had to understand that you had a life beyond him and Steven. And you knew nothing about Steven, so you guessed Marc hadn't given up the body yet.

You couldn't help but wonder how poor Steven managed not to get fired or get burnout from work if every time he had a free day Marc decided it was his time to reappear. It was incredibly selfish of him to let Steven earn the money for both of them. After all, as far as you were concerned, Marc had been unemployed since he left the military.

You weren't looking forward to meeting him, because you knew once you did, you'd have to tell lies. You couldn't possibly tell him about the kiss. You would, eventually, once you knew how to address the situation; but you didn't want to. Losing Marc was something you'd never forgive yourself for happening, and abandoning Steven now didn't seem like a good choice to make, at all. On the other hand, however, Marc had been extremely vague about the arrangement you two shared, you needed to know how the whole thing worked; for their sake as well as yours. You needed to know what to expect from Steven and Marc, when to worry if any of them vanished for too long, how the fronting thing worked, how he managed to figure out everything from Steven's life when Steven wasn't even aware that Marc existed.

At the end of the day, you couldn't postpone meeting him anymore. It had been two weeks already, two wonderful weeks with your phone full of good-morning texts and calls lasting as much as two hours. You had hoped to have Steven as a friend, but he was too much of a boyfriend material.

Your eyes were fixed on Marc even before you got in.

The cold air suddenly disappeared from your cheeks. The cafe was cosy, but the heat inside was almost sultry. You could see it in the navy T-shirt Marc was wearing. You both came prepared for the heat, you had been there before.

He subtly waved at you as you walked in. The table he had chosen was in a corner, away from everything and everyone even though the place was half empty. It was the same table you had been to other times, and you wondered if the waiters —who most certainly already knew your face— wondered if any of you was cheating on your partners.

You walked to the table asking all the gods, the universe, and whatever else was out there to please not trip over your own feet. The last time you had been this nervous about meeting Marc, he was getting married in Cairo.

He greeted and rose up from his chair to hug you. The hug was short-lived but much needed, yet you couldn't help but wonder if he could hear the frantic beating of your own heart against his chest.

"I'm not gonna beat around the bush, I want you to answer a simple yes or no question," he asked.

There he was, direct and blunt as a knife. There was no hesitation, no trembling in his hands. His accent almost came up weird now, that American accent that he had not left in Illinois when he moved to the UK in his teenage years and never quite vanished.

"Are you and Steven together?"

That was too easy of a question.

"We obviously are not," you replied, but he still waited in silence. "If you're wondering why I stayed in his flat, we had dinner and I got drunk. I tried to talk him out of it, but he insisted that he didn't feel good about me getting home by myself."

He rolled his eyes and drank a sip of his black coffee.

"You're quite the grown-up."

You ordered your own tea and waited until the waiter left to keep up the conversation.

"Yeah, I am, but this is still London and I'm still a woman. So there's that."

Marc left his coffee on the table and leaned back in his chair, resting both elbows on the backrest. That's when his eyes scanned you, maybe he wasn't buying your half-truths. You kept your eyes on his until it was ridiculous how long you kept looking at each other.

"What?" you asked.

"Nothing. I just don't think you've ever stayed at mine."

You chuckled, that was easy to respond to. The waiter left your cup of tea in front of you and you took a sip out of plain curiosity, a smile still lingering on your lips. Then you looked at him through your lashes.

"Are you jealous, Marc?" you asked him, his mocking smile soon turned into a thin line. "Don't worry, I'm sure we can have a... how is it? a slumber party some time."

You thought he would laugh at your imitation, but he did not. He gave you a look, the most disgusted look you'd ever seen on his face.

"Did you fuck him?" his angry gaze pierced your soul, his elbows pressing into the table as he leaned over it. "Because I don't know if you're aware, but Layla and I aren't officially divorced yet."

Low blow. Fucking moron.

"I'm obviously not aware of that because you never talk to me anymore."

"You didn't answer my fucking question.”

A wry laugh bubbled up from your throat. Rage reddened your face with every passing second, you could feel the blood under the skin of your face, burning and boiling. You didn't know whether to tell him to fuck off or what. It was his fault that you were in this bizarre predicament, to begin with. Your muscles were stuck in place, you knew the answer to his question, but the fact he was asking was simply insulting. He didn't own you and neither did he own Steven.

"You know what, fuck you, Marc," you rose up from the chair and smashed the palms of your hands against the table. "If I knew you'd turn into a freaking child I wouldn't have signed up to all of this. Now I'm basically lying to someone who has done nothing but treat me with respect. I cannot say the same about you."

You left the place in a hurry, without even thinking about the bill you left behind. He called your name but you didn't give him any attention. Yet Marc still ran behind you and grabbed your arm once you were outside. You got rid of his grip and smacked his arm. He did not wince.

"Don't follow me, Spector" you warned. "I'm tired of you."

It did seem to pain. He grimaced as if he had been hit, blinked repeatedly and clenched his jaw.

"You do not understand," he almost growled. "I just needed to make sure of it. I don't want to hurt you, I don't want you to get hurt in any way. I did say I shouldn't ask you for such a big commitment, but he is very alone. I was scared he would end up hurting himself. I knew you two would get along. There's no one who could not like you, (y/n)," he said. "You can't imagine how much I freaked out when I woke up and saw you next to me."

His words hurt, so much so that you wondered why on earth you were still listening to a word that came out of his mouth. The thought of Steven hurting himself in any way was hard to swallow. You couldn't even begin to imagine such a sweet soul giving up on all the joy this life could bring him, of all the people he would indeed meet, all the people that had and would love him, all the experiences fate still kept for him.

Then you had Marc's words. Did it hurt so much to wake up next to you that he had to leave? Was it so hard for him to look at your sleepy face in the morning? Did he find you that disgusting?

"I will keep on seeing Steven," you said. "Not because of you, but because he genuinely has become a good friend," you finished. "I won't apologize for how disgusting you find me, though."

He looked down. From that angle, he looked like a lost soul. He was absolutely drenched now, his curls sticking up to his warm skin, the ends dripping, the jacket now a shade darker because of the rain. Marc shook his head and looked back at you.

"I didn't mean it like that," he mumbled. "I didn't..." his lips formed a thin line as he thought what to say. "Look, it's complicated. I am not always aware of him or his surroundings, but I am aware of his feelings because I can feel them too. You have to be only friends. I know I'm been annoying about it but it simply cannot happen."

You gave a long sigh and pushed both you and him under the awning of another nearby restaurant. You tried not to think about his words.

"You're right Marc, I don't understand. I don't know what you're doing" you confessed. "I don't know how the whole thing works, but it's straight-up ruining both of your lives. He's alone, not because he wants to, or because people find him irritanting, but because he can't commit to anyone, because he lives in a constant nightmare in which he does not know when or where he's waking up."

"I'm not saying it's easier for you," you whispered as some pedestrians walked near the scene. "But at least you know what's happening. You used to live your own life, now he is the one doing it most of the time. He will eventually find out, so you should talk to him, however that works. Steven already thinks he's a lunatic," you said, as you remembered your conversation that night. "And I can't possibly understand how could you expect him to be happy in these conditions."

Marc bit his lip and took his eyes away from you and into the road.

"So you have talked that much, uh?" he crossed his arms over his chest. "I knew all the calls couldn't be about the weather."

You stood there for a minute in silence, not knowing what else to say.

"Things are getting out of hand, I know I'll have to do it at some point," he said. "I just can't right now. I need him to be calm and happy while I figure some shit out."

You frowned at his words, nervousness and curiosity equally dancing in the pit of your stomach.

"And what is that?" you asked, but when he did not respond you tried to guess. "Is it about Layla?"

He shook his head. "It's more complicated than that."

"You know you can tell me anything that's bothering you, Marc," you whispered, reassuringly. You actively fought the urge to caress the back of his head. "I'll try to help you. We've known each other for so long, it is actually insulting that you don't trust me yet."

Marc smiled and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Then he looked at you and the glint in his eyes sent you off balance. It wasn't naive like Steven's, it was different. You couldn't quite tell why or what differentiated them.

"I know," a pause. "I know I can, and I will once it's over. I promise."

Marc was not a person who used to make promises, let alone empty ones. Throughout your life, he had made you perhaps a handful of them, and he had always kept them to this day. He took his word very seriously, it was a matter of pride.

So you believed him.

The staff room was almost empty two weeks later, as it was lunchtime and most of the teachers were in the school cafeteria. It was torture to be there alone, with only one of the history teachers marking exams and photocopying worksheets. You had forgotten your lunch box at home and complained to Steven profusely via text. You refused to eat anything from the cafeteria, and you were positive that anyone who visited the kitchen would, really, so you were just starting to mark some exams when a movement far out of your field of vision caught your attention.

The sight in front of you was so out of place that your brain had difficulty processing it. Steven stood next to the door frame, shoulders down and a timid smile on his lips, trying not to draw any attention to himself while waving a hand in front of his face to catch your attention.

"Hey," he whispered. "You alright?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" you mouthed from where you were seated.

He lifted into the air a rectangle-shaped plastic bag and pointed at it with the biggest and proudest grin you'd ever seen on that face.

Oh, he didn't.

"I brought you lunch," he whispered once you were standing outside of the teacher's lounge. He opened the plastic bag and began pointing out things. "I got you some chicken with gravy and mashed potatoes. I made it myself so I don't know if you'll like it, I haven't actually tried it."

You looked at him, impressed and incredulous as he talked. He looked at you, then at the food, then at you again.

"What?"

His thick accent made you giggle in this disbelief.

"You should be resting, it's your day off," you said. "What are you even doing here? And where did you get the chicken to cook? You're vegan."

His whole face relaxed, his eyelids half-closed, his smile a funny one saying you're not really asking me that.

"From the supermarket, where else would I get food?"

"Oh you're something else, I swear," you whispered. "You know what I meant."

You took the bag in your hands and got into the staff room again. The history teacher, Graham, took a glimpse behind him at whatever you were carrying. He rolled up his sleeves to continue using the photocopier, a tattoo of a black scale standing prouder on his pale skin.

You caught Steven looking at it as well, his mind far away from that room, but once you were out of the other teacher's sight, his focus came back.

"Thank you very much," you said, voice low and clear. You hoped he could read on your face the intent, the longing. After all, there had been many more kisses since that third date. "I'd kiss you right here if I could."

"I can fix that."

He took a glimpse of every corner over his head, looking for security cameras. There was none. Then he kissed the inside of his fingers and pretended to slap you in slow motion.

You shook your head.

"You're very much welcome, by the way," Steven said. Then he shoved his hands into the pockets of his grey coat, the one you loved so much on him. "So the thing is I might have gotten a bit too much chicken and you know... I'm vegan so..."

You squinted at the way he was jokingly talking about it.

"... so I thought maybe we could have dinner tonight. Maybe watch a movie afterwards, read a bit."

"Oh, you cheeky bastard," you jabbed an accusatory finger in his sternum. "If you wanted me to come over, you should have just said that."

"I know," he responded, his happy grin was breathtaking. "But I did want to make sure you ate, and I actually love cooking even if I'm not very good at it."

You had to resist the urge to pull him by the collar of his jacket and kiss him on the lips.

"You're perfect at it. And that was an awesome tactic," you replied. "The whole I'm vegan so you should come over and we could have dinner and have you-know-what after. You can't fool me, Grant."

He shook his head.

"It's a good one, right?" he said, his flirtatious tone completely foreign to him. "All jokes aside, I don't have any expectations about it, you know that." He gestured, his hands moving in the air. "Whatever you wanna do is fine. We could play chess all night if you wanted."

That's why you liked him so much, everything was easy with him. He was happy with your company, loved doing indoor plans and both restaurant and coffee dates. That didn't mean everything was up to you, though, or that he didn't have any preferences. Last weekend he had miraculously gone to karaoke night with some of your friends, —you were lucky none of them knew Marc personally— and he had completely slain the stage. You had asked him to attend, but you didn't think he actually would. You slept in his flat again, and he was so drunk that as soon as his eyelids closed he ran to puke on the toilet. Then the next morning you fed Gus while he turned the kettle on and later both of you took a walk around Hyde Park; which was his plan in exchange for the karaoke.

By now you were basically a couple, but avoided having that conversation nonetheless. Steven was a pro at reading your facial expressions and changing the subject when you didn't feel comfortable. That was pretty much the last thing he wanted, and he also had to remind himself that you had barely known each other for a month now, that things had started extremely fast and seemingly sped up a little bit more every second. And with those odds, Steven refused to crash his relationship against any tree, it’d simply not happen.

The day went by too slowly after he left, promising that he'd see you that same night and sending good wishes for the rest of your workday. After that, you went home just to change the sweaty clothes you'd been wearing all day. You took a shower and rubbed some lotion on every inch of your body. And at the end of the routine, you openned your underwear drawer to find the most beautiful piece of lingerie you owned.

Part of you couldn't help but wonder what Marc would say if he saw you wearing that, how he'd react, what he'd do; but you were mostly thinking about Steven both when you bought it and now that you were fastening the hooks of the lace bra behind your back. Shaking your head, you decided not to think about Marc anymore, it was simply not his business.

When Steven opened the front door of his flat, dinner was almost done. You hugged him despite the baking powder on his apron, but he still refused to hug you back because he had food smeared all over his hands. You grabbed his chin to pull his face against yours and kissed him, but you shouldn't have. An explosion of flavour flashed through your tongue when you did, a bolt of white lightning suddenly appearing behind your eyelids. It made you moan, and in the middle of the fog, you realized Steven had sugar on his lips.

He chuckled. One of his hands falling on your waist and keeping you against him, one of yours on his chest, your knees weak and your mind all groggy.

"Woah... what was that?" he grinned.

"You have sugar on your lips," you answered and squinted, pretending to be annoyed. "You did it on purpose."

He shook his head, half incredulous, half amused.

"No, I didn't, I was baking dessert for us."

"...and what were you baking?"

"Vegan cheesecake"

You bit your lip at the thought and broke away, slowly, waiting for him to either tighten his grip against your waist or let you go. He finally opted for the latter but didn't seem entirely convinced about it. You dropped your purse on his desk without asking, as if it was already your own flat.

"I'm going to-... yeah-the food..." he anxiously shifted in place, randomly remembering —finally— he had other things to do rather than just stand there and look.

You couldn't help but chuckle as he walked to the kitchen space, not without looking back at least twice to check if you were following.

"I got invited to watch you work today," you said, arms crossed over your chest. "Apparently one of the teachers is sick and they invited me to visit the museum with the ten-year-olds on Monday. They were very persistent about it."

Steven smiled. "Sounds like good news to me."

"Can I help you with anything?" you asked once in front of the oven, changing the subject, but he simply stirred the sauce for a second and rapidly focused his attention on something else.

"No, no. Well- yeah... I mean, you can help me eat it-" he joked. "Not a good idea if I invite you for dinner and have you starving, right?"

You took a spoon from one of the drawers, which seemed to catch his attention, and dipped it into the sauce. Even with the taste of sugar from his lips still camouflaging the flavour, it was delicious. You moaned for the second time.

"Oh," he laughed. "Cheers, angel."

All his body language shifted completely, while you stood there blinking at the new pet name, speechless. Steven squared his shoulders, looking proudly at the food, and turning off the cooker. He gave a long sigh and started serving the food.

"I have to say I was a bit shook about this," he confessed while serving the chicken. "I've never cooked for anyone before, so I don't even know if my cooking skills are decent," he smiled. "I mean, most days I forget to have at least one of my meals, can't say that's good, can I?"

He extended the plate at you and his smile vanished.

"Did you just call me angel?" you asked.

A pause, as if time had stopped.

"Did I?" he said, leaving the plate on the counter, a nervous little laugh ripped out of his throat. "I mean- I know I did. You don't like it?" he had puppy eyes now, then turned and kept on serving the food. The plate trembled in his hand. "I won't say it again."

"No, no. It's okay. I like it," you cooed as you caressed his cheek with your thumb. "It's okay."

You took the plate from his hands and left it on the counter. Steven shifted in place, now facing you with sloping shoulders. The corners of his mouth turned down, his eyes glossy.

"Hey, what's wrong?" your hands took his in yours and gave him a soft squeeze. He didn't talk. "Steven, please." he gave a long sigh and his whole weight fell against the edge of the counter. "This is not for the nickname, is it?"

He shook his head, still with the same expression.

"I mean-" he finally talked, his voice low. "That's part of it, yeah..." he took some deep breaths and you couldn't help but witness, your heart ached while you took his arm and stroked his forearm with your nails, then he talked. "I like you more than I should, I mean, it's only been a month and I'm all head over heels for you and I want to do so many things and- then- yeah... I don't know. I really do think you were sent for me, sometimes, like a blessing or a fate thing. I don't know. Call me cheesy if you want," he stopped, he was almost choking with his words, then he studied your reaction and resumed.

"...after all, you appeared right in time. I was really, like really, freaking out about never being able to love anyone or never settling with anyone. I mean- I don't mean we will, I'm just saying..." he huffed, looking at the ceiling as if looking for answers. "I want to have a family, and how could I do that without a partner? And now I'm just... so scared of losing you," he brought both fists to his chest and closed his eyes "I don't know why I have this feeling that I'm going to lose you. And then I found-" he abruptly stopped and covered his eyes. He wasn't crying, not yet at least.

"Steven. What did you find?"

He shook his head, his fingers still covering his eyes. Then he sobbed.

Panic surged through your veins. Your mind started rushing, a thousand questions running through it. You tried to have your breathing under control, after all, you didn't know yet what he was talking about.

"C'mon," you felt as if an electric current had surged in your muscles and before you knew it, you were walking. You took two chairs from the table and placed them one in front of the other. Your voice shivered and broke when you said: "We're gonna fix this, Steven. I don't know what I did but," you were almost whispering to yourself, a hand ran through your hair, anxiously. “… we are."

His cheeks were wet, yet his eyes were still fixed on yours. You tried to take his arm to guide him to have a seat but he just stopped midway and begged.

"Please," he said, both hands on your cheeks, "calm down. Please. I don't wanna upset you. It's nothing, I just got all freaking emotional about nothing."

His words were soothing, a sweet remedy for your nerves and doubts. If he had discovered Marc or your dealings with him, he wouldn't be caring for you the way he was .

It felt like a bucket of cold water over your head anyway, because at that moment you realised that Steven might never forgive you if he found out about Marc. You would be losing forever the only two people you had ever loved. His words inadvertently had the opposite effect.

You clenched your jaw and lips as your nose twitched and your eyes filled with tears. You tried to turn away so he wouldn't see you, and still, he wouldn't let you go. With his hands still on your cheeks, he forced you to look at him. He whispered words of reassurance, pleading while he asked for forgiveness. You closed your eyes tightly and the tears came.

"Please don't cry. I didn't mean to make you cry. I didn't mean to." he said, he took you into his arms and kissed your hair. "I can't stand it. Please."

You finally started fighting against him, getting rid of his hands and hugs and kisses. He didn't let you go at first, but then he did. You wiped your tears and sat on the chair. The feeling of dread was still present, but you repeated in your mind that you wouldn't let it happen, like a mantra. You had to focus on the present. Steven hadn't found out about Marc, as long as that didn't happen, you'd be good.

"What did you find? Explain it to me." Your voice was so steady and cold that you surprised yourself.

Steven nodded and went to his desk, then came back with one of his hands turned into a fist and took his seat right in front of you, his fist tight on the table.

“I was cleaning before you came,” he said. “Before you see it I want you to know that I might have thought something I shouldn’t have when I saw it, that’s true, but I trust you. Always have. I just tend to overthink constantly and then I saw it and I shouldn't have.”

Your breath was caught in your throat. You knew what it was even before he even showed it to you.

Steven opened his hand and there it was, the post-it; the one Marc had left for you the first night you stayed the night in that very same flat, you had forget to take it with you when you left that day. Your eyes caught a glimpse of Steven and for a second everything felt unreal. The fact that he had cried for a note that his very fingers had written for you… and the fact that he thought you were seeing someone else, was simply overwhelming.

Then something clicked in your brain. Everything came back to you in a second. You had to react somehow, or he’d think you were cheating on him.

So you smiled, although you weren’t sure how it looked from other's people's eyes. You tried to chuckle, but it only came out as half a sigh, half a moan.

“Steven… that’s what you were so worried about?”

He didn’t look entirely convinced.

We need to talk -Marc. The words, especially his name, felt like accusations; and wrong. They felt wrong in Steven’s hands.

“I didn’t,” he said. “At first I thought the worst, but… it’s not what you think. I saw it and felt bad and then I realized that it was just my brain making up scenarios and giving me a sight of what I thought I was seeing, a sight that it’s probably not real. I mean- I don’t have the context…”

You silently thanked that Steven took so long to say anything, because it helped your nerves and gave you a minute to think about what to say next.

“… and you think I can give you context?”

“I mean, no, you don’t owe me anything,” he shook his head. “I’d like to think that if you were seeing someone else you wouldn’t be here with me. I was… I am scared of losing you, that’s the thing. I have this sensation in the pit of my stomach that something bad is about to happen, like something really bad. And I found this and I wasn’t in a good place, mentally. That’s what I’m saying. I’m scared, but I don’t think you’re cheating. Well, would it even be considered cheating if we’re not officially dating yet?” He laughed it off, but you saw the hurt in his eyes. “I hope I was clear, because I’m not very good with words.”

“Yeah, you were” you answered and took one of his hands in yours. You sighed happily, relieved. “Marc is a friend of mine. He’s my best friend, actually. We met in high school. He thought I was mad at him because he’s been a bit of an asshole lately. He barely answers my calls anymore and he’s one of those people who has trouble speaking his mind, being honest… the whole lot; and he left that in my purse a few hours before our date because we had a fight. I’m sorry it triggered you so much.”

Now he seemed convinced, maybe because a big part of what you’d just said was true. Maybe the timeline wasn’t exactly correct, but all the rest was true.

“Did you two make peace?”

Oh, Steven. He looked just so concerned about it for no reason. He was a real sweetheart.

“Yeah, yes, kind of,” you responded. “We talked on the phone.”

“I’m so glad. That’s important, to talk things through... pun intended” he chuckled.

Steven kissed your knuckles and, in a swift motion, rose up from the chair. You saw him as he placed one of the plates in the microwave. Your heart ached at the sight, at the domesticity, at all the gestures and the kindness.

You saw the face of Marc in his features as he reheated the food. It felt wrong, the fact that you had just explained who Marc was to the face that you had grown up with, the very same face and body you had associated with Marc Spector your whole life. You felt like saying it, the truth barely hanging from your lips.

Steven deserved to know.

Ultimately, you decided to give Marc an ultimatum.

A radio station was now playing in Steven's flat. None of you gave much importance to it; it had just been Steven's way of lightning up the mood while both of you had dinner. It surprisingly worked, given the fact that both of you joked about hating BBC Radio One while neither made an effort to change it. Steven would mimic Nick Grimshaw every once in a while, making you laugh and therefore laughing himself too.

For dessert, Steven turned on the television and put on a documentary about Egyptian history. Now two half-finished plates of vegan cheesecake were left alone on top of his coffee table, while Grimshaw's voice became white noise in the background. On the sofa, you had started by sitting next to Steven with one of your legs over his knees, leaning slightly towards him as you ate the cake. But half an hour had passed and now the monotone voice of the history channel couldn't keep your attention anymore, you had both legs over his lap now; and watched him silently while stroking his hair. Then you went down, your nails barely touching his flesh as your fingers ran down the length of his arm, from the shoulder to the wrist and back up again.

After a while, he stopped paying attention to the documentary.

"Am I boring you?" he asked, sinking into the couch and pressing his forehead against yours. "We can watch something else."

You shook your head. "It's fine. I like to see you all invested on the ancient world," you answered.

"Uhmm..." he closed his eyes and sighed. "I stopped being invested a while ago, love. Plus, I thought you fancied to learn a bit about it"

That was true, you'd asked him to give you egyptology classes.

"Yeah," you chuckled. "I wanted you to teach me because you put so much love into it, I didn't mean watching history channel; but that's okay, I can do that too."

Steven put the TV on mute and patted your legs on his lap signalling for you to let him go. He took a book from the large stack on his desk and when he returned to the sofa, he wrapped his arm around your legs and returned to the first position. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and held the book open with one hand.

"Mythology’s fine?" he asked.

You nodded. "Mythology is perfect."

He started reading, and you occasionally stopped to ask questions. After a while, he simply opened a family tree on the first page of the book.

"Let's get the basics first, shall we?" he mocked you, making fun at your lack of knowledge. "We can start with the Ennead. You remember what I said about it, right?"

You nodded, he had complained profusely about the marketing campaign of the museum. It had so many gods missing, and he was fuming about it for three days.

"Yeah," you kissed him on his jaw, unable to help yourself. "Who are they?"

"There's nine of them," he shivered behind your touch. "Atum, Tefnut, Shu, Geb and Nut, Set, Nephthys..."

With every name you planted a kiss on his cheek; and after a while, you realized you were now leaving kisses on his neck. Steven closed his eyes and shivered; then you stopped.

"And the other two?" you asked him, with the most innocent face.

Steven opened his eyes slowly, dizzy and astonished at the same time.

"Are you having a laugh?"

You smiled and shook your head. "Not at all, I'm interested. I really am."

He squinted at you, then he pointed out some drawings on the family tree.

"As I was saying... Atum, Tefnut," he said, you resumed your kisses on his neck and he made a hissing noise. "Geb, Nut, Isis... ugh." he pushed the book aside with closed eyes and you stopped.

His eyes shot open and you asked him:

"Why are you stopping?"

He huffed, "I don't know, I seem to have a leech on my throat."

A laugh erupted from you.

"Oh, thanks for that. Really, cheers," you answered. "I wanna know the other names though. Poor deities, they are not important enough to be named."

He squinted at you, making a face as if he had been insulted.

"Atum, Tefnut, Isis..." he spoke quickly.

"You already named those," you crossed both your arms. Then you started to hear new names and you brought your lips to his Adam’s apple. Steven groaned, his body trembling under your touch.

"Alright, that's it."

With the arm he had around your shoulders, he pushed you against him; his other palm cupping your cheek. Soon, you were breathing the same air, or rather not breathing at all. Steven kissed you hungrily, intensely. His tongue still tasted like blueberries and cheesecake, and under it, the own taste of his mouth. It sent a lightning bolt to every nerve ending of your anatomy; a single wave of pleasure straight to where you needed Steven the most. Your knees sank on the couch when you got on top of him, both of them at each side of his hips; Steven grabbed yours with a slight touch at first and nailed his fingertips on your thighs after. His kisses stopped for a second, his breath loomig over your throat. He looked at you through his eyelashes, seemingly asking for permission; just to leave a trail of lazy kisses down your throat a second later.

Steven reached the hollow space at the end of your throat. He wetted his lips and left a kiss there. As a consequence, your hips rubbed against him, and for the first time, you noticed the prominent bulge growing against your inner thigh, dangerously close to your entrance only hid by your jeans.

Steven groaned, his brown eyes rolling into the back of his skull for a split second.

“Don’t stop,” you begged when his sight came back. His breath hot against your collarbone.

His puppy eyes looked at you through his eyelashes, and his jaw tightened.

“It’s been a long time since…” he whispered, gasping. “I’m sorry, love. I don’t know what to do.”

His voice came out low, weak. He looked almost miserable.

You took his face in both your hands. Steven didn't get his eyes out of you, admiring you with such love in his dark gaze that you wondered if you were seeing things. The way he eyed you, as if you hung the moon, made your heart ache.

"Steven, your body is asking for something; give it to it," you whispered. His lips parted as he watched you, he was full of desire but unable to move. "Don't think so much. Just get what you want."

He was trying, you could see it in the way he planted another kiss just above the neckline of your top. He was really trying; but you needed him quicker. Before he could get his hands on you, you were already taking your shirt off.

You heard Steven's breathing change when your covered breasts fell right in front of his line of vision, the lace bra catching his attention. He swallowed loudly, his lips parted at the sight.

"Do you always wear these?" he asked.

You lightly chuckled, the reaction was better than anything you'd imagined. "I wish I could say I do; but no, I'm wearing it just for you."

He bit his lower lip right before burying his face in your cleavage, leaving wet kisses on his path. One of his hands slid under the bra, your skin erupting on goosebumps all over your body; and he squeezed, applying the right amount of pressure. You took his other hand and placed it under the other side of your bra. You gasped for air and moved your hips, trying to get some relief inside your drenched, ruined underwear. Steven cried out at the contact.

You couldn't stand the position anymore and got off, laying next to him on the couch just a second later. Steven, still fully dressed, rushed over you like a hungry beast; positioning himself between your legs and throwing the book somewhere behind him. He kissed you, wet tongue heavy inside your own mouth; oxygen kept inside your lungs because you couldn't quite breathe. Your chest seized, but you didn't care. You grabbed the dark curls at the back of his head, pushing him further as if it was possible. It was almost a breath-holding competition. And he lost, gasping for air while resting his head on your collarbone.

"You're too dressed," you complained, tugging at the hem of his T-shirt. He took it off in one swift motion.

When his skin made contact with yours, you realised how hot it was. He was warm, comfortable. The star of David fell cold on your skin, hanging from his neck. You ran your fingers down his chest, touching soft body hair, and became perplexed at how his muscles seemed to be both soft and rigid at the same time. He was sweating and you couldn't think about anything you wanted more than to lick the tears of sweat out of his flesh.

Steven licked your pulse point in your neck, and you couldn't help but let out a cry.

"You alright?" he asked, appearing again above you, fear staining his face, but you couldn't do anything else than nod. His features softened and he leaned in to taste your lips again, He was careful and tender this time.

"Tell me what you want, Steven," you sighed, your mind clear for the first time in minutes as you realized he needed another push to keep going. His eyes lit up at the nickname. "You can have everything you want, touch anywhere you want, I'm yours tonight."

Steven hesitated, but something awakened in him nonetheless. You saw it in the way his gaze darkened even more. He kneeled on the couch, straightening his back above you. He watched you as he slowly unbuttoned your jeans, waiting for a reaction that signalled him to stop. Your breathing became ragged and your eyes got stuck in the way he unzipped your trousers.

"Look at me, angel," he whispered.

His features appeared again in your field of vision, but your focus remained where Steven touched you. He slid his palm over your wet underwear.

"Bloody hell, you're drenched," he said, his flat hand cupping all of you. "I want to touch here, can I touch here?"

You tried to take a deep breath. "Yeah. Please, do."

He didn't waste time. He took both your jeans and panties off, completely, without so much as getting a quick glance at the lace. He threw them somewhere on the floor. Your knees were on either side of him, so he had full access and nothing to stop him. His thumb drew circles on your clit without warning, slow-paced and watching your reaction. Steven could not, for the love of him, do anything without making sure you were okay with it.

He then pushed a finger through your entrance, his breath getting stuck on his chest as he wondered at the sight. You were so wet that he added two right away and pumped.

"Harder, please, Steven.”

He obeyed, fingering you with passion. He made a face, his eyebrows frowning and his lips parted. His eyes back at you soon enough.

"Better?" he asked. "Is that good? That's how you like it?"

"Yes, yes," you answered, watching his perfect fingers disappear inside of you.

Steven accommodated himself, his free hand now next to your face, supporting himself on top of you so he could be closer. His fingers reached all the right places, the exact perfect angle inside of you.

"C-can I have another one?"

You couldn't help but think that you sounded like him now. He chuckled softly and another finger got in. Steven had them all the way buried to his knuckles, you could feel it.

"Of course you can," he said. Then he leaned in at your quivering form, he kissed your temple. "You look lovely right now, with my fingers inside of you. Wish you could see it."

The words sent another wave of pleasure right to your core. The man was really good at dirty talk, even if he had barely opened his mouth. He must have felt it too, because he smiled as if he remembered an inside joke.

You exhaled with difficulty as he moved them again, slower but deeper. You buried your nails in his shoulder, not realizing you could hurt him until he hissed. At some point amidst the fog of pleasure in your mind, he intertwined his fingers with yours, the back of your hand now useless against the fabric of the sofa.

"I wanna taste you.”

You thought you had imagined the words that fell from his mouth, a hallucination, although a pleasant one. After all, you couldn't quite form any rational thought at the moment. But then he stopped fingering you. Steven kneeled on the floor, took both your thighs and put them on top of his shoulders. Before you could even get adjusted to the idea and the perfect sight of Steven Grant between your legs, he gave a long lick and sucked.

"Steven!" you cried out, getting his attention.

He gave you a look asking for permission. Your face said it all.

His fingers were buried in the flesh of your thighs to keep you in place. His tongue flat against your core until he started licking and doing circles, and you needed him closer. You tried to reach his hair, his face, anything, and lifted your hips slightly to meet his tongue; but he was having none of that.

"No" he mumbled, hungrily, his breath hitching against your most sensitive part. "Stay still, please."

One of his palms extended over your abdomen. Your orgasm starting to build up, right below his touch and threatening with tearing you apart. In the back of your mind, you marvelled at the thought that he was doing all the right things while —most probably— not having the faintest idea of what he was doing.

You quivered as he ate you like a starving man.

"Don't stop," you moaned, your voice strange to your own ears, an octave higher. The heat was unbearable, your orgasm making its way afloat, threatening to wreck you from the inside out. "Steven..."

All your muscles got rigid in an instant, locked in place. A blast of pure bliss extending through every inch of your body. The ceiling vanished as your vision got clouded with black spots. The man between your legs kept his pace even then, guiding you through it, until you couldn’t keep it anymore and, becoming aware of your struggling, he stopped.

The sight was the most twisted and beautiful thing you’d ever seen. Steven leaned his head and kissed your inner thigh with his eyes closed, the wet mark he left there, a ghost of his own lips. He rested his head on your lap and you saw it, his chin glistening with the mix of fluids under the dim light of the living room. He thought you looked lovely? He definitely did.

“Sorry, got a bit carried away there. You taste like heaven,” he said. “Was that good?”

Oh, this motherfucker.

“Oh, cheers, those are lovely words” he laughed. You’d said it out loud, hissed it under your breath. “I’ll take that as a yes”

You smiled, exhausted and satisfied. The baby hairs sticking to the surface of your skin, drops of sweat on your temples, your collarbones, the back of your knees. Steven looked down, just to close his eyes and curse under his breath.

When you looked at him properly, you realised he was stroking himself. His black boxers down just enough to free his boner and take it into his hands.

"Steven..." you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, as if you were trying not to scare a wild animal. "Come here, let me touch you."

He let out a pleased sigh, his cheeks blushed. "You don't have to, really. You don't owe me anything.”

Not only his chin was glistening under the light now, but the tip of his member was also wet enough not to need any kind of lube. Steven was big, as you had already noticed, but it was impressive to see him that way: naked, flustered, needy.

You shook your head.

"You're such an idiot sometimes," you responded, and pulled his arm so he'd get into a seating position next to you. "Come here, let me see how pretty you are."

Steven held his breath even before you took his member in your hands. You stroked him once, slowly, all his muscles relaxing at the same time, his eyes rolling back into his head just to close them shortly after. He moaned your name in such a way that you wondered how he had kept himself from fucking you when he did it to you. Your own pulse throbbing in your most intimate part with every moan of his.

"Stop, stop," he whispered, almost as if he didn't mean it; but you obeyed, even though you were just about to put him into your mouth. "I'll cum if you keep doing that."

You softly chuckled, looked at him with the most innocent face you had, "but babe… that's the point."

He smiled with his eyes closed, "I want to... I want to be inside..." he timidly requested, not finishing a single sentence. "Can we do that? I have condoms."

A warm sensation filled your heart. All you did was brush Steven's hair back, he was sweaty and just like that he looked amazing. He was the most angelical, sweet man you'd ever met.

You stood, waiting for him to do the same. You took his hand when he did and walked to his bedroom space. He let you go just to get to the bedside table and fetch a condom. Your feet accidentally stood on the sand, but you didn't give importance to it and laid on the bed.

"Should I be jealous?" you asked, as you buried your elbows on the mattress. "Who are you using them with?"

He smiled as he walked his path back to you.

"Well, hopefully, you." he joked, his feet covered in sand when he finally got to your spot. "I bought them this morning if that's what you're asking."

Steven stroked himself twice before putting it on, one of his knees on the edge of the bed. And you took the opportunity to finally remove your bra. You watched him fascinated and so did he. Once he was done, you backed up on the bed and he followed, grains of sand over the white sheets. His thumb touched your entrance and circled around your clit when you gave him access. He took his member, the tip barely touching your entrance.

"Are you sure?" he asked, mindlessly caressing the top of your thigh while he read your body language. You smiled, nodded and cupped his cheek, hoping that gave him some kind of reassurance. "Alright, stop me if it hurts, or anything, really."

Sparks of pleasure exploded and expanded through your veins as Steven pushed slowly into you. The impossible pressure building up around your walls, knocking the air out of your lungs despite the sluggishness of his action. Closing your eyes you tried to take a deep breath.

"...alright?" you just heard the last word of what he said, focusing on the sweet pain surging through you. He was big, indeed. And when you didn't open your eyes he ran his thumb over your lips and called your name.

"I'm fine," you huffed between breaths, annoyed at him for stopping.

"Sure?"

"I can take it, Steven," you said, your heels digging into his backside, urging him to follow.

And so he did. With one last swift movement he was completely buried in you. You watched him trying to regain his composure, but he was gasping for air as if any breath could be the last; and so were you. He bowed his head to look at the show, the place where his body and yours became one, and his lungs deflated as he groaned.

He gave you time to adjust, barely a few seconds as you revelled in between pain and pleasure. Meanwhile, Steven licked his own thumb, circling and pinching your left nipple a moment later, the gesture sending shivers to your spine. He kissed you one last time and he pulled his hips back.

Steven began pounding into you, slow-paced and sweet first, squeezing his eyes shut while he kept your knee around his waist. Frenetic and mindless later. With each thrust, you felt as if he could split your body in two, but you could take it, you could. You repeated it in your mind, sometimes mumbling it in a low voice as he kept his rhythm. His whole studio was filled with the noises of both your bodies crashing into each other; it was disgusting, dirty, obscene, all in the best of senses.

Your vision became blurry at some point, and you couldn't see anything else beyond the spots in your vision. Your eyes were filled with tears; he was hitting right into your g-spot. And he clung to you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to this cruel earth. His hands were stuck in your waist, just below your ribs. You were certain you'd have bruises tomorrow, you thought as you gasped, unable to form a word or take a breath.

"Oh, lord, look at you," he hissed as if he had cut his finger with a piece of paper. "Look at you, my goodness, look at you."

He was completely out of his mind, repeating your name and the exact same three to four words time and time again.

"Steve- Steven," you gasped between thrusts. "Shut up. You're-You're hyperventilating."

He slowed his pace, finally, just for a second. He bit his lower lip and pounded once, hard; and kept the intensity.

"Let me hyper- ugh... in peace," he said, he let out a moan that sounded like half a laugh ."You look so perfect right now, my angel, my piece of heaven...

An orgasm was building up once more, warming every single inch of your insides. Steven drew circles over your clit as you watched his desperation, his despair, trying to get you closer. He pounded twice more and his whole body went rigid, pressing his hips against your core as far as possible, deeply buried in you; your own pleasure slowly fading as his body collapsed.

He fell almost like a dead weight over you, somehow getting enough strength and willpower to prevent his body from crushing you.

"You were so good, baby, so good for me," you muttered as he closed his tired eyes, his cheek against your stomach, drops of sweat falling from his temples and on your naked body. It was the most beautiful sight you had ever seen. "You're okay, I got you," you said, stroking his dark curls. He smiled through the pleasure. "I got you."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled after a couple of seconds. You got annoyed at just the thought of how many times he had apologized in the last hour. "I told you I wouldn't last much."

You shook your head and stared into his saddened eyes.

"It's fine darling," you said. "It's our first time together, we got ourselves all worked up-... ah…"

You sighed at the loss of contact, Steven backing up and getting himself out of you. The condom was soon tied and back into the package when he said, "let me make it up to you."

It didn't take you long for you to come again, also in his mouth. It was difficult not to when he put so much effort into it, barely breathing through his nose. Steven didn't let go this time either, hungrily eating you out until the tears you had left in your eyes wetted your hair and stained his sheets.

He stroked your hair, laying next to you, as you made it back from your high; hugging you and admiring you with that look of amazement perpetually on his face. He covered your naked body with his sheets and buried his nose in your neck, his breathing hot over your pulse.

"That was so good," you gasped, looking at him as he still ran his fingers through your hair. "You're so good at it, it's mental."

He chuckled. "Don't say that after what happened," he said, his cheeks blushing again. "I swear I'm not letting myself cum before you ever again."

"I swear I'm gonna slap you if you don't shut the fuck up," you said.

Steven made a gesture of zipping up his mouth. He kissed your shoulder and one of your cheeks as he cupped the other, and kept talking nonetheless.

"Remember when I said I wanted to do so many things?" he asked. "I thought maybe we could have a weekend together. I got a flyer promoting Brighton from the museum," he said, a pang pulsed in your stomach. "Must be somewhere, probably on my wallet. I'll show you tomorrow..." he stopped then, noticing your frown. "What's wrong?"

You shook your head slightly, your lips a thin line on your face. Your fingers played over his chest, your legs entangled with his.

"Not Brighton, I don't wanna go there."

His gaze softened, his gentle touch placing the baby hairs behind your ear over and over again, even though it was a lost cause.

"Not Brighton, not the beach, or not anywhere?" he asked.

His words directly translated into your brain, he was wondering if you simply refused to go on a weekend getaway with him.

"Just not Brighton."

He gave a long sigh. "We can easily fix that, I've heard Bournemouth or Torquay are really nice at this time of the year."

You smiled, your eyes half-closed, and he mirrored you.

"You might not want to hear it," he said, slurring his words. "Because it's too soon, whatever people mean by that, but I really do love you and can't wait to see what we build together."

You giggled softly with your eyes closed, your mind quickly drifting off and into the darkness.

"I love you, Steven Grant."

His fingers drew circles on your back, half your body on top of him. You felt him shift underneath, kiss your temple one last time. Then you noticed the warm heat of his comforter above your naked shoulders.

"Sleep tight, love."

Next thing you know, a loud thud woke you up.

Your eyes opened to Steven half-dressed, a pair of navy boxers hiding his perfect arse from you. He muttered something under his breath, his voice an octave deeper. You saw him intend to pick up the books he'd just knocked off, but left them on the floor just before he reached them instead. He put one of his fists between his teeth, you saw it in the reflection on the window. The muscles in his back trembled as if he was silently crying.

"Steven..."

He jumped in place, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists. He didn't turn.

"Put your clothes on and get the fuck out of my house," the American accent harsh, his voice even deeper than Steven's usually was in the morning.

But he was not Steven anymore, and it was certainly not morning yet.

Your heart sank inside your ribs, the air suddenly knocked out of you. You jolted upon a seating position, dragging the white sheets to your chest so you didn't feel as exposed as you were. Marc let out a sarcastic laugh from where he was, walking toward the living room. When he came back he threw your clothes on the bed without saying a single word. If you weren't awake before, now you were.

"I don't know why you're even trying to cover yourself," he said, words sharp like a knife.

Pain flooded through your veins, a knot growing in your chest and throat that didn't quite let you breathe. You let the sheets down and they fell off you. Your jeans were cold when you reached for them, the fabric suddenly felt dirty on your hands. All your limbs were heavy when you got out of bed, your own weight too heavy for your knees to hold.

Marc didn't even give you a glance, he just took a pair of grey joggers from a drawer and stood there, eyes fixed on the door, hands on his hips, while his mind sailed far away from that room. With a new pain blooming in your chest now, you guessed that was how getting shot must have felt.

"No words, uh?" he turned finally, just when you had finished zipping your jeans, only the bra covering your breasts. His face was red and contorted into a grimace, half pain, half disgust.

You clenched your jaw until your teeth hurt. You hadn't said anything because you didn't find the words, and couldn't figure out what he was thinking either. It hurt even more that fact, to realize that the person you had known your whole life, the same person you shared so many memories, inside jokes and a whole inner language with, the best friend you once only needed a look to share an opinion with, was now unreadable to you.

The sole idea that he woke up and, oblivious to him, you were naked laying on his bed was horrible, to say the least. He'd said once, a long time ago, that he considered you the sister he never had. You couldn't even begin to think how violent it was for him to be in this situation.

"I- I don't know..."

"Don't cry," he said, a disgusted look on his face as he turned away from you. "Don't do that, seriously. It's pathetic."

You touched your face to find that your cheeks were wet. Somehow, you hadn't noticed before. His words, on the other hand, felt like a knife impossible to escape from. Your tears were obvious and falling without control now. If he was planning to murder you with insults a disgusted looks, you'd rather have the final blow now.

"Marc," you said, following him as he walked to the living room and then, the kitchen. "Let's talk about this."

"No."

First, he turned off the radio, the low whisper of music coming to an end.

"Marc, please. I can explain..."

It didn't matter how much you begged, because he wouldn't hear you. A hot rush of adrenaline ran through your veins before that realization, your fingers trembled over your arms while you hugged yourself. Marc circled the sofa and took the remote of the coffee table, the history channel finally turned off.

"What happens when he wakes up in the morning, uh?" you tried to reason with him. "He's a human being, Marc. What happens then?"

"That's the only thing you care about, uh," he said, jaw clenched. "Him. Well, I don't fucking care. You didn't care about me either."

"You know that's not true."

Marc pursed his lips, taking his angry stare away from you. His pupils danced around the empty space, as if he was trying to find somewhere to hide. Then he saw something, his whole face shifting to one of pure disgust once again, his kuckles turning a concerning shade of white as he clenched them. Your heart fluttered in your mouth when you followed his eyes, finding a wet stain on the fabric of the couch.

Your whole perception of reality was shattered as you covered as much of your exposed flesh as you could. It happened so quickly that your mind didn't even acknowledge his actions until all of it was over. When you opened your eyes again, the couch was upside down, the coffee table shattered, the floor covered in sharp pieces of glass. He had throw it as if it was as light as a feather.

Taking as many steps backwards as you could, you hit the kitchen counter. All the scene felt like a nightmare, in fact, you prayed that it was a nightmare. There was no way in hell that was Marc, Marc would never be so violent, but the other option was even more impossible.

It was as if time had stopped. Marc turned around, looking for you, his whole body visibly less tense. And he found you trying to hide yourself, become one with the black shadows of the kitchen.

"(Y/N)," your heard him mutter. "(Y/N), what are you doing? Come here."

"You're out of your mind, Marc," you said.

He stopped in his tracks and put a hand to his stomach, as if he had been shot. "I'm sorry. I really am. I blacked out. It's just a couch, I'd never hurt you. I won't hurt you."

Tears streamed down your face, worse than before. You tried to cover them up just as faint sobs arose out of your chest, and Marc sprinted to your spot in the kitchen. He hugged you, his strong arms embracing all of you, his warm calloused hands on your back.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his chest trembling behind your ear, his heart on a cruel race without a finish line. "Don't be scared, please. Don't be scared of me."

His beg awakened something in you, the part of you that had always wanted to protect Marc Spector from everything and everyone. It was a silent throb in your chest, a painful one. It had always been like this, after all, you were his protector even if it didn't look like that.

He had always been there for you. He picked you up with his dad's car when you went out partying, he made sure you didn't drink too much when both of you hanged out together without other people, he was the shoulder you'd cry on when something bad happened, even if he could only speak on the phone because he was so many miles away from you. And still, you were the only one who saved him; even if you didn't know that yet.

His sobbing eventually came to a stop, the same as yours. Your fingers were buried in his curls, running your fingers through his hair. Your cheek was against his chest, listening as his heartbeat slowed. The star over the hollow space between his collarbones shone.

"Can we talk now?" he pleaded, to which you just nodded.

He took a step back, his face a sad stare far away from where his body was currently standing. He blinked a few times, his eyes fluttering as if he was trying to see something in the darkness.

"Oh, god. I'm so sorry."

It felt like magic at the time, because as soon as he said it, a burning but faint pain crawled up on your shoulder. Marc stretched his arm behind you, reaching for the light switch in the kitchen. Bright yellow light engulfing the whole space. Then you pulled your stare back down at your shoulder; there were small cuts there, maybe a handful of them barely bleeding, a single drop of blood in many of them. Some glass splinters must have grazed you, but nothing was stuck there and you almost didn't notice, so that's what's important.

Marc, on the other hand...

"Marc, look at you..."

You couldn't help but stare at his arms, he had at least a dozen of them, not bleeding enough to bleed out or get stitches or staining the floor, but enough to have a few paths of half-dried blood down his arms and definitely worse than the ones you had. Even though this was without a doubt his fault, you couldn't bring yourself to be mean to him; and Steven didn't deserve waking up with infected cuts, so you got a first aid kit from the bathroom and two pairs of flip flops because you were both still barefoot and half naked.

"Where's your shirt?" he asked when you were back, gathering everything from the kit and arranging them while he was sitting and resting his arm on the dinning table. "I didn't see it."

Taking a look around, you saw the piece of fabric on the floor. It was barely a dark stain under the couch.

"Shit, I didn't see it there," he said, then got up. "I'm goona get you something."

"Sit down, Marc."

He's not one who likes orders, never has been, but the look you gave him said it all. Marc didn't even think about it, he just sat down again as if you had hit his rewind button. His lips parted, he breathed in, as if to say something, but then his mouth shut again and he allowed you to patch him up.

The cuts weren't deep, and there was only a single, small shard on his biceps not deep enough to worry about. He took it out with his fingers before you could get the tweezers. You bandaged his arm in white gauze while scolding him. A little smiled appeared on his lips while he watched you get all worried for him.

"Steven's gonna freak out when he wakes up," you said, finally breaking up the uncomfortable silence after a couple of minutes.

"Yeah... he will, in a couple of days," he watched you frown and explained. "I have somewhere to be over the weekend. I'll be back on sunday, probably."

"With Layla?"

He huffed throuh the nose. "No, not with Layla. Why does everything have to do with Layla?"

"I don't know," you shrugged. "I really don't have any idea of why you'd have to be anywhere. You quit the military, Steven provides for you, and you don't talk to Layla anymore-"

"It's complicated."

You pressed the cotton harder against the last cut visible. He hissed.

"You always say that."

He bit the inside of his cheek, in his face a look of desperation.

"I said I'll tell you, can't you trust that either?" he said. You watched him hesitate for a second, but finally talked. "I did trust you, though, and look where it got us."

You had just finished putting on the last band-aid, his left arm half covered in white gauze. Your body jumped out of the chair, unable to keep your muscles still anymore. The moonlight kissed your features as you supported yourself against the closed window frame.

Guessing it made no sense to hide anything anymore, because you'd lost them both either way, you decided there shouldn't be any more lies between you and them.

"Can you blame me, Marc?" you gasped, turning back to him and suddenly out of breath at the thought of what you were about to do. "Can you blame me for falling in love with someone who's charming and fun and looks exactly the same way as you? Someone who, apart from being a wonderful person, has all your best characteristics and isn't even a fraction of how much of a prick you are?"

You ran a hand through your hair and pulled your stare away. Your chest was tight, but you refused to cry anymore. It had been enough.

"I've loved you for so long... I've loved you for so long" you repeated, looking up at the ceiling of his home; you weren't sure you could bear the look of pity in his eyes.

The weight fell from your shoulders inmediately after your confession. You felt so light that you wondered how had you lived until then with such a heavy burden on your back.

"How did any of us expect this to work?" you asked, but didn't think he'd answer.

"I wonder the same thing."

Even if you thought he meant he regretted asking you for that favor, that arrangement, when you looked at him you bumped into his sorrowful gaze; he wasn't blaming you, he was genuinely wondering.

"He loves you so much, and I should have known." he said.

You crossed your arms in front of him, his sight back up again to meet yours. Curiosity and bewilderment loomed over you, there was something you were not seeing, something he was not saying.

"You couldn't have known, Marc," you reassured him, although you guessed he didn't deserve any comfort right now. "You couldn't."

He chuckled. It was a bitter one, little more than a long, defeated sigh. His face contorted into a grimace, his gaze turning into a thousand-yard stare, looking at the couch on his left side. His jaw clenched, the jawline sharp and visible.

"Are you not going to ask me how I know how much he loves you?" Marc asked, eyes still unfocused as he watched you. "I told you last time I saw you, but you didn't listen."

Memories flooded in front of you, your grasp on reality leaving your mind. Last time... what had he said last time?, you asked yourself. The whole interaction happened again, the angry stare of his, the accusations, the rain soaking his jacket and wetting your hair. He had said he knew how he felt, because he could feell it too.

"I did listen. You said you could sense his feelings."

Another laugh without humor, without sense. He stood up, walked a few steps in your direction almost in slow-motion, as if he was trying not to scare a wild animal in need.

"I did not say that."

The realization hit you then, and everything made sense in your mind. It was so sudden that you felt absolutely overwhelmed. All the worry, the threat of him, all of it made sense, like some kind of twisted puzzle whose image you couldn't make sense of before.

You backed off, your back hitting the closed window. Marc's features shifted from sadness to concern in a split second as he tried to make his way to you. He whispered your name.

"Marc?" you said, as if you were threatening him with his own name. You pointed at him, your index finger jabbed him in his chest once he was mere inches away from your face. You could feel his warmth, his smell the same as Steven, the red-stained bandages rubbing your hip by accident when he went to cup your cheek. You got out of his way, almost smacking your head against the window by accident. "Have a long, hard think about your next words. I mean it, Marc."

His lips parted, his breathen uneven, his face turned into a look of dismay. He looked miserable from where you were and after all he had done and said tonight, you still wanted to comfort him.

He watched you as if he was a lost man and you were the only map he could find, but also the only one he wanted.

"I don't have to think anything," he said. "I've thought about my feelings long enough, I'm tired. I just want to feel them, not think-"

Your palm burnt when you slapped him, his face turning an angry red almost instantly. You were certain it had hurt you more than it'd hurt him.

"You piece of shit," you spat. He turned his face back to you, licking the blood flowing from his lower lip. "Who the hell do you think you are? You come here, you insult me, and now this."

You turn away from the window, practically pushing him away as you walked. He follows you with his eyes, a hand wiping off the blood from his face.

"If this is you trying to-"

"This is me trying nothing," he said, stern look on his face. "This is me trying to be damn honest."

"This is you trying to get me away from Steven, that's what it is," you said, walking back to where he was. "This is not funny. Do you have any idea how much I've suffered for you?" you anxiously ran a hand though your hair. "Why do you hate me so much, Marc? When I'm finally happy again, you try to take that away from me. What have I done?"

He clenched his jaw for a few seconds, and you waited with your hands turned into fists. Under the yellow light of the kitchen you witnessed how his eyes welled up with tears.

"Why do I even try?" he breathed, a single tear falling from one of his eyes. "You don't understand anything, do you?" he asked. "I've loved you for so long, and I couldn't say anything. I thought this was what you wanted..." he stopped, mindlessly biting the wound on his lip and grimacing. "Steven and I might seem like different people but we are actually just a fracture of the same mind. He loved you from the very first moment he saw you, because I loved you too. He's just better at showing it than I am."

You shook your head, your heart sinking in your chest.

"That's not true."

"He did say you felt familiar, right? Why do you think that is? He's seen you before."

"No." you shook your head again. "Shut up, I don't wanna hear you."

Your stomach flicked in it's place, the room suddenly too small. You walked back to the bedroom, looking for another window that you could open and try to get some air into your lungs, some logic and reasoning into your mind if possible, too.

"You remember him, don't you?" he shouted as you walked away, the sound of his voice following you. "In Brighton, do you remember him?"

The final blow was brutal, merciless. You barely reached the wall when your knees started trembling. Brighton was the place where everything started to go wrong. It was the night when your life and Marc's separated, the day you stopped almost instantly seeing your best friend everyday. The day your plans for the future were wrecked, the day your Marc left and never came back the same, the day you became lonely and grew up into an even lonelier adult. If he already was a somewhat timid and quiet person, he came back from war even worse, but also as a dark, sarcastic and stubborn man. You had dreaded that place and that day for years, decades. You had cried and mourned the person you could have become and the happy memories you would never have.

"Breathe," Marc said as he caught your shoulders, hugging you from behind. "I know it's hard but you need to breathe."

A sob broke out of your throat, and he held you as your knees gave up. Rather than try and pick you up, he kneeled on the floor too. The sand became an uncomfortable pain on your flesh, but it didn't hurt as much as you heart. Marc kissed your hair, your temple, he whispered something you could not hear above the blood running behind your ears. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears rolled down your face.

"I can't breathe-"

"Yes, you can. Look at me," he said, but you didn't.

He manoeuvred your body so that you were now sitting against the wall. He put your head between your knees and stood up for a millisecond to open the window. Then he sat in front of you.

"In and out, in and out" he squeezed your hand, trying to give you some kind of comfort through the attack, while he himself breathed loudly trying to guide you. "That's it, baby. You're doing so good."

A long and painful minute followed, but even though he himself had been the cause, in a way, the fact that it was Marc who helped you was enough to make it a little bit easier. At the end, it eased enough to for you to look at him again. Your lashes were wet and full of tears, but you could finally talk to him again.

"That's good," he muttered to himself. He gave a relieved sigh. "You're okay now."

"When did you realize?" you finally whispered, feeling your whole body numb and tired, but you needed to know. The need was stronger than the tiredness, and you deserved it after so many years.

"What thing?"

Your words came out barely a whisper.

"...that you loved me."

He shook his head, his frown a concerned one. "You don't need to hear that now."

"I deserve it Marc," you said. "I deserve it."

He looked at you as if asking for permission to an unconscious part of your brain, seemingly making sure that you were not going to break again.

"In my wedding with Layla," he said, he bit the inside of his cheek. "I married her because I thought I had finally met someone I liked more than I liked you, but all I felt was affection; not love," he said. "I was full of guilt and I thought that if I couldn't have you, I might as well mary someone who I owed something to. I was convincing myself that I loved her because of that, but I didn't."

"What did you owe her, Marc?"

"(Y/N), please..." he begged. "It's going to hurt, and you're going to hate me."

A wry laugh came out of your mouth. "I already hate you." you said. "And I'm already hurt."

A solid minute passed in silence. Marc knew he would earn your hatred for life after that, he knew you would never want to see him again. And you had been the only constant in his life for so long that he couldn't bring himself to face those odds. But in the end, he did.

"I went work-for-hired after I got discharged from the military, for my old commanding officer. The job was to raid an Egyptian tomb. Layla's father was an archaelogist there, and my superior changed his mind and wanted no witnesses. I tried to save them all, but I couldn't."

Every word felt like a stab, but tonight you seemed to get used to that, and you were so tired that you couldn't feel anything anymore.

"You lied to me. You never told me you got discharged. Marc, you became a mercenary."

He seemed not to react at the word, but you knew it hurt him. Good.

"You would have asked me why, why I was still out of the country too," he said. "And I didn't wanna lie to you so I just omitted the truth. After what happened in that tomb, I was so... just so tired... I almost died, he shot me and I was in the middle of nowhere with a pile of bodies around me; but I survived," he said, then his eyes looked at you with longing and tears. "All I wanted was to come back to you, and I did. It was your birthday," he smiled and the tears fell from his eyes. "I hated that music but you loved The Killers and I loved being there with you, and I loved being alive."

You got flashes of that day. You had always wondered why he had suddenly decided that he liked that music, and how clingy he was for weeks after that. He said they had given him another job in England.

"You've lied to me... for so long?" your voice almost a whisper.

"I am so sorry."

"You keep saying that, Marc," you said, your voice with so much disgust and hatred in it that it surprised even yourself; but you couldn't help it. "I felt dirty, all this time lying to Steven, and then here you are, telling me all of this and saying how much you love me as if it mattered now."

The expression in his face changed, and even then you weren't angry, because you couldn't bring yourself to feel anything.

"I hate you, Marc," you finally said. "You ruin everything you touch. You ruined Layla's life, you ruined mine, and you're ruining Steven's. You should be ashamed of yourself," then the final words came out, as a wrecking ball ready to end it all. "This is all your fault, Marc. You got yourself into all of this. I hope you die with the guilt."

His body froze. You saw it, the exact second in which his mind stopped functioning like a toy being turned off. He fell backwards, his back hitting the bed behind him. He gasped for air, his lips parted while he was still looking at you, with those dark brown eyes devoid of all life.

"Steven and I..." you muttered. "...We could have been happy. Tell him that when you talk to him, he will hate you as much as I do."

You weren't sure how, but now you seemed to have enough strength to maybe get home. You were certainly not staying there with him. And with that in your mind, you stood up from where you were and walked to the kitchen for the last time; leaving the limp body of Marc Spector behind you. Silently looking at everything, you tried get that flat burned in your brain as much as you could, because despite all of your plans for the future with Steven unravelling and ending out of nowhere, you still had your best memories in that flat with him, with Steven.

But you couldn't do that anymore.

On the chair, you took your jacket; you didn't want anything that belonged to Marc, not even if his shirts smelled like Steven. And before putting it on, you walked to the window and had a glance at the night sky; the full moon shining up there.

"Oh, my, god."

The british accent felt like a punch to the gut. The words reverberating in all the walls and into your ears made you uneasy. Was this nightmare of a night ever going to end? Your stomach turned at the thought of seeing Steven now, you wondered if you'd be able to look him in the face, to see past Marc's features staining his face like bleach. It made you wonder if you even had food in your stomach to throw up.

He ran, literally ran to the kitchen. His eyes shot open before the debris of the coffee table and the couch; but his expression seemed to get relieved at the sight of you. He took your hands in his once he was in front of you. You felt disgusted at the thought of those hands with weapons and blood in them, but didn't have the heart to do anything else than let him hold them.

"W-What happened?" he said, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He was frightened, that you could tell; but you couldn't do anything about it. You couldn't tell him it was okay, because it wasn't. It would never be okay again. You had dreaded this day for a month, and in every kiss you found the bitter taste of the future, but now you couldn't do anything else than leave Marc alone to fix his shit. Maybe then he would become a person again, maybe even a decent one.

"Please say something," he begged, tears in his eyes; but you didn't know what to do, what to say. You didn't want to hurt him, it wasn't his fault to be a part of Marc's fractured mind. "Please tell me you're okay, tell me I didn't hurt you. Please."

Then, his eyes caught a glimpse of your wounds, those that were not covered yet, on your shoulder for everyone to see. And you were suddenly walking to the door again.

"No, no, no," he said, following you and pulling your wrist gently, gentler than anything Marc had done.

"Let me go, Steven, let me go." you whispered, it sounded more like a plea, like a cry, than anything remotely close to what you intended.

"Listen- Listen to me, listen to me for a second, will ya?" he said, now in front of you, his eyes locked on yours, both his hands in your cheeks. "You can hate me all you want. Bloody hell, you can leave now and I won't bother you ever again. I just need to know you're alright, love. Please, I only care about that. Please."

Your chin trembled, the wound in your chest open once again, bleeding and with no sign of getting healed ever again. He was so desperate, and he had no idea what was happening. You felt devastated at the thought that he had simply fallen asleep after an incredible night with you, and had woken up to find his arms bandaged, his flat wrecked and his girlfriend dumping him.

"I'm fine, baby," your voice broke, your tears fell again.

He hugged you tight, his strong arms trying not to hurt you, his face trying not to touch the small cuts in your shoulder.

"I'm so sorry-" he cried. "I'm so freaking sorry. I'm sorry," he said. "I forgot the restraints, I'm such a fucking mess."

You pulled away from the hug, just enough to kiss his temple, squeezing your eyes shut because you knew it would be the last.

"Let me take care of that, alright?" he said, getting your hair out of the cuts. His fingers trembled when he did. "I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry," his breathing uneven.

"I have to go, Steven. Please, let me go."

He covered his mouth and sobbed. His chest inflating and deflating as he weeped; and you couldn't help but keep crying with him. You hugged him, because he needed it and you did as well, and all of this wasn't even his fault.

"Please tell me this is a nightmare," he begged, looking for answers in your eyes. "...or a joke, anything. Just-"

You shook your head. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm so sorry this happened to you, but I cannot stay. I can't do this anymore."

Despite the whimpers and the harsh truth, he still nodded.

“I understand,” Steven said, calmly, so calm that you feared for his psyche. “You can’t do this anymore, I understand.”

“Steven," you begged. "Don't do this to yourself."

"No, but I do get it," he nodded again. "I do get it, love. I knew this would happen. It's just... we could have been happy, you know that, right?"

It was karma, it had to be. Steven had hurt you with the same words you had hurt Marc with. There was no other way, one in which it wasn't whatever god out there giving you back all the pain you had caused him. But you didn't need to be punished, your torment was already this whole mess of a situation.

"I know," you said.

He took your hands in his, kissed your knuckles; and then leaned in and kissed your shoulder.

"I promise you, I'll get help, I'll get rid of this curse. And then, if you want, I'll come for you. I'll give you the happy ending you deserve. I'll give you all the kisses and all the happiness, all the memories and all the kids if you want that too. You're the only heaven, the only one out there for me. I hope you know that."

Your lips parted, the knot in your throat tight and relentless. You didn't know what to say, except the only thing left.

"I love you Steven Grant."

Only twice you had ever said those words. The first, happily in his bed, making plans for the future, loving him in every way a person can be loved. The last one, you were breaking his heart; leaving him behind with questions and doubts, believing a lie that he had told himself so many times throughout the years that he had finally believed it: that he didn't deserve to be loved.

Part 2

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight spoilers #steven grant #marc spector #marvel x reader #marc spector x female reader #steven grant x fem!reader #moon knight smut #moon knight fanfiction

2K notes · View notes

starryevermore · 1 year

Note

I have a request! How would y/n react to the moon boys coming in their pants before they can have sex? All I can think about is a flustered Steven and that he’d have tears in his eyes due to embarrassment.

made a right mess ✧ steven grant, marc spector, & jake lockley

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: I have a request! How would y/n react to the moon boys coming in their pants before they can have sex? All I can think about is a flustered Steven and that he’d have tears in his eyes due to embarrassment. - @spider-starry

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader x marc spector x jake lockley

word count: 1,032

warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, implied smut, little bit of bondage, not proofread

Teasing your sweet, sweet Steven was your favorite pastime. It was so easy to get him worked up. Poor fella was so touch-starved that the first time the two of you had sex together, he came the second that you put your hands on him. Though his stamina did improve, if you pushed his buttons just right, he would come undone in the palm of your hands. And, oh, you relished in it.

His sweet, breathy moans. The way he’d bury his face in the crook of your neck. How he’d beg and plead and whine. Fuck, it was enough to make you come undone, if you were being honest. Your favorite, though, was well—

“Oh no,” Steven would mumble, looking at the mess he’d made.

You wouldn’t say anything at first. Too surprised at what happened. You’d intended to tease him, you meant for him make such a beautiful mess. But he hadn’t done something like this before, not even when he was inexperienced.

“‘m sorry,” he’d say. When you’d look up at him, you’d see the tears in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks. “I-I—”

“Shh,” you’d finally say. You reached up, running your thumb across his cheek, swiping away the tears. “Love it when you make a mess, Steven. Love seeing how worked up you get for me.”

He leaned in, hiding his face, like he was still ashamed of what he did. “Mean it?”

You kissed the top of his head, reaching up and smoothing out his messy curls. “Course I do, Steven. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.” You gave his hair a gentle tug, urging him to look back at you. When his head raised, you nuzzled your nose against his. “You’re my sweet, sweet Steven. It’s my job to take care of you, yeah? And if that means you make a right mess, then I’ve done my job well, hm?”

Steven nodded, his eyes fluttered shut. “Can we…Can you do it again?”

You smiled, pressed a kiss to his lips. “Since you asked so sweetly, your wish is my command.”

It was shocking how easy it was to get Marc worked up. Like Steven, he wasn’t touched very often. Granted, Marc chose not to be touched—always keeping folks at arms length. That is, until he met you. It was a slow build up, him getting comfortable around you. He used to shy away from your touches. Regarded you with that guarded look. You were Steven’s girl, after all. He didn’t think you had any love reserved for him.

But now, as you straddled his lap, grinding down on his clothed cock, his fingers digging into your hips, head thrown back as he moaned loud enough for the entire building to hear, you knew that he knew you loved him fully, wholly, and truthfully.

“Mine,” you whispered in his ear, nibbling on his earlobe. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? All mine to use?”

“Yours,” he echoed, head dipping forward. His teeth scraped at the exposed skin of your neck. You grinded down harder. “Just want you, baby. Just wanna make you happy.”

“You do,” you said. You held onto his shoulders to give you a better angle. “You make me the happiest woman in the world—”

“Fuck—” Marc sniffed. He buried his face further in your neck. You paused your movements, pulling back to get a better look at him. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” you cooed, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

Your neck became wet with his tears. Oh, Marc. Life had been too cruel to him. You lifted a hand, scratching at his scalp. He let out a choked sob, then mumbled, “I didn’t mean to ruin this.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, baby,” you said. “You’re safe. No one’s mad at you. Okay? I’m not mad at you. I just want you to be comfortable. If you wanna take a break, if you don’t wanna continue, that’s okay. We can pop in a movie, order some greasy takeout—do anything you want.”

Marc was quiet for a moment, then mumbled, “I think I wanna take a break. Just a couple minutes.”

“You can take as long as you need, baby.”

Jake would be annoyed. He didn’t like being teased. No, no, he was the one who was supposed to be the one doing the teasing. He was the one supposed to be making you fall apart. He was the one who was supposed to be making a mess of you. But when you manage to flip the script? Manage to convince him to let you tie him up? Settle on his lap, teasing him like it’s your goddamn job? Fuck. Yeah. Yeah, he’s annoyed.

So when he cums in his fucking underwear like some teenage boy about to have sex for the first time? He’s damn near pissed. And worse, you start giggling at him. Giggling! Fucking giggling!

“It’s not that funny,” he grunted, pulling at his restraints, trying to get out. “Wait til I get outta here and show you just how funny it is.”

“Awe, baby, it’s okay,” you coo, leaning down, nuzzling your nose against his. You let out another giggle. “Everybody makes a mess sometimes.”

“I hate you,” he grumbled.

“Mm, I don’t know about that. Don’t think you’d cum in your pants if you hated me all that much, don’t you?”

Finally, Jake managed to break free from his restraints. Before you could even think to react, he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you onto your back. You let out a gasp. He held your wrists together in one hand, the other slipping down beneath your waistband, teasing at your clit. You moaned, arching your back against him. But, oh, he was not there to see you enjoy yourself.

“Jake!” you gasped when he pulled away, just as the coil in your stomach began to tighten.

“Nuh uh, honey. None of that,” he cooed. “I gotta show you what happens when you tease me, yeah? Gotta show you it ain’t very nice of you to do that.”

And, oh, did he keep that promise.

#steven grant imagine #steven grant x female reader #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector imagine #marc spector x female reader #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley imagine #jake lockley x female reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x reader #starrywrites #starryevermore

232 notes · View notes

imaginestuffs · 2 years

Text

Loving Marc Spector- Marc Spector x Reader

word count:1574

warnings: ANGST, this is before the series begins. language.

Summary: You're in love with Marc, but he isn't in love with you.

part 2

(not my gif!)

Loving Marc Spector wasn’t something you planned on happening. You didn’t expect to fall in love with him but you did and you were horrified. You knew you were never good at hiding your feelings from Marc, and especially not when they were this strong. He would always find out one way or another. Something about him made you fall in love with him, and you were not sure whether it was his way of making himself practically unattainable or the fact that he’d been by your side since you were young, and you’d just fallen over the years. It was difficult knowing that he trusted you but barely told you a thing. You knew about Khonshu, but there was something else he wasn’t telling you and you were afraid he never would.

You sat in your apartment with your head in your hands, and frustrated tears gathering in your eyes. Not answering anyone's calls just holed up in your small apartment not wanting to face your feelings. You wanted nothing more than to lie in bed all day and brood but you also wanted to be with Marc, you worried about him being on his own though you knew very well that he could take care of himself. He could be a bit reckless and it made you cringe at the thought of him being hurt and alone, though it came to your mind only seconds later that he had the suit to heal him. All of these thoughts made the tears finally fall, you just wanted to crawl into bed and let yourself cry for as long as you needed to.

You heard your phone chime, and you knew for a fact that it was Marc because of the specific sound. “Fuck, why do you have to care?” you choked out into the silence of the room. You grabbed your phone and checked it despite the fact that he was the last person you wanted to hear from.

“I’m coming over,” were the only words typed across your screen. You let your head fall into your hands, you knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him. He had a spare key, and you knew that no matter what, he would find a way into your apartment. Instead of texting him back, you continued to sit on the couch with tears streaming down your face, and your heart breaking the more you thought about seeing him.

Sitting on the couch and staring off into space you didn’t notice the door opening and footsteps coming toward you.

“(y/n)?” you suddenly heard your name being called and your head snapped up. You saw the man you loved and a worried expression across his face. You wiped furiously at your eyes trying to rid yourself of the tears falling from your eyes. “Hey, Marc, is everything ok?” you asked as calmly as you could. He raised a brow and sat down next to you. “I haven’t seen or heard from you in 3 days,” he said blatantly. “Right sorry,” you nodded and looked away from him. “Tell me what’s wrong,” Marc said and tried to turn your face toward him. “There’s nothing wrong Marc, I’m just fine,” you said but let him turn your head so you would look at him. “You know you can’t lie to me, you may be good, but you’re not that good,” he told you. “There really isn’t anything going on. I’m ok,” you tried again.

He placed both hands on your face and holds your gaze. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he reminded you and stroked your cheeks. You let your eyes close and tried to keep the tears from falling once again. “I can’t tell you,’ you let out a big sigh. “I just can’t tell you,” you shook your head and he let go of your face before letting his hands rest on your shoulders. “And why is that? Did I do something wrong?” he asked questions just furthering your stress. “Marc, no, no, you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong. I just, I don’t want anything to happen,” you explained to him. He furrowed his brow and shook his head. “What is that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“It means that if I tell you, things will change between us and I can’t let that happen,” you said and pulled away from his grasp. “Have you done something?” he asked carefully, “Because if you have we can work this out together,” he started, but you cut him off. “I have. I have done something and no we can’t work it out because it doesn’t work that way. Loving someone who doesn’t love you isn’t something the pair can usually work out together Marc,” you raised your voice. The second the words left your lips your eyes widened and your stomach dropped. Marc’s eyes widened as well, and his brain was hurriedly trying to comprehend what you had just said to him. You stood up from the couch and turned away from him trying to figure out something to say to fix everything.

“Marc-” you started but didn’t know what to say. “I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” you said and felt tears come to your eyes once again. His silence was scaring you, “You love me?” you heard the question from behind you and you screwed your eyes shut. “I know you don’t feel the same ok, I know it so please don’t ask me to say it again,” you pleaded with him. You knew you were eventually going to have to turn around and face him and so you took a deep breath and turned on your heel. He almost had a look of fear in his eyes.

He was scared, he was horrified to lose you, and he was determined to make it ok. Though Marc seemed cold, and on occasion unreasonable, he was sweet and felt so much more than anyone could imagine. He cared for you, just not the way you cared for him evidently.

It almost made him just want to walk out the door because he was honestly scared, he was scared. You had been his best friend for years, and now you’ve just confessed that you’re in love with him and he doesn’t feel the same. He’s torn, he has no idea what to do.

“How long?” he asked slowly. You sighed and tried to keep your voice from shaking, “A long time Marc,” you admitted nervously. He put his head in his hands and dragged his hands through his hair. “What am I supposed to say?” he asked roughly and looked up at you. “What do you want me to say?” he asked again his voice getting louder. Your eyes got wide, “I don’t know Marc, ok. I don’t know. All I know is that you don’t love me like that, and I was stupid to say anything at all. It’s my fault, I take responsibility for ruining our friendship. That’s on me, and I’m sorry…” you trailed off as your voice continued to strain and tears fell.

“You’re right about my feelings and I’m so sorry, ok. I am but I can’t love you, I don’t love you like that. Just thinking about it doesn’t feel right,” he admitted and it made your heart stop. “Looking at you right now, and knowing that you love me makes my stomach turn, it makes me want to turn around and walk out of here,” he stated. Your breathing hitched and you felt like you were going to die. Just the thought of you loving him made him sick, it made him want to get away from you. It broke your heart, you knew it wasn’t going to be good but you didn’t think he would break you like this.

“What? so, I make you sick now?” you asked hoping it would come out harsh but it came out as more of a whimper. He felt his heart stop for a second at your words and realized what he had said to you. “I didn’t mean it that way, and you know it,” he spoke pointedly. “It sure sounded like it, I knew you’d reject me but I never thought it would be this bad,” you said and wrapped your arms around yourself as if trying to protect yourself from any more harm. “You need to leave Marc,” you said suddenly and looked away from him. “I don’t want to leave it like this,” he stood his ground. “Well, I can’t handle any more of your daggers in my heart alright, just leave…” you trailed off once again. He looked at you with those beautiful brown eyes filled with regret and fear. “Please,” you practically pleaded. “We can fix this, we always fix it,” he tried. You just shook your head with tears blurring your vision. “I don’t know, Marc. I don’t know,” you said and you both could practically hear each other’s hearts shattering on the floor.

He looked at you with tears brimming in his eyes before standing up to place a kiss on your forehead. You covered your mouth to hold back a cry as you watched him walk to the door.

“I’m sorry,” were his last words to you, and yours were “I’m sorry too,”

That was the last you heard from Marc and it’s been months. Oh, how you wish you could’ve fixed it.

1K notes · View notes

my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 2 months

Text

Ignore Me

Marc Spector x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Marc wants you to ignore him.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: Let's file this under, we don't have time to unpack that.

Warnings: reader has tattoos, swearing, p in v sex, cream pie, vaginal fingering, Marc wanting to be ignored during sex as a kink, Marc saying some self-deprecating things about himself as a kink, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2130

“What’s this one for?” Marc lightly tapped the tattoo on your bicep with the tip of his nose and snuggled a little closer to you in bed, his chest against your back.

“Oh, that one?”

“Hmm.” He pressed his lips to the spot before he rubbed his cheek against you.

“That one gives me the ability to tell the future.” You say playfully.

Marc snorts, “oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod.

“Steven says that’s bullshit.”

You turn to look him in the face over your shoulder. “No way Steven would say that.”

“What? He swears all the time?” Marc grins.

“Yeah,” you can’t help but smile back, breaking your pretend outrage, “that’s true, but he’d say ‘that’s shit’, bullshit is too American.”

Marc chuckles and snakes his hand down to pinch your side a little, just enough to make you laugh and squirm. His other arm holds you tight against his body. “How would you like some American in you?”

You laugh harder. “Marc, that’s terrible.”

“You love it.” He kisses the spot where your neck meets your shoulder and purposefully bites down gently. Hard enough to make you squirm again and push back against his hardening cock.

“So,” he mumbles in your ear, “you gonna tell me the meaning behind this one or…?”

“Is that a threat Spectre?”

He grins again against your shoulder.

“I think you’re not actually interested in what it means.” You tease, purposefully scooting forward a little when he tries to grind against your backside.

Marc’s fingers twitch around you, his left hand going to your hip to hold you still, but you wiggle away from him.

“I think you’re preoccupied with something else.”

“What?” He tries his best to keep the amusement out of his voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shifts closer to you again and you bend back, bowing outward so that he still can’t rut against you.

“Oh really?” You tease.

He growls playfully at you, pulling you back towards him with a gentle, but firm strength, until you are flush against his chest.

He silences your next teasing retort by swiftly sneaking his hand down the front of your pyjamas.

“Marc,” you moan, your voice hitching up at the end as he lightly pinches your clit. You press back against him, your legs instinctively inching wider.

“Oh, so now you wanna be close, huh?”

You give him a look over your shoulder accompanied by a frustrated grunt that earns you a chuckle and a kiss on the nape of your neck.

He rolls your clit slowly between his thumb and forefinger, adding just the right amount of pressure to have you keening and rocking back against his aching cock.

Marc gasps, letting out a low grumbily moan as you press against his sensitive tip. Precum is smearing against his stomach and soaking a wet patch into his boxers.

Despite how you push back against him, your movements starting to border on frantic as heat begins to build and build in your stomach, he keeps up his languid, tortuous pace. Often, he likes it best like this. Slow and drawn out to almost the point of pain until the dam breaks. Makes it feel like he’s useful, like he’s doing a good job. Frantically trying to hold himself together, gripping onto the last pieces of his self-control until pleasure pulls him down into blissful mindlessness.

He dips the tip of his forefinger lower, just teasing at your entrance before sliding back up as he muffles his moans at your wetness into your bare shoulder.

But it seems you have other ideas.

You turn your head, just enough to give him a messy kiss that’s all tongue and teeth, the glide of your lips on his own quickly pulls a desperate moan from his chest. You hook your fingers into your waistband and pull your pyjamas down, kicking them off the last bit of the way.

He growls as you press back against him and sneak your hand back to stroke him twice over his boxers, revelling in his little whimpered shiver, before you slide under the material and eagerly run your fingers over his hard, velvet length.

His grip tightens on your waist for a moment before he moves closer, plunging two fingers inside of you in one quick motion.

You gasp in surprise as he strokes your walls, pleasure blossoming along your spine.

Marc moans against your shoulder, nipping and biting softly at your skin as he muffles himself. “So wet… fuck…” He bucks mindlessly against you for a second, focusing completely on the feel of you squeezing around his thick fingers and your little whimpered groans as you press your face into the pillow.

His caress is dizzying, maddening as he purposefully goes the smallest fraction slower than what you want, what you need. Obsessed with seeing you writhe and beg for him.

“Marc, please,” You buck up against him, grabbing hold of his arm to try to keep him at the angle that makes you see stars.

He groans low, lightheadedness washing over him as you beg and his dick twitches. “Baby, please can we…” He bites his lip, screwing his eyes closed and he swallows down what he wants to say, hoping you were too caught up in your own pleasure to have heard him.

But even as your hips move and breathing hitches you turn to look at him over your shoulder. “What do you need?”

He sinks his teeth into his lip harder and shakes his head ever so slightly.

“Marc,” the low, desperate edge to your voice makes him whine.

“Can you ignore me?” He blurts out, heat rising to his cheeks and blistering his skin.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-

You slow your hips, halting his hand's movements and Marc wants to go find a ditch to bury himself in, but your sweet voice makes him open his eyes.

“Ignore you?” There’s no judgement, but he still hides his face and presses his forehead against your back.

“Hmmm.”

“Sweetheart,” you stroke his hair. “Tell me please.”

He breathes a heavy sigh against your skin before blurting out. “Can you ignore me while I fuck you for as long as you can?”

You smile, “you’d like that?”

There’s a little spark of hope in his chest that makes his dick throb. “Yes.” He whispers.

��Okay. How do you want me?”

Marc moves quicker than you thought possible and you almost laugh at his eagerness, but stop yourself from fear that he would take it the wrong way.

He carefully positions you on the bed, on your stomach with a pillow under your hips to prop them up slightly. He leans over you for a second, softly placing his hands on your thighs and spreading them slightly. A shiver of anticipation runs up your spine.

But he quickly stops, leaning to the side and taking your book off the bedside table. “Could you, erm, read this? Or pretend to read it?”

The uncertainty in his voice is so sweet, gentle, like a fine dusting of snow. You nod as you take the book out of his hands and turn to a random, previously read, page.

“Thank you,” he mutters and kisses your shoulder blade before trailing down your back and pressing his lips against every tattoo he can reach.

Marc waits for a moment apprehensively, just watching you read, taking in the way you have propped yourself up a little so that you can easily hold the book, before he pulls off his boxers and takes himself in hand.

He tries to be as quiet as moves between your legs, spreading them over so slightly wider as he slowly runs his hand along his dick and just teases at his slit with the tip of his thumb. But he can’t stop his breath from hitching as he sees your arousal shining in the weak light.

He swallows and inches forward on his knees, gradually leaning down to run the head of his cock through your soaking folds.

He feels your shiver, the way your muscles instinctively clench around him, but you stay silent, your eyes glued to the words on the page even though for the life of you, you can’t focus on what you are seeing.

Carefully Marc notches his fat tip at your entrance, breathing through his nose as he painstakingly slowly pushes inside.

Your walls squeeze around him, pulling him further in and welcoming him home. And he can’t stop the gasp of pleasure that tumbles out of his lips. He grabs your hip, just to steady himself, just to focus as the pleasure twists so tightly in his stomach.

He glances at the back of your head for a second, biting down hard on his bottom lip to control himself as he bottoms out.

You turn the page and carry on pretending to read.

Marc whines, his arousal making him lightheaded and can’t resist any longer. He slowly pulls out before pushing himself back in, leaning down so that his right hand rests on the mattress while his left still holds your hip.

The pace is moderate, at first. The only sounds are the slick wetness as he steadily fucks you, punctuated by his little gasps and moans that he tries so hard to swallow down.

He changes the angle on each trust, trying to find the perfect spot.

Your grip tightens on the book as he hits it, your thighs clenching, back arching ever so slightly. But you bite your teeth together and manage somehow to stop your cry of pleasure.

Marc shivers as your body reacts but you don’t, a low and pathetic whine grumbling out from his throat as he increases his thrusts and focuses on that spot. On hitting it perfectly every time. He can feel you shake, the smallest shift as you push back against him ever so slightly, trying to stop yourself from going too far. All to indulge him. And his resolve snaps.

He moans loudly, thrusting up into you hard and moving your thighs further apart so he can watch himself disappearing into your tight, wet heat.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” he can’t stop himself now, can’t help the words from spilling out. “Fuck, you don’t even know I’m here, do you? Don’t even care that I’m fucking you, because,” he gasps as you clench around him, “because I’m so small you can’t even tell,” he starts thrusting rapidly, pounding into you and you see stars, “can’t even,” he moans loudly, his voice dissolving into a whiney needy breathy mess, and for some reason a sharp spark of arousal slides along your skin. “I can’t even make you cum, I can’t-”

You moan loudly, your pretence of reading the book abandoned as you can’t hold back any longer as he continuously hits so perfectly deep. The force of his thrusts rock you against the pillow under your hips, dragging your clit across the cotton and making you scream.

“Oh shit!” Marc’s grip on you tightens, his eyes rolling back in his head as you clench and gush around him, your orgasm being ripped ruthlessly from your bones as he fucks you perfectly.

“Baby, fuck,” he cums inside, filling you up to the brim. His hips keep moving, fucking you through your orgasm even as overstimulation prickles along his skin and makes him whine.

It’s only when you reach back and grab his hand, pulling him towards you that he finally stops and collapses on top of you.

He quickly goes to move to the side, but you squeeze his hand. “Stay here.”

“I’m not squashing you am I?”

You shake your head. “Feels comfy.”

He chuckles and kisses your cheek. You can still tell he’s leaning slightly on his left arm and leg, not wanting to put his whole weight on you.

A little awkwardly you manage to coax him into relaxing on top of you.

“Was that…” he swallows nervously as he traces the tattoo on your ribs. “I hope that was okay for you…”

You smile. “I didn’t know your dick was so small I couldn’t even feel you.”

He groans a little and buries his head into your neck, but he’s chuckling.

You pause for only a second before you continue. “I liked it.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, I liked that you were all whiney.”

He snorts.

“I didn’t know you liked that.”

“Liked what?” He asks.

“Being ignored.”

“Oh… I don’t know.” He pauses. “It’s just… it’s like I can’t control anything, that what I do doesn’t matter so I just have to let go?”

You nod and squeeze his hand.

“Would you… be up for doing it again maybe?”

You turn just enough so that you can kiss his face. “Of course.”

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

#moon knight events #moon knight bingo 2024 #marc spector #moon knight #moon knight mcu #marc spector x reader #x reader #marc spector x you #x you #marc spector x female reader #x female reader #marc spector x f!reader #x f!reader #marc spector x fem!reader #x fem!reader #my writing #fanfic #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

314 notes · View notes

bit-dodgy-innit · 2 years

Text

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

2K notes · View notes

moonknightyws · 2 years

Text

I NEED HIM (gifs are not mine)

2K notes · View notes

ninebluehearts · 2 years

Text

Request: may i suggest "You deserve better" "better like who?" "Me" (and then @romanarose wanted Marc Spector for this prompt, so ig we doin' that 💕)

TW: Mentions of abuse

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

You ran through the chilly London streets, your eyes locked on the large apartment building where you knew he would be. You raced up the stairs and down the hallway, your fists slamming against Marc's door over and over until he opened it, disoriented and in a t-shirt and boxers.

Marc blinked, obviously surprised to see you at his apartment. "Y/n? Jesus, what the hell happened? And to your face?" Marc reached over and gently ran his thumb across the swollen skin around your eye, a deep yellow already forming.

You went to answer him, to tell him you were okay and that you just needed somewhere to stay for the night. But before you could even answer, that's when the tears begin. Your lips quivered and your knees buckled; your body betrayed you, telling Marc everything without a single word from you.

Marc quickly kneeled down next to you, pulling you into his arms. He wrapped his arms around you so tight you could barely breathe, but it was exactly what you needed at that moment. He made you feel so secure, so safe. It was like a breath of fresh air.

When you finally calmed down enough, Marc helped you inside, curling up with you on the couch. It took a long time for you to finally open up to him, but once you did, it's like the world when quiet. Like the chaos finally stopped to listen for just a moment; Marc knew that whatever he said next could make or break you, and with you looking up at him with those big, sweet eyes of yours, filled with so much love.. He could help but hug you once again, just holding you for awhile.

"You're safe with me." And that seemed to do the trick, because you immediately relaxed against him, your head resting against his chest to focus on the gentle beat of his heart.

♡

The next morning you woke up in the same position you had fallen asleep in, still against Marc, too. You could feel his thumb gently rubbing up and down your arm, which made you wonder how long he'd been awake for. You tilted your head up to look at him; he was staring at the wall, a stoic expression glued onto his features.

"Goodmorning." You sat up to crack your neck, groaning at the loud pops, but relived that the stiffness was gone.

"So. What's the plan?"

You looked back at Marc, confusion written all over your face. "What do you mean?"

Marc sat hunched over, his elbows rested on his knees. "Well, I don't assume that you'd wanna go back to your place. You can stay with me for a bit, if you want, or I can help you move-"

"Woah, wait, Marc.. I'm not.. I can't.." You trailed off, your eyes falling to the floor.

Marc looked at you in disbelief, his mouth slightly hung open. "Don't tell me you're going back to him? Not after last night?"

You shook your head, closing your eyes to hide the tears that began to well up. "I can't."

"Y/n," Marc dropped to his knees in front of you, holding your hands in his. "Look at me, honey."

And when you did, all you could see was concern written all over his face. Concern for you. "I shouldn't have come- I'm sorry."

Marc tightened his grip on your hands, gently shaking his head. "Please.. Honey, you deserve someone better than him."

You laughed, shaking your head. "Better.. Better like who, huh?"

Marc shrugged, his breath becoming uneven. "Someone like me." He whispered, looking right into your eyes.

You let out a soft gasp, your own expression softening. "Marc.."

"You don't have to say anything. Just.. Just think about it okay? I don't want you to get hurt anymore, y/n." Marc let go of your hands; now it was his turn for his eyes to be glued to the ground.

You slid your hand under his jaw, gently guiding his face up to yours as you pressed a soft, gentle kiss against his lips. When you pulled away, you watched Marc blink his eyes open, so full of confusion.

"I love you, Marc. So much. I wanna.." You sighed, running your fingers through your hair. "I just wanna be happy."

Marc nodded. "I can do that. Do you know why?"

You tilted your head, and he let out a chuckle.

"Because I love you too."

Taglist: @hot-mess-express1

#💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙thoughts #moon knight #marc spector #moon knight imagine #thanks for the ask!#marc spector x female reader #marc spector x reader #oscar issac #oscar isaac characters #oscar issac hernandez estrada

404 notes · View notes

stranger-nightmare · 2 years

Note

Hello dear!

This is for your birthday sleepover (HAPPY BIRTHDAY congrats BTW for 7k)

Can you do Moonknight and under the smut category Number 24? “Have they ever touched you like this?”

Love you!! ❤️❤️❤️

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐎𝐮𝐭

smut prompt 24 “have they ever touched you like this?”

pairing: Marc Spector x (female) Reader

summary: you’re dating Steven and have only recently been introduced to Marc, and well, Marc had some questions about your relationship with Steven…

warnings: smut, fingering, minors DNI

This is for people 18+ only. Minors do not read on. By clicking ‘keep reading’ you are hereby agreeing that you are 18 or older.

You’d been dating Steven for a while now. Long enough that he’d finally opened up to about Marc, about the other alter that would sometimes take control of his, well their, body. It had been an adjustment at first but after spending time with Marc you couldn’t help the feelings that developed for him too. There was just something about him, something so alluring and dangerous; a complete contrast to softness and safety of Steven.

Gradually you found yourself being drawn to Marc, drawn to him in a way that was so much more primal than with Steven. Steven was always so soft and so gentle, always so afraid of taking things too far and so never really taking anything anywhere at all.

But with Marc... with Marc you wanted more. And he was willing to give it.

Which is how you ended up here, today, in a heated make-out session. It was then that you suddenly felt his hand wander down your body, moving across the curves of your waist. You didn’t think much of it until his hand suddenly moved lower, moving to cup you over the thin panties you were wearing. Your body freezes and you snap your legs shut, closing your thighs over his hand. Marc looks down at you, a slight concern settling behind his confused gaze.

“What’s wrong?” He asks gently.

“I- I just-“ you stammer quietly, your cheeks heating.

“Has Steven ever touched you like this?” Marc hums darkly, quickly realising what the issue is.

You look at him with wide eyes and shake your head meekly.

“Mmmm,” he groans, his face twisting into a look of mock sadness.

“It’s a shame, because this body has excellent fingers. You’ve been missing out, sweetheart,” he whispers as he starts to kiss down your neck.

He trials hot, wet kisses across your neck, just focusing on making you feel more at ease as he keeps his hand completely still between your legs. When he finally starts to feel you relax, your thighs slowly beginning to unclench, then he starts to steadily move his hand again. He moves his palm to cup your clothed pussy, palming you lightly but not moving too much, careful not to do too much too soon.

“Do you want me to stop?” He whispers against your skin, making his way back up your neck to your jaw.

He looks down at you earnestly, awaiting your response, your permission. You take a deep breath before shaking your head again, slowly opening up your legs again. His fingers start to move, pushing between your folds until he finds your clit, starting to gently rub you over your panties. You gasp and mewl at the new sensation, your hips involuntarily bucking up into his touch.

“Good,” he smirks against your neck. “Because we’re just getting started…”

Masterlist

A/N: thank you for the request darling! I know it’s a short one but still, I really hope you like it!! <3

Taglist // Join My Nightmare Realm // Ko-fi

#stranger nightmare #hope hooray #marc spector #steven grant #oscar isaac #marc spector smut #steven grant smut #moon knight #moon knight smut #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector imagine #marc spector drabble #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x female reader

768 notes · View notes

spacecowboyhotch · 2 years

Text

Illusion (requested)

gif credits @wysteria-clad

request: Hello I would like to request protective!marc Spector ?!?!?? That’s my pretty boy and I love him.

pairing: f!reader x college!marc spector, implied eventual f!reader x steven grant & f!reader x jake lockley

contents: college!au, mention of DID if you squint, trauma response to abuse, anger issues, alcohol consumption, male dominance, guy disrespecting reader’s boundaries, fighting, kinda friends to lovers, hurt comfort, fluff, kissing

AN: sorry this took me a while @romanarose, but thank you so much for requesting, i hope you like it <3

word count: 3.6k

mcu masterlist | requests are closed

A perfectly crisp autumn day. That’s how Marc would describe you. Comforting and colorful, and the muted smell of pine and cinnamon. He’ll always remember the moment he saw you for the rest of his life; it’s unique to his relationship with you— Steven and Jake have their own first impressions. There’s something he enjoys about having that memory all to himself.

When he meets you, he’s been channeling his anger into a variety of things for as long as he can remember. It’s easier to lean into the rage and self-inflicted criticism. His voice echoes harshly in his head, just like his mother’s had. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes he’s numb to it but it always tells him what he already knows. He’s unworthy of anything but the way people write him off. In turn his behavior might as well help him live up to his reputation.

He can pinpoint the moment he wants all of that to change. It’s not when he first sees you, it isn't even the first time you say something to him in class. As the weeks pass you always sit a few chairs down from him and murmur some variation of hello. He finds comfort in it, the way you smile at him and treat him like he’s anyone else.

You can’t deny that you’re drawn to Marc. There’s something about him, something soft and permeable underneath all that hardness. On the days you truly catch his gaze you feel like you can see him. You want to crack him open, bask in that warm gooey center that no one but you tries to get to. But it'll take time, you know that there's a reason he keeps people at a distance. In time, you hope you won't be on that list, that you’ll be an exception to his antisocial rule.

Mid semester, there’s a group project, and the professor has been kind enough—for Marc, cruel enough—to allow students to pick their own partners. He knows that he won’t get picked, people would rather do the project alone than work with him. While you’re kind to him, he doesn’t expect you to ask him to be your partner.

But that’s exactly what you do. You lean over the two seats between you, a gentle smile on your face when he looks over at you.

“Do you wanna pair up?”

Marc looks at you like you’ve grown two extra heads, and if you weren’t so confused with his reaction you would’ve laughed, “You wanna work with me?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I?” You look at him with genuine bewilderment.

“My reputation?” He suggests, glancing around the room as other students in the lecture hall pair up with each other.

“I like to come to my own conclusions. And you and me…we’re friends.”

With each day that you work together, Marc grows happier with his decision to pair up with you. You’re a breath of fresh air, the heavy weight that’s always sat on his chest feeling lighter when he’s with you. The two of you always meet up in a cozy corner of the library, and you always have coffee and snacks— sweet chocolate, salty pretzels, and an ever changing fruity option. You wanted to be thorough the first time you brought some and he’d dug into all three so you keep bringing them. His coffee order was easy to guess, black, two sugars and none of the frills.

Halfway through the process Marc starts to overthink your gestures, feeling guilty that he’s given nothing in return and starts to bring food himself. Pizza, burgers with all the fixings on the side, tacos. And through this language of food, your feelings for him grow deeper.

He knew he never stood a chance, that the skip of his heart the moment he saw you walk into class was an indicator of how he would feel for you if you ever got close, and he was right. He was right, and it stings, the pain of knowing he’ll never have you burns deep in his gut. But you couldn’t want him, not with who he is. It’s hard for him to imagine that, even when you dismiss his statements like that.

Friendship is one thing, a relationship? Another realm entirely.

After working together on the project you sit right next to him now in class, and when you’re handed your grade of a 100% you turn to him with this sly smile on your face.

“We should celebrate our phenomenal grade.”

“Should we?” He asks skeptically but he’s grinning because your smile is infectious.

He doesn’t let himself think of it often, but he could get used to this. The sight of you smiling and happy at his side.

“Yes, absolutely, and I know just how.”

“How’s that?”

“There’s a party this weekend.”

His mouth turns down into a frown of disgust, “You lost me.”

“C’mon, we can meet up there, huddle up in a corner and make fun of people,” You lean in, wagging your eyebrows at him.

“Parties aren’t really my scene.”

“Nothing’s your scene, you’re a recluse. Please, Marc?”

You give him full on puppy dog eyes, clasping your hands together. The pout of your face is impossible to resist, and for a moment he thinks about what it would be like to press his lips to yours, kissing it away. If he’s being honest with himself, it wouldn’t have taken all of that. Even with his complaining, he planned on saying yes because he wants to spend time with you.

“There’s no other way we can celebrate?”

“If you come and you absolutely hate it, we can go to my favorite diner.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll text you the address and time. See you then?”

“See you then,” He replies, a mixture of nervousness and excitement in his chest.

Your nerves are all over the place as you get ready for the party. You want to wear something that’ll get Marc’s attention. A short skirt with tights underneath and a long sleeved shirt with just the right amount of cleavage. And while you love the way you look by the time you leave the house, once you make it to the party, you realize that you’ll draw the attention of multiple men, not just Marc.

You entertain the guy who’s slinked up to you at first, he seems nice enough, and happy enough to pursue the drinks and food with you in the kitchen. You’ve never seen him before, which isn’t uncommon at a university of your size. Jason’s a political science major and talks a good game so the two of you chat back and forth easily between sips of stale beer and pizza. It isn’t until after someone convinces a lot of folks, Jason included, to do shots that he starts to get handsy.

“You’re so hot, did I tell you that before?” Jason asks with a smile that makes your stomach turn. He’s waltzing towards you with another beer in hand.

You try to move away from him, but after just a few steps back you’re against the wall, “No, you didn’t. And maybe you should sit down, you seem a little wobbly.”

“Oh, I’m okay. Thanks for being worried about me baby,” One of his hands finds your waist, groping the skin exposed.

“Maybe you could back up,” You suggest softly, but your throat is getting a little thick, your chest tight with anxiety.

“Come on baby, let’s get to know each other a little better,” He goads, pressing his lanky body against yours.

He reeks of alcohol and is unbearably hot. You attempt to push him away with the success, “Jason, come on, have some class.”

“You teasing little bitch, you think I wanted to sit here with you and just talk?

“Take your hands off of her. Now,” Marc barks from the other side of the kitchen, startling you.

And though you’ve always enjoyed the sound of Marc’s voice it’s never sounded better than it does in this moment.

“Marc,” You breathe, relieved by the sight of him.

Jason glares at Marc and then you, “Who the fuck is this? Your little boyfriend? Listen, your girlfriend’s a slut, she was making eyes at me all night. Now when it’s time to pay up she’s confused.”

“I won’t say it again. Take your hands off of her.”

“Or what?”

Marc takes a deep breath, shrugs, and then moves with a quickness. It all happens so fast, you’re in his arms, and across the room in no time. When you look over at Jason, he doesn't seem as if he’s been hurt at all, but there’s a nervousness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

“Are you okay?” He tries to ask it in a comforting manner but his voice cuts through the air like a knife.

It’s in his eyes though, his concern for you and you give him a nod, soft smile, “Yes, thank you.”

“Good, sit tight.”

He tries to step around you, and get closer to Jason but you put your hand on his chest and he flinches, something you’ve never seen before. If he weren’t so angry he would crumble under the fear that bloomed in his chest from your move. He keeps his focus on Jason, removing your hand and maneuvering you in a twirl with ease.

“Marc, don’t,” You call, whirling around to watch him charge at Jason, who takes a few steps back towards a door that leads out of the kitchen and onto the porch.

“No, this guy thinks he can get away with doing whatever the fuck he wants. Not gonna happen,” You can’t see his face but you can feel the anger radiating off his body in waves as he pushes Jason into the wall, his grip on his shirt firm.

“Marc, please,” You plead softly, voice unsteady. “Please, can you just take me home?”

His hold on Jason stays tight as he looks back at you, getting a good look at your face. All he sees is fear and his heart sinks into his stomach; the last person he’s ever wanted to frighten is you. He knows first hand what it feels like to be afraid of someone like this. He moves quickly, letting Jason go and grabbing your hand to leave all in one move.

You hadn't driven here knowing that you’d have a few drinks, but Marc’s completely sober– he’d only showed up at this party because you’d asked him to. He leads you to his car in complete silence, opening the door for you and checking to make sure you’re in before he closes it.

The anger is rippling off his skin in hot waves, and you aren’t sure if he’s just mad at Jason or if he’s mad at you. You spend most of the ride in silence, picking at an invisible piece of lint on your tights. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t turn on any music, just focuses on getting you to the address you whispered to him when he slipped into the driver’s seat. The silence starts to creep into your lungs and you feel as though you’re choking on the words stuck in your throat, so much so that you finally have to say them even if he is mad at you.

“I’m sorry I got you into all of this. You were sure you didn’t want to go and I made you.”

“I’m just glad I was there to make sure nothing happened to you. That’s what matters. Don’t worry about me,” He doesn’t spare you a glance but you can hear the sincerity in his voice.

The atmosphere in the car changes, and the rest of the drive is filled with a new, comfortable silence now that you know he’s not furious with you. He offers to walk you in once he parks in the lot of your complex, following you up the single flight of stairs to your door. You can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move and you fumble with the keys a few times before letting him in. He stands in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets, watches awkwardly as you sink into the fuzzy blue couch. He isn’t sure what to do or what to say, he doesn’t want to leave but you look overwhelmed, eyes closed as your arms circle you. He’s about to announce his departure when you sigh, and he waits for you to say whatever’s on your mind.

“Will you stay?” You ask softly, keeping your eyes downcast. When he stays silent you hurry to say, “Just for a little bit.”

It’s the last thing that he expected to come out of your mouth. He looks at you for a beat, surprised before sitting down on the couch, training his eyes on the floor, “I’ll stay as long as you want.”

You don’t move toward him, but you don’t move away and some of the tension leaves his body.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” He murmurs once he feels the silence stretches too long.

You over at him like he’s offended you, “You didn’t scare me.”

He makes a disagreeable sound in the back of his throat. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

He has to look at you then, to make sure that your eyes match your words. To his surprise, all he finds is sincerity and relief rushes through him. He can’t remember the last time anyone looked at him the way you are right now, not even when his father tried his best to comfort him through all the pain.

“I’m not afraid of you Marc, I never have been. I told you, you’re my friend. I care about you.”

He wants to say it back to you, wants to take the next step and say that he wants you as more than a friend. But given everything, he stays silent, continuing to regard you with that guarded expression on his face. He can’t let his mask slip, needing to keep the invisible wall between you intact. Being vulnerable doesn’t come easily to him anymore, not when he was violated by someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally.

When you realize he isn’t going to say anything back, you continue, “I just didn’t want you to be who they think you are. That’s what I was afraid of.”

His eyes narrow, “Who’s that?”

“Some angry guy who doesn’t care about anyone.”

He feels exposed, knowing that you know the dichotomy of his makeup. That you know him.

“Maybe that’s who I am,” He says it defensively but both of you can hear the lack of conviction. He’s pushing you away with the last of the smoke and mirrors, and there isn’t much left.

To Marc’s surprise you laugh, shaking your head at him, “You wouldn’t be here with me, apologizing for scaring me if that were true, would you?”

“No,” He breathes softly, almost sounding confused.

You train your eyes on his, as you move closer to him, your leg brushing up against his. Your voice is even softer than before, “Marc, I don’t know what happened to you, and I’m not asking you to tell me. But I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”

He makes no move to break the contact but his frown sets deeper into his stunning features, “What makes you think something happened to me?”

You raise your hand, just to caress his face and he flinches hard— it’s not something that either of you could brush off. Your eyes soften, tears welling up in your eyes as you lower your hand. You know the signs, understanding exactly what that means. The two of you continue to look at each other, the room quiet and still.

“You can touch me,” He murmurs, his voice low and rough.

“No, it’s okay, it’s-“ Before you can finish your sentence he takes your hand into his, presses it firmly to his cheek and closes his eyes with a shaky breath.

You’re incredibly warm, your scent so saccharine and delicate, and the comforting touch of another is something he hasn’t had in years; he instantly melts into it. With that, you begin to explore, running your fingers down the curve of his cheek, trailing the slope of his chin. You follow that all the way up to his forehead, pushing your fingers back into his curls, your eyes widening at how soft his hair is.

So enthralled in being able to touch him like this that you don’t notice how he watches you. He’s drinking in every detail, watching the way your eyes shine in the dim glow of the moonlight. He’s always found you captivating, but this might be his favorite expression on you yet, eyes full of wonder, a tender smile on your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” He doesn’t mean to say it, but he’s thinking it over and over, it pours out of him.

He says it so gently, it takes your breath away for a moment and now all you can do is look at him.

“Did I say the wrong thing?”

A sheepish smile pulls at your lips as you shake your head. “No, I just…” You take in a shuddering breath, “…can I kiss you?”

He blinks a few times, digesting your request with a furrowed brow. When his eyes refocus on you, his expression changes, his tan cheeks staining with a soft pink flush, his eyes clouding with a hunger that shoots straight to your libido. You’re getting ahead of yourself there, especially with how he reacted to just a simple caress of the cheek.

“Marc?” You prompt gently.

“Yes. Sorry, yes. Please.”

You plant yourself firmly in his lap, cupping his cheeks with a caring touch, and his hands find your waist with a firm grip that makes you want to grind against him. The kiss starts sweet, but as your tongues twist and caress each other it morphs, growing steamy. There’s an undercurrent something erotic pulsing through spirit of it. And while you both feel it, neither are ready to go that far.

You want to take your time, get into every crack and cranny of him so that you can eventually take him apart. Marc’s just scared, terrified that taking charge in anyway will fuck this up. That’s all he’s ever known, destroying everything he’s ever held dear.

“Sorry we didn’t get to go to the diner like I promised,” You murmur when you pull away and he chuckles, greedily pressing his lips against yours again.

“I don’t know, this is pretty nice too.”

That’s an understatement but he can’t seem to find the words to convey what this moment means to him.

“Yeah, it is,” You lean into him, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. You're a little nervous to ask the question on your mind. Hiding your face and breathing in his clean, minty scent gives you a confidence boost.

“Do you maybe…wanna stay? We could go in the morning and get breakfast.”

“Really?” You hear rather than see his surprise.

“Really,” You tell him, pressing your lips to the skin of his neck.

“I would love that,” He whispers into your hair timidly, and your heart squeezes for him.

You lean back to look at him, “Let’s head to bed then, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You rise up first, holding your hand out for him with a toothy grin and he takes your hand gladly, his head spinning a little from how tonight’s events have gone. Once in your bedroom, you start to strip, facing away from him and he turns away, wanting to give you your privacy. You peek over your shoulder as you slide into an oversized t-shirt, can’t help but huff a laugh at how much of a prude he’s being, standing there in his jeans and t-shirt.

“You gonna get ready for bed?” You ask gently, turning to face him.

“Are you done?”

“Yes I’m done, baby,” The term of endearment is like soothing water on his hot skin.

As soon as the words are out of your mouth he turns towards you, his eyes roaming your body before flicking cautiously over to your bed. It’s been a long time since Marc has slept in the same bed as anyone. Sometimes with his little brother, later on once he passed with his father. He’s been away from that type of vulnerability for a few years now.

“Do you want my help?” You offer, your expression patient.

“Yes,” He replies after a beat, his voice uneasy.

Slowly, you walk over to him, making sure he can see all of your movements and that you make no sudden moves. You run your hands down his chest and stomach soothingly before reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, wagging in a silent question of on or off.

“You can take it off.”

Scars. Not many, just a few here and there litter his torso, and you don’t let your eyes linger. Your touch stays tender, gentle, eager to explore. Marc’s grateful for that.

“Pants?”

“Off, please.”

You reach for his belt, unbuckling it with no hurry before unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down. And once he’s just in his boxers you grab his hand, lead him over the bed and slide under the covers. When you look up at him he hesitates for a moment, and you hold your hands out in encouragement. The soft look on your face puts his mind at ease and he slides in next to you, turning you around and tucking you into his arms with a pleasant hum.

He likes your warmth. Your comfort. He could drown in it.

You let out a sigh of contentment, snuggling further into him, “Goodnight, Marc.”

His mouth dips to kiss the skin beneath your ear, arms giving you a squeeze, “Goodnight, baby.”

if you’d like to be on my moonknight taglist, let me know!

moonknight taglist: @laurensprentiss, @angelfxllcm, @in-between-the-cafes, @honeybrowne, @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner, @hotchs-bitch, @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb, @julydaydream, @mona-has-friends

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x female reader #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector x f!reader #moonknight x reader #moonknight x you #marc spector imagine #marc spector one shot #moonknight one shot #moonknight fanfiction #arson writes marvel #not cm

819 notes · View notes

dont-feel-so-good-peter · 2 years

Text

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐲, 𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐤.

Warnings: 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐢𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐨𝐦!𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜, 𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐮𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧? 𝐈𝐠, 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬 (𝐯𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐬), 𝐜𝐫𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠. Marc being sad tbh. A bit of hurt/comfort as well. Toxic behaviors and mentions of unhealthy coping mechanisms/ use of unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Note: I got inspiration from “pretty when you cry” Lana del Rey song.

Word count: 8K+

—MARC DOESN'T ENJOY BRINGING PAIN UPON OTHERS. He hates it, in fact. He remembers every single person's name he takes the life of. Where he took their lives and when. But, there was something lingering inside of him. A burning ball of pleasure that he knows is sick and twisted. He loves when he sees his lover in pain. Not the typical pain from getting harmed physically but he loves watching you break down to the point of streams trailing down your cheek.

You crawling on your knees, begging and sobbing for him to ruin you. There was something about your tears glistening underneath the low lights of hues of purple and blue in your shared bedroom with him. The simple pain of him torturing you, not touching you or anything. But from one simple look, Marc could make you fall on your knees for him.

There wasn't any difference in what he was doing right now. Marc was in much need of a release. Release from his own torturing pain of being the avatar of Khonshu. And the only way he could release that pain was by watching those pretty little tears fall from the corner of your eyes.

Marc loves to torture you with pleasure and the best way he could think of that was having a vibration plug inside of your pussy as he ate dinner with you at a fancy restaurant. His fingers glided over the menu as he arched an eyebrow at you seeing you inhale a deep breath. The aching pain of not knowing when the vibration would start was pissing you off, your leg shook up and down, glancing up at Marc who was being a cheeky bastard about the situation.

Marc held all the power at the moment. He knew how much power he had over you. It was exhilarating to hold this much power over someone who was always on your knees for him. Your eyes trailed long his hand, the prominent veins that ran along his scarred hand. You imagined his hands around your neck, squeezing the sides roughly as his cock pounded inside of your pussy against the very table you sat at.

Marc was wearing a fancy outfit as well. His sleeves were rolled up showing of the ridge curves of his muscles as his muscles constricted with each movement of his arm. But what caught you off was the tie that he wore around his neck, draping down his chest. Steven’s tie, the gold fish one. But for some reason, it was comical to see it on Marc yet he made it look so hot on him. You wish he fucked you in his suit.

"Patience, sweetheart. We haven't ordered our food yet." Marc's deep vibrated chuckles filled the air causing you to rub your legs together for relief. Anything this man did cause you to squirm.

You let out a huff of air. You hated how Marc held this power over your head but he knew it well that he held that power over you. Hell, he used that power to his advantage. Every damn day, he used his power to his advantage. To torture you with pleasure. To make you wait for him to do anything to you. He always wanted you to beg with those tears streaming down your cheeks.

You tapped your fingers against the table, drumming out a tune as Marc's eyes flickered up now and then to look at you. That smug smirk tugged against the corner of his lips. You didn't know where the remote to the plug was at. He always caught you off guard when he begins to torture you in public but this felt excruciatingly long.

"Marc, you know I hate when you tease me like this." You mumbled out as the smirk on his lips grew wider. Your brows creased worriedly, he was only this cruel after missions when he was stressed or something terrible happen. "What happened?"

A line creased between his brows as he parted his lips. "Does it matter?" He gruffly stated with a shrug, leaning back against the chair. His eyes flickered to your outfit. The red silk that perfectly cupped your body in the way that Marc loved to see but he hated when other men stared at what was his. He dragged his tongue across the plump of his bottom lip. "Do you honestly care? You're just thinking about me fucking you against this table."

Your lips curled into a frown as you sighed. Something terrible did happen from his last mission because he was being an asshole. He wasn't like Steven who was always vulnerable and willing to share his emotions. No, Marc was a closed-off person. His trust issues ran deeper than the Nile. He had trouble getting close to anyone. But, for a while, you would have thought he would be okay sharing what's going on.

Being married to a closed-off man was hard but he always made it up in bed. "Marc, I-"

You were cut off as the waiter came with a friendly smile. Immediately, the waiter's eyes were on you, trailing along your figure. "Good evening, let's start with the pretty lady's order." His voice purred out, not even giving a second glance to Marc in his greeting.

You falsely smiled at the waiter as you brought the menu close to your face to read off what you wanted. "I would like the-" you paused trying to contain a gasp as you felt a surge of vibration inside of your pussy. Your eyes slightly widened shooting a glare at Marc but he wasn't even looking at you. He was staring at the menu as if it was the most interesting thing on the planet, but a small grin twitched on his lips upon hearing your gasp.

You swallowed thickly, inhaling deeply through your nose as you clenched your thighs together. "I would like. . .a steak." You shuddered out a breath feeling the intensity of the vibration go up a level. Your fingers curled around the menu, tightly gripping it trying to contain the pleasure you felt.

"How would you like that cooked, pretty girl?" The waiter questioned.

"Uh." You squeaked out a surprised gasp feeling the level of intensity go higher. The vibration surged violently inside of your pussy, the pleasure of feeling the vibration hitting the right spot repeating made your thighs quiver together as you tried to contain your trembling. You told the waiter how you preferred your steak, shooting Marc a glare but he merely shrugged, tilting his head as he glanced over to the waiter.

"How about for you?" The switch in the man's voice changed immediately as he addressed Marc.

Marc arched an eyebrow at this but told his order to the waiter but his eyes were trained on you. Your fingers went underneath the table, curling against the hem of your dress. The harsh tremors sent through your lower body made your legs shake. Marc was taking extra slow with his order, asking every damn question out there about the food. Humming to his choices of side dishes but his intense gaze never left yours.

Marc Spector was cruel when he was stressed.

Tears formed in the corner of your eyes as you brought one of your fists against your mouth trying to contain the moans that were going to slip out of your mouth. Your toes curled with each violent tremor the vibration rattled against your tight walls. Mischievous dark chocolate eyes bore onto your shaking figure as your pussy clenched tightly around the toy.

Your chest heaved from the tremors of pleasure. God, you hated Marc at times when he loved to watch you crumble. You hated how Marc was the only man that ever made you crumble. Falling into complete oblivion of pleasure all for his own pleasure so he could release his stress by seeing your tears. But perhaps not this time, you weren't going to let him see you cry and beg for him.

Slick coated your inner thighs and ruined the fabric of your underwear completely. Your eyes narrowed down to him warningly, capturing the bottom of your lip between your teeth trying to hold back the pleasure sounds that wanted to escape you. The level of vibration went down a level. You sighed out in relief but you were also disappointed because you were close to your orgasm.

You hated how much Marc tortured you but, a small lingering part of you loved it. Marc knew it, that's why he always continued his torturing process. And he knew when you were close to your orgasm. He always knew. The fidget of your fingers, the tension in your shoulders and the roll of your eyes, the tears. Marc knew your body too well.

But you weren't going to satisfy him with your tears. Marc hummed with raised eyebrows as he tilted his head, completing his order. "Your order will come out soon." The waiter glanced at you one more time before turning away and walking off.

"You're being oddly disobedient," Marc stated, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned further back into the chair. "I don't see those pretty little tears of yours."

You hummed. The toy instantly jumped to the highest setting again, you inhaled through your nose trying to calm down your staggered breaths. "Well, you're not telling me what's going on with you. So, why should I give you what you want?" You questioned.

Marc rose an eyebrow at this as he shifted in his seat. His jaw tightened as he squinted his eyes at you. "Because you always give me what I want."

"Hmm, this relationship feels a bit one-sided." You said with raised eyebrows. "How come you get what you want but I don't? I'm worried for you, Marc."

"Don't be. I'm fine." Marc gruffly stated watching your fingers drum against the table as the vibrations course inside of your throbbing cunt trying to maintain yourself from cumming.

"Then, you're not getting what you want then." You shrugged, slouching against the chair with crossed arms.

Marc gazed at you, silently. His fingers flickered against the remote as he stopped the toy. He knew this was unfair, that he got what he wanted and never told you anything. Honestly, he didn't know how you continued to love him. He believes that you only stayed for Steven. Steven was someone that you were comfortable with and Marc couldn't give you what Steven gives you so instead, Marc gives you what he knows to give best.

Sexual love. It was unfair but he didn't know how else to open up to you. So instead, Marc stays very quiet throughout the dinner as you braced yourself for the toy to come on unexpectedly but, it never did.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You walked into your shared home with Marc. The quietness of Marc was enough to make you anxious. Your hands tingled from the thought that was something was wrong. You know something was wrong but Marc would never admit it. It was hard having a marriage with a man who never opened up to anything. But Steven was the opposite, it was always easier to be around Steven.

You heard the door close behind you and suddenly, hands were wrapped around your neck. A forceful push collided your back against the wall as a huff of air escaped your lips out of surprise. You looked up and saw Marc's narrowed brown eyes boring into you. His jaw was tightened as his large palm curled around your neck tightly but not enough where you couldn't breathe properly.

"Marc-"

"Shut the fuck up." Marc seethed out as he lowered his head down closed to your mouth. His lips brushed against your mouth as his narrowed eyes stared at you. "I know you're thinking about Steven."

Your lips parted trying to say something but the glare in his eyes was burning with jealousy. But with something else. Longing. He was longing to tell you the truth but it was hard to say anything. To trust someone with your vulnerabilities was hard. But the fact that Marc always knew when you were thinking of Steven and would fuck you to the point where you would forget about him.

And that's what Marc was going to do. "All you ever do is think about Steven, do you wish you were his wife instead?" Marc muttered against your lips.

Your furrowed your brows, confused. "Marc, of course not-"

"Then beg for me," Marc muttered out, squinting his eyes at you. "I want to see those pretty little tears begging for my dick."

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you shook your head. It was a grave mistake to deny his request. Marc simply sighed, gripping your waist with his other hand as he hoisted you up. You let out a surprised squeal as Marc lurched you over his shoulder and rested you there. "Marc!" You called out.

Marc stayed quiet as he walked you over to the bed. His heavy footsteps echoed in the apartment. Your pussy clenched from anticipation, the familiar slick coated your already damp fabric as his hand roamed on the backside of your thighs, trailing up underneath your dress. His fingers gripped your ass harshly.

Squirming on his shoulder, he held you firmly. "Marc, can we talk about this-" Once again, he cut you off as he stopped abruptly, standing in front of the bed. Marc wasted no time and threw you on the bed. Your body jumped against the soft mattress as you glared at him. "Marc, seriously. What's going on?"

"I'll tell you if you beg." You sighed, you knew that Marc was being serious right now. It turned you on how demanding he could be but this was a deal that was taken seriously. Perhaps, for once, he will tell you what's going on.

"But what if I don't want to beg?" You questioned tilting your head with raised eyebrows.

Marc faintly smirked. "I have ways of making you beg." He lowered his body over you as his eyes glowed white. His fingers curled around your wrists and pulled them against the headboard, outstretching your arms far apart against the headboard poles. The mummy-Esque formed around your wrist, wrapping layers of fabric as it tied around the corners of the headboard poles.

The stretch of your arms being outstretched burned your muscles slightly. Your eyes widened as the mummy fabric of Marc's suit stopped forming around your wrist. His eyes shined darkly as he was proud of his work and stood at the edge of the bed in front of you.

His dark eyes bore into yours as his fingers brushed against his tie. The sickening silence of Marc was always intense. Just from his mere stares made your pussy ache as you rubbed your thighs for relief. Marc loosened his tie and pulled the tie over his head.

The clanking of his boots filled the air as he took them off. Marc crawled over the bed, hovering over your tied-up position. You watched Marc silently pull the loose tie over your head and tighten it around your neck. You let out a choke feeling the tightness clasp around your neck. "You're going to keep your eyes on me at all times, do you understand?" His velvety voice asked.

You nodded. Marc's eyes narrowed at you. "And you will answer me each time I ask an answer."

"Yes, sir."

Marc's lips tugged into a smirk. "Good girl." His large palms rubbed over the fabric of your dress, against where your nipple would be at. You shivered, feeling the padding of his thumb tracing the underside of your breast. "Our deal starts when I see those tears of yours, if not then it's off."

"Yes, sir."

Marc let out a deep chuckle as he lowered himself down your body. His face level with your bare pussy, his fingers wrapped around the toy that has been off this whole time. He pulled the toy out and carelessly threw it on the side of you. The ache of the toy that was once inside of you was gone, your bare cunt glistened to Marc.

Marc shook his head at you as his eyes glanced at you. "God, you really are a whore. You like when I demand you. You like when I'm like this." His hands gripped your thighs as he propped your legs over his shoulders to give him a view of your arousal dripping down your quivering walls.

"Yes. I love it when you're like this." You agreed feeling his warm breath fan against your clit. You shivered from his breath trying to buck your hips against his mouth but Marc curled his arm underneath your thigh around your hip to hold your lower stomach down.

"Patience, baby." Marc smiled at you. The smile that he always gave you when he's drunken in his power. The power he had over you from his simple touches to his deadly stares. You could get lost in his dark eyes, forever.

You let out a huff, throwing your head back against the pillow but you felt a tug against your neck causing you to let out a gag as you were forced to look down at him. Your eyes were met with Marc's hand curled around the edge of the tie, roughly grasping it between his fingers. He rose an eyebrow at you. "What did I just say? Your eyes are on me at all times."

Your jaw tightened as you let out a deep sigh. Eyes boring into his as he tilted his head at you. "I'm sorry, sir." You said through clenched teeth.

"Oh? So, you want to be a brat now?" Marc clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Well, let's fix that attitude of yours. I'm sure you're going to be begging for my cock in a few moments like the whore you are."

Your eyes slightly widened knowing that you fucked up by giving him attitude. "Wait, Marc-"

His teeth sucked against your thigh. You let out a squeak of surprise feeling his teeth clamp around the meat of your inner thigh, sucking harshly. You squirmed underneath him, letting out breathless moans. Marc wasn't good with emotional connections but his sexual connections always made up for it because to him, this was an emotional connection.

His tongue glided around in a circular motion as his hand pressed firmly down against your lower stomach to hold you in place. He knew of your sensitive spots on your body and he knew the best way of getting you wet without touching your pussy was touching your inner thighs in any way.

His half-lidded eyes side-glanced at you watching you under the low lights of blue and purple hues cascade over your body. The silky red dress rode up over your waist as your chest heaved gazing down at him. Marc loved it when he tied you with his mummy fabric, he could tell your arms were aching from being outstretched as red formed around your wrist from pulling against the fabric.

His mouth littered bruises of pinks and purples around your inner thigh. The sheer burning of his teeth scraping against your delicate skin made your eyes flutter but the crashing reality of the tie being pulled made you realize that you didn't have any power to do what you want.

You were impatient to feel his mouth on you. "Marc." You whined trying to lift your hips against his face but his strong push held you down.

"What did I say about patience?" Marc lowly asked, narrowing his eyes at you.

"But. . ."

"What? Are you finally going to beg and say you need me?"

You didn't want him to give him that power at least. Give him the power to hear you beg. Marc soon realize that as he pulled away from your body. You furrowed your brows as he didn't say a word as he left you there tied on the bed.

His heavy strides echoed through the place but other than that, he's quiet again. Chills were sent through your spine possibly wondering different situations in your head. Did he leave you here as punishment with your pussy aching for him because you didn't beg? Was he going to bring out more toys to make you talk? Or was he going to leave?

Questions arise in your head but you didn't imagine what you saw when he walked back over to you. An ice cube perfectly rested between his plump lips, shining against the hues of the LED lights. The perfect purple and blue mixture cascaded over his brood frame. His messy curls falling all over the place. He was still in his clothes from dinner beside his tie that tightly wrapped around your neck.

You could see the strain in his dress pants and the imprint of his dick. You shamelessly licked your lips. Marc's lips tugged into a smirk as the water dripped on the corner of his mouth as he walked over to you.

With the same position before, your legs over his shoulders. His arms are underneath your thighs, curling around your hips. The melting ice dribbled against your clit. You let out a shuddering moan trying to keep your head straight to look at Marc. His half-lidded eyes bore into yours as he lowered his mouth with the ice cube perfectly between his plump lips.

Marc's eyes twinkled with mischief as his fingers grazed the tie, curling around the fabric and pulling on the material. The tie tightened around your neck causing you to choke as he brought down the ice cube and motioned the melting ice against your clit.

You tried your best to not shut your eyes as you moaned feeling the coolness of the ice capture your sensitive clit. The ice melted under Marc's hot mouth. The cold water trickled down your folds as you moaned squirming underneath the cold gazing at Marc who allows the ice to melt. And when he lets the ice melt, his cold tongue immediately laps over your sensitive clit.

Your thighs clenched against his head as you let out loud cries feeling tears prickle at the corner of your eyes. But you didn't want to give him satisfaction. His tongue glided around your pussy, capturing your slick around his mouth. He softly hummed at the taste, closing his eyes in contentment. Just what he needed after a shitty mission.

The coldness brings you to another level of pleasure. Something you never experienced before with Marc but he elevates your pleasure more by tugging against the tie. The pressure against your throat makes you let out staggered moans as he brings his tongue over your cold clit again and starts to lap his tongue around it. Just the way you love it.

You're squirming underneath him. Breathless moans leave your dry throat as you were forced to stare at Marc eating your pussy out. His fingers graze your thigh as he snakes his arm underneath your leg. The padding of his middle fingers grazes your walls. Your pussy flutters feeling his finger brush against your entrance trying to pull him in. A chuckle escapes his lips, vibrating against your clit as he quickly pushed two fingers in unexpectedly.

You cried out, blinking rapidly away the tears that threatened to form. "I can see you trying to hide those pretty little tears from me," Marc said lowly as his fingers disappeared in and out of your pussy, going knuckles deep as he curled his fingers in you, hitting the spot you love. His cold breath fans against your clit as his narrowed eyes stare at you. "Why are you being such a brat?"

"I. . I wonder who I got. . .it from." You whined out with raised eyebrows as small smirk plaster on your lips.

Marc let out a huff of breath. "Hmm, you're saying you got that attitude from me?" He fake frowned as the padding of his thumb grazed your clit, rubbing it side to side.

Your legs begin to shake feeling the pleasure attack you. You tried to grind against his fingers but he tugged harshly on the tie, daring you to try to move your body the way you want to. "Yes, sir."

"I know you want my dick, just cry and I will give you everything you need, baby." Marc merely shrugged, slowing down his fingers inside of you. Your walls pulsated around his fingers desperately trying to reach your orgasm but he was denying that pleasure as his thumb purposely slowed down as well. "All you have to do is cry for me."

You clenched your jaw feeling your orgasm being built. You shook your head. "No."

Marc's eyes shifted dark and dangerous. "Fine." He removed his thumb and placed his mouth against your sensitive clit and began sucking harshly.

Letting out desperate ripples of moans and cries, Marc was sadistic when he wanted to be. But he was more sadistic after missions he would do for Khonshu. Or if you were thinking about Steven which he somehow always knew. Whether it was from Khonshu making him do something he didn't want to or the lingering effects of jealously against Steven; or perhaps the combination of both.

But Marc was a ticking bomb. He held everything inside and the only way he released it was by watching you cry for his cock. To get on your knees and beg for him to ruin you. Perhaps, the trauma of what happened in the past made him hypersexual but that was the only way he knew how to release his feelings and to feel good to release the pain.

Your walls pulsated around his fingers violently as you thrashed underneath him. Your thighs clenched around his head. The sensation of the build-up formed in your stomach as he kept hitting the same spot over and over again. "Marc." You cried out, releasing over his fingers.

Letting out staggering breaths, you tried catching your breath but Marc didn't stop lapping his tongue around your clit as his fingers still curled inside of you. His half-lidded eyes gazed at you menacingly. The overstimulation of his tongue wrapping around your bud was too much. "It's too much, please." You whined.

But Marc didn't care. He was going to get what he wanted one way or another. His fingers tugged against the tie's fabric. A chortled choke escaped your parted lips as tears formed in the corner of your eyes.

Marc's eyes dilated seeing the glistening tears shin under the purple and blue hues of LED lights. His tongue glided so diligently over your pussy, mapping out every sensitive nerve that he could find. Your walls violently sucked his fingers in, quivering from the overstimulated pleasure.

Marc tuned in to your cries of pleasure, drunken by your cries. God, he knew it was wrong to take his frustrations and pent-up anger on you like this. He's been wanting to talk to you about everything but alas, Marc was a closed-off person. He never wanted to feel weak again. He couldn't give you like what Steven can give you but at least he could give you this.

A cry rippled through your lips as you came over his fingers again yet, he didn't stop his tongue. No matter how much his jaw ached or how sore his tongue was, he glided his tongue around your clit again. All to get those tears because you looked so pretty when you cried. The twitch in your legs shook around his shoulders as your pussy tingled from the amount of times you cummed.

Marc was shooting for six times of you releasing. And, he successfully was getting there after the fifth time making you cum under his tongue and fingers. Finally, a tear rolled down your cheek glistening back the purple and blue colors of the glow of the room. A sob escaped your lips as more tears trailed down your cheeks.

His chest warmed as his eyes dilated at the sight. He had won. "Awe, finally." Marc cooed, removing his fingers. Slick coated his fingers, dripping down on the underside of them. His upper lip curled around his fingers, getting a taste of you. Het let out a sigh as he cleaned his fingers off, tasting you.

You whimpered at the sight as he hovered over you. His hands grasp the tie, pulling you up to meet him at eye level. He ignored the choke that came out of your mouth. "Was it so hard to cry? Well since you did show me those-" his thumb grazed your tear and popped his thumb in his mouth, humming in satisfaction at the taste of your salty tears. "-beautiful tears. God, you're pretty when you cry. Don't you agree?"

"Y. . .yes, sir." You gasped out, the pressure around your throat was too much as more tears escaped the corner of your eyes.

Marc let out a chuckle as a grin spread across his lips. "Then our deal is on then. But I still haven't heard you beg for me." His lips curled into a fake frown. "I believe our deal is only on though if you beg."

Your jaw tightened. He had won and you were just a slut for Marc Spector. "Please, Marc. I want your cock inside of me. I want you to cum and use me for your own pleasure."

His eyes dilated from your confession. "I will give you what you want, baby. I promise." Marc used his other hand to unzip his dress pants. He pulled his pants and underwear down. His arm pushed your legs up as he threw your legs over his shoulders.

Your eyes widened. Marc knew this position always made you scream the loudest from how deep he goes inside of you. He lowered his mouth against the shell of your ear as he whispered, "you asked for this."

Without a warning, his cock sheathed inside of your cunt with one quick rut of his hips. A loud cry rippled from your lungs as his thick length split your insides. Your lower lip quivered from the intrusion as your cunt clenched around his cock, trying to take him in. You slightly closed your eyes but a tug from the tie made you quickly open them and look at the man above you.

Marc's eyes bored into yours as his fingers tightly curled around the tie's fabric, forcing you to look at him. His other hand roamed down from the bedside to your hips, he dug his fingertips into the supple of your skin, holding your body tight from moving.

Your fingers curled around the mummy fabric digging your nails into it as you felt his tip ramming against your cervix. His rough, frantic movements made your breast bounce. Tears glistened, falling against the underside of your neck. Marc lowered his head against your neck and licked your tears off your neck. A moan escaped your lips as Marc let out low grunts feeling your walls pulsate around him.

The squelching sound of your overly wet pussy filled the air as his cock moved deep inside of you. Marc slowed his movements for a moment, you could feel every ridge of his length drag against your inner walls as his mouth formed around the supple of your skin, scraping his teeth against your neck, sucking roughly.

A throb in your core stretched as he plunged his cock back inside of you roughly. His prominent hip bones rammed against you as he tugged harshly against the tie. "Marc." You choked out feeling more tears fall against his cheek as his mouth never left your neck. You wanted to roll your eyes back from the drunken pleasure of him using you to release all of his frustrations but you couldn't. He would know if you closed your eyes.

His hip fiercely paced as a loud cry came out of your parted lips. "Fuck, I could always get lost in your pussy. It's all mine. Steven or that waiter could never have you." Marc snarled against your neck, his tongue glided from the underside of your neck to your cheek capturing the salty tears as he heard the shaky breaths of cries escape your lips. He loved it. He hated hurting people but fuck, there was something about your tears in bed that made him feel sadistic.

It was an addiction to your tears. To your begging. To you. Marc was drunk in love and drunk in pussy. He wasn't afraid to admit it.

His balls slapped against the curve of your ass as his cock breached deep inside of your inner walls. You felt him inside of your stomach, it caused an ache down there as you were already overstimulated from the amount of orgasms you had but you didn't care. You loved when Marc's dick was deep inside of you.

"Please, please." You repeated, tilting your head to the side as your wrist burned around the fabric that held your arms up. Your arms were so sore but the pleasure of being tied to the bed, not being able to move; squirming underneath your husband was something you always imagined.

"Please what?" Marc questioned. "You want my cum in you? Is that what you want, slut? You want me to fill every part inside of you? That's why you love this position so much."

"Yes." You breathed out. Your legs ached from the position you were in, feeling Marc's weight on top of you. Your oxygen was cut off from the tightening of the tie again as the lightheaded feeling came back, letting out harsh breaths. Pleasure embedded throughout your body, a euphoric eruption filled your bones as Marc lifted his head up from your bruised neck.

Marc pulled the tie, forcing your head up. He leveled to your eye level as he smiled at you, the same condescending smile that twitched during these euphoric sexual times as the LED purples and blues glistened on his tanned skin. He truly was beautiful. "I'll give you everything you need, baby."

Your cunt constricted around his cock at his words as your toes curled from the eruption of pleasure that was constantly forming in your lower body. Your orgasm was close, he could feel it from the way your walls quivered around his cock. "Don't you dare cum." Marc taunted but he knew you would come anyways.

As he said those words, your walls pulsated tightly around him as the euphoric pleasure took over as you loudly moaned, crying out his name. A deep, dangerous chuckle fill the air as his eyes were trained on your closed ones. "Well, not only you disobeyed my words now. You also disobeyed my words from earlier." Marc threw your head back roughly against the pillow. "I told you to always have your eyes on me. Yet, once again, you disobeyed me."

"Marc-" You let out a meek whimper as tears formed in the corner of your eyes, shaking your head. "No more. Please. I can't handle any more pleasure."

"No? That's too bad." Marc's eyes glowed white as he pulled his cock out of your dripping cunt. Every ridge feel of his cock left your aching pussy as his cock glistened underneath the hues of colors. You let out a soft whimper feeling his cock completely disappear out of you. He raised his body over yours as his hands curled around the fabric of your bindings. He roughly pulled the fabrics off watching the fabric snap.

But Marc didn't control his strength enough as some of the wood from the headboard cracked and fell off the bed. Your eyes widened glancing back at Marc. "That was expensive. Steven won't be happy that you broke his bed frame."

Marc raised his brows at you. "Does it look like I give a shit? Are you really going to talk about him during this?" Marc questioned darkly as he slipped down the bed, standing at the edge.

You parted your lips to respond but a squeak of surprise escape from your mouth as his hands grabbed your ankles, pulling you towards the edge. Marc bowed from his waist as his hands roughly tugged the tie, forcing half of your body up. His eyes trailed down to your neck to see the red markings turning into purple. Then his eyes flickered to your wrist, they were slightly bleeding from you squirming against them. The blood trickled down your forearm, he noticed how you rubbed your wrist against the sheets feeling the after-effects of the burn.

Marc felt slightly bad. Only slightly. "Talk about him again or even think about him, you will keep cumming all night until you pass out from exhaustion. Do I make myself clear?"

". . .yes, sir." You whispered.

Marc pulled the tie hardened as he narrowed his eyes. "I couldn't hear you, baby. Speak up for me."

"Yes sir, I won't mention him."

"Good, now it's time to get my reward." Marc's fingers grazed down the tie, all the way to the end of it as he placed it softly over your dress. At first, you thought he was being completely soft but it was your own mistake for assuming that Marc Spector would ever be soft. He roughly turned you over, gripping your hips in his large hands as he forced your ass against his hips.

His prominent hip bones rutted against the plush of your ass. His cock rested against the swell of your ass, letting it rest between your cheeks. His fingernails dug against your hip bone making you hiss as you felt the padding of his thumb graze your ass cheek. You shivered from the sheer movements of his soft grazing.

Marc was silently thanking Yahweh for having such a beautiful woman underneath him. "I can't handle anymore, Marc." You whimpered out. "Please."

"I can feel your ass wiggling against me. If you're going to lie, at least lie good." Marc scoffed as he lined himself up with your cunt, stroking his cock along your sloppy folds, gathering your slick against the thick tip of his cock. "I taught you better. Use your skills, better, slut."

Your inner walls begin to pulsate against him as his cock sheathed inside of your cunt once again. A loud cry ripped from deep in your sore throat as your fingers curled against the bedsheets, capturing the sheets between your fingers. His thick cock split your insides as he didn't give you any room to adjust again. "Fuck, you always feel so good for me, baby." Marc praised causing your cheeks to flush as he rolled his eyes back, grunting.

His pace never stopped as his prominent hip bones rutted against the plush of your ass. His hand roamed down to your abused clit as the padding of his thumb grazed your clit. Tears rolled down your cheeks as Marc watched with dilated eyes. He loved it when the glow of the purple-blue LED shined your tears, just for him. And only him. His thumb pressed down harshly against your clit causing a jolt of pleasure.

Another wave of euphoric pleasure took over you as small tremors ached on your lower half. You weren't sure how many times you cummed under Marc, your body was so exhausted from the pain and pleasure you suffered from. You sniffled as you moaned against the bedsheets. Your moans became abrupt as his other hand snapped up to your side, gliding over your shoulder blade before his fingers curled around the tie, forcing your head up to hear your pathetic moans.

"Don't be shy, baby," Marc said grinning down at you. "I'm your husband. I need to hear your moans."

Another moan ripped from your smeared lips as your quivering cunt constricted around his cock. "Yeah, just like that. Moan all you want for me, baby." Marc praised. From the wetness and tightness of your cunt, he didn't know how long he was going to last. What really sends him over the edge was those pretty tears of yours. He felt relieved seeing those tears, all the crushing weight of what he felt earlier was washing away, drunken by your tight, wet pussy of yours.

Marc's hardened ruts made him feel a familiar knot. "I'm going to cum soon, so I expect you to cum with me, okay?"

"Yes." You hoarse out feeling the familiar wave of pleasure being built up as his thumb sloppily circulated your puffy clit.

"Good girl." The rhythmic pulsing of your tight cunt around him made him let out low moans as he threw his head back, screwing his eyes shut, tightly gripping the tie. His teeth sunk into the bottom of his lip as his harsh pace never stop. The ache against your ass feeling his prominent hip bones clash against you made you blubber as hoarse moans escaped your lips.

You felt like you were going to pass out from the amount of times he cut off your supply of oxygen from his tie. The thing was, the tie he had around your neck wasn't his. It was Steven's and poor Steven, he was forced to watch. Marc made him watch because Marc wanted to show Steven that you were his wife. Marc's wife.

To make it worst, it was the tie that you bought Steven for the Jewish holidays, Hanukkah. It was an almost comical tie as it had goldfish embedded in it. Marc wanted to make sure that Steven knew that you were only his. And he knew no better way than to choke you out with Steven's tie.

Soft tremors ached in your abused cunt as your thighs quivered against Marc. Sobs escaped your lips as Marc felt a tightening sensation in his stomach. His thrust quickened as he muttered, "cum."

Your walls pulsated around his cock as you let out a broken, meek cry feeling another orgasm ripple through your lower half. Marc released inside of you deeply as he let out low grunts, letting go of the tie. You fell against the bed tiredly as he was still inside of you, slowly moving in and out. He was making sure his release was deep inside of you.

A sniffle filled the air as your tears tamped the sheets underneath you. Marc pulled his cock out slowly making sure you feel every ridge of his cock come out of your aching walls. He watched his cock glisten from the mixture of his cum and yours as he finally pulled out, seeing cum seep out your abused cum. He let out a sigh of relief but his heart ached.

A deal was a deal. He got your tears and now, he had to uphold his end. "Baby?" Marc called out seeing your tears flow down your cheeks as your back heaved trying to capture your breath. "Baby?"

You didn't say anything which raised concerns from Marc. "Did. . .Did I hurt you?" Marc whispered out of fear.

You opened your eyes and stared at him. "No." You shook your head. "But my throat hurts." Marc took that as a sign to take the tie off your neck. He hurriedly yet shakily loosened the tie off your neck. You gave him a soft smile. "Now, it's time for your end of the deal. You saw my tears and now, I want to hear what's wrong."

Marc inhaled a sharp breath. He was afraid that going to come but he promised to tell you. All this insecurity of opening up to someone and judging him, he knows it’s stupid to feel that way especially with you since he married you because of your compassion. You were his humanity for god sake but he knew he treated you like shit because he was scared to be vulnerable especially about being Moon Knight. ". . .I don't want to be Moon Knight anymore." He murmured. "I'm tired of being Moon Knight. . .I just want this to end."

"I know." You whispered. "I would hug you but I can't get up."

Marc felt a twitch of a smile on his lips. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay." You said, placing your hand on his as he sat on the bed next to you, rubbing soft circles on your neck to help the ache. This took you by surprise because Marc had a hard time being affectionate but it was nice feeling his touch. You stayed quiet for a moment, forming a response. "We will find a way to get of Khonshu."

Marc furrowed his brows as he stared at you. "We?" He whispered. His chest tightened as his heart glowed. He was lucky to have you. Truly, he was glad he married such a wonderful person who still, till the end was always compassionate towards him. Marc needed his humanity to send him on the right path, maybe that’s why he was scared to tell you about how he felt being Moon Knight.

"Yes, we." You nodded. "We're in this together. If you want to stop being Moon Knight, we will find a way for you to stop being Moon Knight but Marc, I have to tell you. You can't use me every time you're in pain."

Marc closed his eyes as his eyes stung with tears. You were aware of his hypersexual coping mechanism and it was affecting you as well. Marc knew this wasn’t a healthy way releasing his pain into sexual feelings. The sexual acts with you were suppose to be out of love, not pain. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean-"

"It's okay." You whispered, feeling your chest tighten. "You have to tell me what's going on with you from now on. And you can't get jealous each time Steven comes out. He is a part of you. A part that you wish to show. Your vulnerability. You're only angry at him because he's what you wish you are. We can work on you being vulnerable."

"I can wait for you." You said with a soft smile. “And I will always be patient. You are my husband, Marc. This toxicity with yourself, we can work through it together.”

Marc wanted to cry as he held his tears back, opening his eyes to stare at you. "Now, who looks pretty crying?" You commented teasingly, raising your hand up as the padding of your thumb grazed the corner of his eyes to capture his tears.

Marc rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

You let out a small chuckle. The silence was nice as he rubbed your back and you comforted him. "I'm still sorry, though," Marc muttered, lowering his head down.

"As long we can work on this issue together, we will be okay."

Marc smiled at you. He was truly grateful to have someone that was patient with him. "Thank you." He leaned forward, capturing the soft plump of your smeared lips against his closing his eyes to this action. He took in the moment and embraced this feeling of warmth. Marc pulled away from you as another beat of silence as he just stared at you lovingly.

"Can we shower and watch Clueless?"

"Can we watch House Bunny instead? I hate the step-sibling love plotline." Marc replied with a scrunch of his nose. "I can. . .I can, no, we can cuddle and um. . .I'll let you paint my nails? I know you've been asking to do a self-care routine and do all this stuff."

Your eyes glistened happily as you immediately sat up, ignoring the ache in your body. "Really?"

Marc nodded. "Yes, really."

You grinned happily, nodding. "Yes, let's go. As an apology gift as well, I'm braiding your hair."

"Oh, great."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Me writing just porn this time instead of having little plot to it:

#Spotify #marc spector x reader #moon knight #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector smut #steven grant x reader #steven grant #marc spector fluff #moon knight smut #moon knight imagine #moon knight fluff #marc spector x female reader #marc spector x you #marc spector imagine

2K notes · View notes