Description:Things with your moon boys can get heated. When it comes to their Passion, tension, tempers, etc. Heat rises, and with them the heights can be too the moon. What happens when a scary situation overwhelms you all, and it causes you to break.
Warnings: Angst, talk of blood, torture, blood loss and shock, crying, stitches, cannon typical violence, female pronouns given I believe? Could be wrong on that one, over stimulation (not in a sexual way), puking, just.. go with caution. reader puts themselves in a shitty situation and they know it.
A/N: I had a full scale breakdown the other day when I got sunpoisioning, thought of this. I hope y’all like this, if I jacked up the Spanish or references to DID or the system at large, please tell me. I don’t do this intentionally, and I want to fix if needed.
In all fairness, you had almost gotten yourself killed. Recklessness was one of your talents, and that knife looked like it would hurt, but better you than him, your mind rationalized. You knew Marc had the suit and would be fine, but you still don’t enjoy him being stabbed. Leaving without him you would admit, was a terrible choice, but you figured you could handle it, It was just a cult after all. You’d handled cults before, being an avatar yourself, it was nothing new. However, this one you would admit was overwhelming. You had expected something stupid and easy to wipe out, Instead you were met with an organization that seemed to be more interested in torture than worship. You could still smell the stench of rotting and putrid flesh, the tang of fresh blood. It was horrific, you had gotten in way over your head, and thankfully your boys came to the rescue, but you needed a chance to breathe, and by the gods they weren’t letting up.
You suppose you expected gratitude, you had just taken a knife for them. Instead, you got a lecture of epic proportions, and a brush with death you were having a really hard time shaking. Your injuries were totaled to bruised ribs, a black eye, a cut on your right cheek, a nasty headache, and the crowning jewel of a stab wound to your right shoulder blade. You holistically understood what a bad decision you had made, the reasoning of their anger. However, at the moment? Each and every little piece was adding up to what was going to be a meltdown of epic proportions, if they didn’t lay off soon.
Marc started the scolding. He Spit and cursed as you fought off the men, and at the beginning there, before the knife, you had quite a bit of bite to add into the conversation.
“Baby, what the fuck were you thinking!?” Marc yelled, dispatching the last of the first wave of assholes who got you into this situation.
“Don’t you fucking use that tone with me, Spector!” You yell, dispatching another asshole who came at your already pretty injured form.
“Don’t be a fucking idiot then!” Marc yells, throwing another moon shaped dart at an assailant, as you get into the thick of it again.
“Marc, you haven’t actually, truly slept in three days, Konshu had you dealing with something clear across the city, and unfortunately, I have my own nosy ass god I have to listen to hanging over my shoulder about this shit too. I didn’t really have the time!” You yelled kicking another crazy cultist directly in the head, sending him crashing to the floor. Your argument was half hearted at best.
Meanwhile, Marc was still yelling at you about your stupidity, and it was beginning to get on your nerves. Not that you didn’t see where he was coming from, but its honestly annoying and a bit hypocritical. The same man who constantly ran his body to the ground, and jumped head first into dangerous fire fights, was yelling at your inability to take care of yourself? Please.
You had a gash on your forehead that was rapidly leaking blood into your eyes, making everything harder to see, and had the added effect of slowly making you more and more exhausted. You were not to tired however, to see the man with the knife rapidly approaching your busy boyfriend.
“Marc LOOK OUT!” You screamed and threw yourself directly into the path of the knife the man had thrown, earning yourself a really nasty stab wound. You yanked the knife out with a yell, and fell to your knees. Watching as Marc’s suit shifted from his white suit to Jake’s black one.
The cultists did not lay off, even though they were clearly loosing. Jake quickly fronting after you had taken the knife for Marc, and took out the threat, as you lay dazed and bleeding in the warehouse you had busted into. Your head felt like mush, your limbs splayed put on the ground, a stupefied expression turned up to the ceiling with no sign of immediate movement on your part. The blood loss was getting to you, and it was starting to get really hard to think clearly. You heal quickly thanks to your avatarship, but you don’t heal nearly as fast as the boys do, and while you had stoped the heavy bleeding, it wasn’t quick enough to truly stem the blood loss you had already suffered. You felt like a dead slug, laying in your own sticky wet blood.
Jake however, was a ball of raw energy, with no directive and no good place to dissolve, so you took the brunt force of his left over blaze of glory. While his hands were incredibly gentle, his words were not, and they just kept flowing like water from a tap.
“¿Eres estúpido o qué? You could have been killed! pareces la muerte! That is probably the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever seen you do, and that’s saying some shit because I’ve seen you make a lot of bad decisions, Cariño. Eso fue lo más tonto que jamás hayas visto hacer.” He ranted like this the whole way home, altering between lewd Spanish curses, and scathing comments about your decision making skills. At least he drove careful so as to not jostle your injuries. You tuned him out mostly, head swimming in nausea and in guilt already without the added noise from one of your boyfriends being angry at you. “Clearly you can’t be trusted anymore, I’m gonna have to put a leash on you!” Oof, that one cut deep, and it just kept going from there.
You make it up the stairs with little to no energy, and when you enter the apartment and flop onto a chair, you’re greeted with Steven and a med kit at your shoulder. You’re so tired you didn’t even notice the switch, and In your muddled exhaustion from blood loss, Steven’s disappointed expression seems like a war crime. He steadily fixes your shoulder and mutters his disappointment at you but you keep nodding off, and in your dazed and exhausted state, the sweat and anxiety has settled in. All you want to do is sleep, but Steven’s rambling frustration is just feeding the pit in your chest. Your breathing gets more and more rapid as he talks too, the confusion in your fog filled brain getting worse by the second. The boys are too scared and angry to notice though, and it just keeps getting worse the guiltier Steven makes you feel.
“Love what we’re you thinking? That was a bit reckless, Innit? Just running a muck like that, you were gone and I was so worried! Now look, you’re bleeding and exhausted. You can’t do it all on your own! Don’t you trust us?” He intones making the last stitch, as you sip some juice and eat some crackers, trying to up your blood sugar enough to clear the fog. It’s not working as fast as it should though, and you’re still so out of it. “What if you had died? Do you want to leave us alone?” That was the last straw. You felt your inner dam break.
When you stood up so abruptly, Steve knew something was wrong. You shouldn’t be standing, you were clearly not in good health.
“Darling-“ Steve reached out for you, and you made almost a guttural, animal like noise in the back of your throat as you pushed off of him and stumbled to the bathroom. You knew somewhat subconsciously that you should sit down and just tell Steven you were overstimulated and exhausted. That you knew you had made a bad choice, but that you needed quiet. You just couldn’t seem to get your mouth to cooperate. You were whimpering, and struggling, and clawing your way across the room, stomach and head churning.
Steven followed you almost in a daze of his own, as you stumbled into your small bathroom and slammed the door behind you, locking him out. That’s when the horrible retching began. The over stimulation, blood loss, and guilt were finally catching up to you, and you were messed up to say the least. You didn’t even bother turning on the lights as you sobbed and heaved, brain still in a terrible fog you couldn’t shake. Eventually, stomach empty, you lay on the floor of the bathroom, still crying and making awful groaning noises and sobs. You were slowly starting to become more aware of your surroundings, your body finally healing quicker and beginning to catch up to the situation. You lay against the cool tile of the floor, unconsciously making soft whimpering noises with your eyes closed. To say you were overwhelmed would be an understatement, the guilt giving way to sadness as you lay there. You were too tired to unlock the door, and too exhausted to try and form words, so you just lay there, letting the cool darkness seep into you, letting it relieve your sweaty, exhausted body as slowly but surely the divine nature of your being an avatar did its work.
Meanwhile, Steven was locked out, and needless to say, terribly worried. He tried the door twice, and when he realized there was no getting through, he desperately turned to the others for help, catching his reflection in the mirror.
“What do I do?” He stammered, meeting Marc’s equally bewildered face.
“I- I don’t know? Never had this happen before.” Marc stuttered, seemingly just as concerned as Steven.
“She’s lost a lot of blood, and her body is trying to catch up.” Jake muttered from a reflection in Gus’ tank. “Dame el cuerpo.” As the alter who often took the most physical punishment, Jake felt like the right choice to deal with the matter. Marc was acting skittish and stand off-ish in the face of such scary emotions, and frankly, nobody could blame him. So, feeling helpless in the situation, Steven relented immediately.
Jake came to, and took a deep breath, releasing on a sigh. He stood for a moment, and took an internal review of the situation at hand. His mind played out your injuries, and took stock of your blood loss, noting that it was a significant level, he reviewed your symptoms, the paling of your skin, the sweating, the shaking, the confusion. You were in shock, and coming down fast. So, he prepared as quickly as possible, grabbing juice, some more crackers, a cool cloth, a blanket, and a shirt for you to change into. He knew that as an avatar you heal fast, but nowhere near as fast as he did, so he made sure to grab anything that could aid in the process. Then he carefully made his way to the door, setting all of the stuff right next to him on the ground where he knelt, head and palm of his hand pressed to the door. Now came the hard part, getting you to open the door. Normally, he would just kick it in or pick the lock, but not knowing where you were in the room or what state you were in, he didn’t want to barge in and risk hurting or startling you further.
“Querida, can you hear me?” He softly asked, trying to get through to you, the firm wood of the door resting reassuringly against his skin. He sat with silence for a minute, not hearing a response from you. He was beginning to worry you had passed out, when he got a small whimper in response. “Mijita, can you open the door? You’re hurt, and I want to help, but you have to open the door.” Jake waited with baited breath, letting out a sigh or relief when he heard the lock click. Slowly opening the door, he found you curled in on yourself near the tub. “Oh, cariño, ¿qué ha pasado?”
You let out another terrible sob, the sound breaking Jake’s heart as he reached out to you. “Ven aquí, cariño. Let me take care of you.” He sighed, pulling your nearly dead weight into his arms as you cried, half formed and muttered apologies falling from your lips.
“I’m so-sorry” you wept bitterly, “I’m sor-ry Jake. I did-didn’t m-mean to.” You cried harder, and Jake’s heart shattered in his chest, he could sense the other two watching in horror as you struggled to string together a coherent thought. You were always the firm one, more prone to witty sarcastic banter, or soft measured conversations, than to emotional explosions, that was their thing.
“Shh mi niña, it’s not your fault.” Jake quietly reassured you, wiping the sweat from your brow, and shedding you of your old clothes as you shivered. He carefully pulled one of his large T-shirt’s over your body, and cradled you to his chest as you sniffled and drank the juice and ate what he had brought you. You slowly regained your clarity, sagging into Jake, exhausted, bodies curled together on the cool tile of the Bathroom. You leaned your back into his chest and sighed, eyes fluttering shut as he curled his arm around you, pushing the hair from your sticky forehead and kissing your temple. “You ok there niña?” He mutters where his lips are pressed to your head.
“Yes, that was a lot.” You huffed a humorless chuckle, and pressed a hand to your throbbing head. “I never should have gone without you, sorry I scared you, I should have waited.”
Jake sighed and dropped his hand to rest on his knee where it was propped up at his side. He clumsily pushed his fingers back through your sweaty hair, forcing you to lean further into his chest where your back is pressed against it. “It’s okay, estrellita, you were doing what you thought was right, and I understand how demanding being an avatar can be, but I want to help, be a little more careful next time si?”
You nod and nuzzle into his palm. “Claro que si.” you mutter, “lo siento, mi amor.” you feel him chuckle a bit as you respond and you smile.
“Tish! You spoke French!” He muttered, making you giggle as he placed hasty kisses up your arm. You giggled at the Addams family reference, as he lifted you to your feet. Later, as you lay curled up in bed, completely exhausted, Jake sighs and says, “The boys and I want to apologize for earlier, we were so scared and worried that we didn’t take into account that ranting at you might not have been the best way to speak about our feelings. We care about you, and we were worried, so we got a little worked up.”
“Oh babe,” you sigh snuggling closer, “Don’t ever apologize for loving me, I’m sorry I worried you all, and I’ll be more careful next time.” You muttered as you began to nod off. “Bueñas Noches, hasta mañana, te amo.” You said nodding off as Jake nuzzled into your hair.
“Love you too, goodnight.” He sighed as you both drift off to sleep.
Marc Spector x Reader, Past Layla El Faouly x Reader
Writing Bingo Masterlist
A/N: This was a bingo request for @justgimmethebody, I hope it’s everything you wanted! A huge thank you goes out to @darkened-writer for beta reading this for me, I couldn’t have finished this without your help. & @noahspector for always coming through with moral support. As always, I hope you enjoy. Feel free to leave any feedback you have in the comments and if you like my work consider leaving a tip! Thanks:)
Word Count: 2.7K+
Warnings: Filthy smut with plot, No Spoilers, TW Dubious Consent (Sex Pollen), Angst, Blood mention, the tiniest bit of fluff if you squint, reader is heavily implied to be female but no pronouns are used.
Summary: You and Marc get yourselves into a sticky situation.
Created for / Fandom: Marvel / @anyfandomgoesbingo Square Filled N5:Shared Ex / @anyfandomangstbingo B2:Sex Pollen / @mfbingo O4:Coffee Shop / @badthingshappenbingo I2:Misunderstanding
“Layla?”, you groan, your phone pressed uncomfortably to your ear, “What’s going on?”.
There’s a long pause, the receiver crackling as she sighs, “I need your help”.
You scratch the back of your neck, moving to sit upright, “What for?”.
She sighs again, this time loud enough for the receiver to pick it up, “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be asking you for anything- not after what happened between us, but this is important. You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t”.
You scoff lightly, “So now you want to talk about what happened between us? You left, Layla. End of story”.
“I know, I did”, her voice shakes, “And I don’t have an excuse, I should have talked to you first, but please. I really need your help”.
You roll your eyes, swinging your legs off the side of the bed, “Living on the lam doesn't exactly lend itself to being able to travel at a moment's notice, you know, especially without any monetary incentive”.
Layla brings her lip between her teeth, a familiar sucking sound making its way through the audio, “I know, I’m sorry. But I don’t trust anyone else with this. Just you”.
Anger bubbles underneath your skin. “How’s Marc?”, you retort, unable to swallow the words before they come tumbling out.
Another shaky breath, “He’s good. The divorce finally went through last week-”.
“Alright, enough small talk”, you cut her off, “What is it that you really need?”
You sit in the corner booth, alone, waiting. The smell of roasted coffee beans saturates the air, the heat from your half-empty mug radiating to your fingertips. You trace the edge with your index finger, around in endless circles, a nervous habit you managed to pick up over the years.
Leaning forward, you grab the cup, bringing it to your lips. It’s colder than you expected it to be, bitter.
Wind seeps in, sending papers flying as the door chimes open, revealing Marc Spector.
He wears a black hat, face drawn into a scowl, thick curls draped over his forehead. His shoulders are stiff, likely years of military training at work. And his body language makes it obvious that he doesn’t want to be here any more than you do.
Marc’s eyes scan the small cafe, coming to a rest when they meet yours. He hesitates, narrowing them for a split second before making his way over.
You gesture to the seat in front of you, rolling your eyes as he makes a show of plopping down into it, resting both elbows on the back of the seat.
“You’re going to catch someone’s attention”, you growl, placing your mug back on the table.
He shrugs, “And?”.
You lean back, crossing your arms, “And you’re lucky I’m even here, Spector. Which means we’re doing things my way”.
He holds his hands up in mock surrender, “Okay, I get it. What did Layla tell you?”.
The barista clears her throat, “I hope I’m not interrupting”, she says, grabbing your attention, “I just wanted to take your order”. She points to Marc.
You wait until she leaves to keep up the conversation. “Not much”, you go back to tracing the edge of your cup, “Just that it was important and that you’d fill me in on the details when you got here”.
His jaw ticks, muscles working over time as he gets his thoughts in order. “Our target is here in London”, he says, pushing a file towards you.
There’s a photo stapled to the left corner. The woman in it is fairly young, mid 20’s at the most.
“She’s the museum curator's daughter”, he explains, sensing the question in your eyes, “Layla thinks she has her own personal collection, a collection that includes-”, he flips through a few pages, “This”. He points to another picture, a red and white flower nearly bursting through it.
The barista comes back with Marc’s americano, setting it down in front of him as her eyes linger on his face. “Do you need anything else sir?”, she asks.
He looks to you. “That’ll be all”, you speak up, rolling your eyes at her blatant attempt at flirting.
She huffs quietly, turning away.
“How can some plant be an ancient relic?”, you ask, running your finger across it.
“It’s not just some plant”, he replies, “It’s the Egyptian Lotus. It’s been extinct for centuries”.
You scoff, “And you expect me to just go along with this? To what? Go on a wild goose chase to chase after some flower?”.
“It’s not just some flower”, he repeats, “It’s the key to finding Imhotep’s tomb”.
You sigh, fidgeting with the mug in front of you, “Alright, the sooner we get this done. The sooner we can go our separate ways”.
The street’s crowded, bustling with people, bodies pushed against each other without any care. The smell of cut grass and car exhaust, music and the chatter of mid-day business, overwhelmingly familiar.
Glancing over at Marc, you notice he’s trained on something, jaw set at one particular point.
“What do you see?”, you ask, leaning past him to follow his gaze.
He snaps his head back at your movement, yanking you behind him with an excessive amount of force, “Seriously? Are you trying to catch the entire city’s attention?”.
Annoyance lights up your features. You’ve been doing this kind of work for a long time, longer than he has. You huff, shoving his hands away, “Nope, that’s your job- remember?”.
He rolls his eyes, glancing back at what you assume must be your target.
“Do you want my help or not?”, you growl, eyes trained on his every move, “Because I can call Layla right now and let her know you’re being difficult”.
He sighs, turning to face you, a sincerity in his eyes you’ve never seen before. “Yes- I do”, he says, throwing a hand out to wave you off, “I’m just on edge”.
“Well be on edge somewhere else, this is too important for you to be off your game. Remember that and let me do my job.”
There’s a pause, a long moment where you stare each other down. Waiting for the other to break.
“The target's there, next to the steps," he relents, jutting his chin towards a figure not too far from his left. You move around him again, this time sending him a pointed glare, so you can get a better look.
It’s the same woman from the photo. She looks happy, greeting her father on the steps of the museum with a bright smile.
“Are you ready for tonight?”, you ask, slipping behind him and out of the target’s line of sight.
“I don’t know, are you?”
Deep green leaves and bright red buds curl tightly together, bright white at the tip and deep red at the bottom. A self-contained sunset of reddened hues.
“Is this it?”
Marc nods, keeping his gun trained on the only exit, “Grab a few of those buds and let’s get the fuck out of here”.
Turning to the plant, you grab one of the stems at the bottom, cutting it with the edge of your knife.
The vibrant hues of red draw you in, like you’ve been placed under a spell.
You trace the bud with your index finger, pressing on the tip.
“What are you doing?” You hear Marc ask from behind you, but you don’t answer. You can’t. You’re too transfixed by the plant in front of you.
Continuing to press down, you feel a slight give. And then, with a sudden pop, the bud bursts open, releasing a thick, syrupy liquid.
The liquid is red like the plant, and it smells sickly sweet, almost artificial. Without thinking, you lift your fingers to your mouth and lick it off.
It prickles at your nose and curls inside your mouth, melting against your tongue like cotton candy. It tastes even sweeter than it smells, and you can feel the way it works itself through your body almost immediately.
Suddenly, you feel Marc's hands on you, pulling you away from the plant. “What the fuck were you doing?”, he shouts, but you don’t answer. You can’t. A warmth ignites inside of you, traveling to your core.
He drags you away from it and towards the exit, but you resist. “Let me go!”, you yell, struggling against him. You want to go back. You need to go back.
But he's too strong, and he manages to drag you out of the room and into the hallway.
“What the fuck was that?”, he asks. You still don't answer. You're too far gone. Intoxicated.
He looks at you, and you can see the confusion and anger swirling in his eyes. But there's something else there too. Something you can't quite identify.
He shakes you, hard, “What. The. Fuck. Was. That?”.
You roll the remainder of the sticky residue between your fingers. “I don't know”, you reply, your voice a slurred mess, “It was just so... so…”. Sweat beads down Marc’s neck, and you feel the sudden urge to lick it off him.
You lean in, your mouth mere inches from his skin. You can feel his pulse racing, hear each tick of the watch on his left wrist. He smells like salt and musk and you can't help but nip at his neck with your teeth.
“Shit”, he hisses, pushing you away, “We can't do this. Not here. Not now”.
He grabs your hand and starts to pull you away again, but you thrash in his hold, smearing the rest of the liquid across his lips.
You’re feverish, uncomfortably turned on. You press your legs together tightly, whimpering at the slightest bit of friction. “Please”, you beg, “Just a little longer. I need to… I need you”.
Something in Marc snaps. Without warning, he pushes you up against the wall, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, “Is this what you wanted?”.
He presses his body against yours, his erection poking at your stomach, “Come on, fucking beg for it”.
He pulls away briefly, just long enough to rip your shirt apart. And then he's back, his mouth on yours, his hands exploring every inch of your skin.
Grabbing the meat of your thighs, he lifts you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.
“Please, Marc”, you moan against his lips, begging him to do something- anything, “Please”.
He pulls away slightly, “Say you’re mine”.
Your eyes stare into his, filled with so many emotions, you can’t pinpoint any of them.
“I’m yours”, you breathe between kisses.
He pins you to the ground, your legs still wrapped around him, “Don’t worry baby, I’m going to take good care of you”. His lips trail down your neck, leaving a kaleidoscope of reddened marks in their wake.
He lifts his hips from yours and you whine at the loss of contact.
Shoving a hand between you, he hurriedly unbuckles his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down with a single yank.
You begin to get impatient, starting to work open the button on your own pants when Marc decides to pull them apart, tossing the remnants to the side. Reaching down, you help him shove your panties off, frantic to have him inside of you, to drown out the screaming need that’s filling your every thought.
You use your free hand to pull him down by the neck, crashing your lips together in a tangled mess of tongues and teeth. The kiss is rough, needy, filled with every ounce of desire you can spare. Emboldened by your passion, his hips snap forward, tip dipping between your folds as he coats himself in your wetness.
The first thrust is hard, deep. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down, just keeps going harder, faster, until your vision is blurry and you’re left gasping for air.
You cry out as he hits a sensitive spot inside you, your body bucking against his. He grabs your wrists, pressing them into the ground above your head.
You arch your back, trying to get closer, to feel more of him.
He growls, flipping you on your stomach, pressing you into the ground. Your hands search for something to grip, something to hold on to. He slides one hand down, pushing a finger inside you, curling it, hitting all your sweet spots.
You moan loudly, uncontrollably.
His other hand reaches forward, rubbing and teasing at your clit as he adds another finger. You’re so close, so fucking close, and then he pulls away.
You whimper in protest, but he doesn't listen. He flips you again. This time he pushes your legs up, draping them over his shoulders, and then he’s back inside you, moving in and out, his cock filling you in a way nothing else ever has. Or will.
You cling to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving marks. Trails of blood.
Your walls tighten around him. You can feel yourself getting close, so close, your toes curling at the sheer pleasure of it all.
“Marc”, you cry out, your voice laced with desperation, “Please, I’m so close”.
He doesn't say anything, just increases the pace, his breathing coming out in short, sharp gasps.
You can feel your body tensing up, about to explode.
And then it does. You scream his name, your whole body shaking with pleasure as you come undone, your heart beating a million miles a minute.
Marc follows suit soon after, spilling deep inside you, filling you to the brim with seemingly endless ropes of cum. You lay underneath him, gasping for breath, your entire body trembling as the aftershocks of your orgasm hit into you like a freight train.
He collapses against you, face resting in the crook of your neck, his body shaking with the force of his release. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as you both come down from your high.
Suddenly he stiffens, pulling away and standing up, getting dressed quickly. He doesn't say anything as he finishes putting on his pants and buckles his belt. He doesn't look at you as he grabs his gun and holster, slinging it over his shoulder.
He starts to walk away, but then he pauses, his back still to you. “I’m sorry”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I shouldn’t have…”.
The haze lifts.
You stand on shaky legs, moving to place your hand on his shoulder, “Marc- this wasn’t your fault”, he flinches, “You can’t blame this on yourself”.
You sigh, “I know we don’t really get along because of everything that happened with Layla, but even I know you weren’t trying to take advantage of me”.
“What do you mean everything that happened with Layla?”, he asks, turning to face you.
“Her cheating on me with you”, you deadpan, avoiding his eyes.
Marc’s jaw ticks, “What? We were married. I had no idea you dated”, confusion decorates his every feature.
“When you disappeared- to deal with Arthur Harrow on your own, we dated for a while. Then one night she disappears and I don’t find out until several months later that you’ve decided to try and work things out.”
He moves a step closer, “I didn’t know any of that, I swear. Layla’s been keeping information from both of us”.
“We should get going”, you reply, “We still have a lot of work to do”. You step around him, walking towards the door.
A hand catches your upper arm, halting your movements, “You don’t believe me, do you?”, his hold loosens a bit, “I’m telling the truth. Just like I’m telling the truth when I say I’m attracted to you- and not just physically”.
You remove your arm from his grasp, sighing heavily. “I’m attracted to you too”, you offer, “But I need time to process all of this”.
Marc nods, shoving his hand in his pocket to silence the ringtone blaring in his ears.
You watch as his face falls, a mix of anger and betrayal crossing his features.
Incoming Call: Layla, the screen lights up.
He rejects it, stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “We’ll talk more about this later”, he says, his voice tight, “Right now we need to focus on the task at hand”.
She’s got a lot of explaining to do.
Thanks for reading! Let me know if you want to be tagged or un-tagged down below <3
Pairings: Steven Grant x (platonic) Reader, Marc Spector x (platonic) Reader, Jake Lockley x (platonic) Reader, Layla El-Faouly x (platonic) Reader
It was the day you have been dreading the most: laundry day. Today was the day after you and Marc went up to the rooftop. It was Sunday, the last day of your weekend, which meant that it was the last day to get anything you needed to get done before your week is taken up by work. Even if that meant it was during a heat-wave. It was still hot, although the weather app on your phone states that it was cooler by a few degrees compared to yesterday. You’ve been sitting on the wooden floor of your apartment since you woke up this morning, it was near mid-afternoon now. You only had one thing to do today since you planned on going to the store for groceries after work tomorrow since it would be colder in the evening and you were already out of the apartment because of work, so you might as well just go, right?
The laundry room was located in the basement of the apartment complex. Heat rises so the basement would be colder than it was currently in your fifth floor apartment. The only problem was that it was difficult gathering some motivation to get your ass moving in this heat. The knowledge that the basement is colder was rewarding, but collecting your clothes into the garbage bag to carry to the elevator was the part that you didn’t care for. Also, the lack of service in the laundry room wasn't the best; and since your apartment building does not offer free-wifi, you couldn’t watch any Tiktok to pass the time.
Soon, you would have to go over to Marcs and Stevens for dinner. Which means that time was running out to get anything done. You knew that once you returned to your apartment after the dinner hour was up that you wouldn’t want to leave. So, with a sigh, you peeled yourself off of the wooden floor. You stretched your limbs and began to collect socks and other clothing you tossed around your apartment into the garbage bag you’ve been using to hold your dirty clothes. By the time you were done, the bag was a quarter full. You didn’t have a lot of clothes since most of your wardrobe was gone because the family that took residence in your childhood home donated or gave away your family's stuff during the blip. You only had the clothes you wore when you were blipped and a few other items of clothing you thrifted, and of course, the uniform your work gave you when you got hired. You tossed the bag over your shoulder before you snagged your phone, keys, and a couple of pounds off of the counter.
You locked your apartment door behind you before walking down the hall to the elevators and pressed the basement level button. You were sweating heavily as the elevator doors closed and you began your descent. You leaned against the mirrors behind you as you watched the numbers count down, the box shaking a little with every floor it passed. You half expected the doors to open on each floor for your neighbors to get on and do something for the remaining afternoon, but it didn’t. They’re probably in their apartments with air conditioning, you thought bitterly.
The door opened to the laundry room and it was surprisingly empty for a Sunday. Usually, it was packed since the weekend was laundry day, but there wasn’t a soul in sight. The laundry room had five washers and five dryers back to back. The machines were generously donated by cleaning machine companies in the United Kingdom. You doubt a company in America would donate to a housing project unless they were somehow profiting from it, whether from positive influence from the public or money. Across from the washers and dryer on either side of the room was a row of chairs facing the machines. In the far right-hand corner of the room was a trashcan and a few feet from it, screwed into the wall was a vending machine for laundry detergent packets, stain remover sticks, and dryer sheets. On the other side of that, tucked into the left-hand corner of the room was a lost and found basket.
You step out of the elevator and carry your bag to one of the washing machines. You were happy to find that it was much cooler here than above you. Opening the lid and dumping your clothes into the machine, you placed the bag onto the washing machine next to yours before heading over to the vending machines. You took out the pounds you placed in your pocket before you left and uncrumpled one of them, straightening the edges for the machine to hopefully take. You placed it in the slot and the machine began to take it before spitting it back out.
“Dammit,” You grumbled as you took the pound back to straighten it out more. You tried to flatten it between your index and middle finger before putting it back into the machine only for it to spit it back out once more.
“Oh my god, just take the fucking money.” You say as you snatched it back from the machine and tried to straighten it on the corner of the machine. If Steven were to hear how you were speaking, he would scold you for your colorful language. The thought almost made you smile especially when the machine finally took the pound. You raised your arms into the air and cheered before doing a little happy dance. Something metal slammed loudly behind you causing you to jump a couple of feet into the air and turn quickly on your heel. Nothing was there, your heart pounded against your chest as your eyes scanned the room for the source. Nothing was knocked over, the elevator doors were shut. The machines were fine- oh fuck, the lid you left open on your washing machine was shut. You stared at it, the blood pounding in your ears at the sight.
There was no way that could have shut by itself. The vending machine beeped behind you and you turned your head to look at it. The stain remover stick slides into the receiver as the machine thanks you for your purchase. You eye the machine, it has never done that before. It should have kept your money rather than selecting something randomly. It was your luck that it selected the one time that you didn’t need. You pressed your lips together, you only had one pound left that you could use for either a laundry detergent packet or a single dryer sheet packet.
Once again, you were back to straightening the pound against the corner of the vending machine. The only noise in the room was the sound of the paper being smoothed and the machine taking your money the first time. You hit the laundry detergent button and waited for it to slide into the receiver before grasping the two items and walking back to the washer you were using. You opened the lid and dumped the blue liquid onto your clothes. After the detergent was on your clothing, you tried to recreate the lid falling shut because you were convinced that it didn’t shut on its own. You tried blowing on it (stupid of you to try) and prodding it with the tip of your finger, but it didn’t fall closed. You checked the bolts attached to the lid and they were tight, so there was no way that it was faulty mechanics.
You pressed your lips together and shut the lid with your hands before turning the dials on the back of the machine to begin its maximum twenty minute cycle. Unfortunately, the machines had a limited use due to the water and electricity bill of the apartment complex that was included in your rent. The building automatically includes the washing, drying, and the use of the elevator into the tenants rent. Anything else that you use in your apartment such as the oven or the shower was included in an entirely different bill since only you use that for your apartment.
If it was up to you, you would make the cycles longer on the machines for a through wash. You have transferred your washed clothes from one machine to the other before though to ensure that your clothes were clean. You would have done it for today's wash since none of your neighbors were around to snitch on you, but with the washing machine lid slamming shut, you decided against it. Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe it did slam shut on its own by gravity or because you didn’t push it open all the way.
You sat in one of the chairs lined up against the wall and leaned back into it as the sound of water began to come from the washing machine. Your hand was wrapped around the stain remover stick as your eyes trailed to it. You opened your hand and stared at the small white tube with a blue label. It had some yellow twinkling stars printed on it, you guessed that it was supposed to represent cleanliness and shine. You turned it over to the other side to read the instructions and the warning printed on the side to pass the time.
“Do not consume this product. Do not stick this product into the eyes, mouth, nose, or lower regions of the body.” You read aloud, scoffing at the warning. What dumbass had to open the cap and poke it into their eyes to get this warning printed on?
You kept your eyes on the small stick, your thumb slowly rubbed against the sticker on the back. It was odd that the vending machine randomly selected it, right after the lid slammed shut. You don’t know how much time passed until the washing machine beeped to signal that the cycle was complete. You pushed yourself off of the chair and opened the lid. You reached down into the machine, grasping your wet clothes and placed them into the dryer on the behind the washer. It took you a couple of minutes to get all your clothing items into the dryer before you finally began the twenty minute drying cycle. You grabbed the plastic bag you carried your clothes in and placed it on the dryer next to the one you’re using before you sat down in the chairs on the dryers side of the room.
You stuffed the stain remover stick into your shorts pockets. Leaning back into the chair to get comfortable, you looked around the room and began to count the items in the room to pass the time. There were six spiderwebs, one in each corner and two decorating the upper wall across from you. There were three small rectangle windows towards the top of the wall with the vending machine. There were four light fixtures in the center of the room in two diagonal rows.
Eventually, counting got boring so you got up and began to rifle through the lost and found basket. Not that you were going to take anything that didn’t belong to you, but you had nothing else to do. There were only a few items in the basket, a red shirt with the iconic: “I love New York,” and a picture of the Empire State building with the Avengers photoshopped in front of it. There was a kids toy of Iron Man, you were pretty sure that it was released as a positive reinforcement stunt after Tony announced to the world that he was Iron Man. You don’t remember much of that since you were too young, but you do remember that you got a set of Avenger toys for your twelfth birthday. The last two items in the basket were a single purple sock with rubber duckies and a self-help book titled, “How To Deal With Losing A Loved One.”
You stared at the book, you weren’t going to take it since it doesn’t belong to you. It just felt like the universe was calling you out just by the title of the book alone. Last year, about a month after you returned from the blip, you heard that Wanda was controlling a town called Westview. You haven’t heard any answer as to why and no other information was released about it since nobody could find Wanda and ask her why she did it. It was like she just disappeared off of the Earth. All you know is that in the fight against Thanos, her boyfriend died. You could guess that she went off the rails while grieving for him, but that wouldn’t be fair to say or think. You weren’t in the position to judge how others grieve when you straight up ghosted everyone in your old life and created a new one. Although, you must admit that yours was more harmless compared to Wandas.
The dryer beeps as you are standing up from your crouched position. You walked to the dryer and opened the lid before stuffing all of your clothes into the plastic garbage sack. You closed the lid and swung it over your shoulder. The bottom of the bag was warm against your back, it’s a nice feeling during the winter but not so much during the summer. You groaned at the warmth, your back was already sweaty. The light fixtures above you began to flicker on and off causing you to frown. Not a moment afterwards, the washing machines and dryers began to shake violently, almost ripping themselves away from the pipes and outlets between them. You took a step back, your eyes were wide and heart pounding against your chest.
The lights seemed to speed up with their flickering before the bulbs exploded and glass rained down onto you. You gasped as glass cut into your skin and you were plunged into a darker room. The only source of light was the sunlight filtering through the small rectangle windows and the red exit sign above the elevator. Your eyes adjusted to the room, nothing was in there with you but you could feel something was. It felt like a heavy presence was in the room with you. You could feel them waiting for your next move before they struck. You felt like a cornered animal as the feeling of anxiety and the looming presence watched you.
Holy shit, you weren’t overreacting. Time to get the fuck out!
Your heart constricted in your chest as you succumb to the need to run. You spun on your heel and held knuckle white tightly onto your garbage sack. You ran a few feet to the elevator and spammed the call button with your fingers. You look over your shoulders and up to the red numbers counting down above the elevator with fear. It was counting down from the fifth floor.
“Come fucking on!” You yelled. Of course this was your luck, of course it couldn’t have been on level one. You prayed that none of the tenants needed to use the elevator as you looked over your shoulder. You didn’t know what you were looking for. Nothing was there but you could feel it. Something was there and you needed to get out. You whipped your head back to the numbers counting above you, it was on level two now. You screamed as you felt something begin to approach you. You needed to get out. You needed to get out. You needed to get out! The doors open and you rush inside, quickly slamming your hand onto whatever level got you the hell out of the basement.
The doors were slow to shut as you backed up against the mirrors, your eyes wide. You half expected some being to stop the doors with their hands and tear you out of the elevator. But the doors shut and you began to ascend. Tears sprung to your eyes, the tightness in your chest lessened as the doors opened to the first floor. You looked up at the red numbers, hoping that the basement floor wouldn’t pop up as the next stop, but all it showed as a number one. Your shaking hand reached for the fifth floor button and you pressed it and once again the doors closed and began to go up. You patted your pockets for the key to your apartment while trying to contain the sobs building up in your chest until you at least got into your flat.
You didn’t need to look at yourself in the mirror to know how red rimmed your eyes were. Your hand patted the pocket with the stain remover stick- the one that you didn’t need- and that made the tears you’ve been holding back fall. The doors opened to your floor and you pushed past your neighbors who were waiting for the elevator. Of course your neighbors happened to be there the one day you don’t want anyone to see how much of a wreck you were. You forced your jello-feeling legs to walk to your apartment door. The sobs were beginning to make their way out of your throat for anyone to hear the closer you got to your apartment.
You dropped the garbage bag full of clothes as you patted your short pockets for the key to your apartment. Finally, you pulled out the stupid stain remover and found your key in the same pocket. You shakily tried to jam the key into the lock, missing the key hole several times. Each time you missed more tears ran down your cheeks and you got closer to losing every ounce of your sanity that you had left. Down the hall, you heard a door open and the familiar British voice of the neighbor you have been spending time with calls your name.
You don’t look at him as you try to jam the key into your doorknob once more and fail. You lean your head against the wooden surface as Steven says your name again while he approaches.
“What's wrong? Are you alright?” He asks, his eyes taking in your disheveled and trembling figure. You release a shaky breath, the question making more tears spring to your eyes and run down your cheeks. Steven places a gentle hand onto your shoulder and carefully turns you to look at him. He looked worried and scared, his brown eyes were filled with concern as he took in the expression of fear on your face. You swallowed around the lump in your throat and fought against the feeling to wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his chest.
“What happened?” He asks softly, your lip trembles. He says your name quietly causing you to reach out and grasp his hand with your own. The calluses on his palms are rough against your skin and the feeling grounds you. Steven and Marc are here. With you. They will protect you.
“You have a minute?” You finally say, your voice cracking halfway through the question. “I got some shit to tell you guys.” He opens his mouth, probably to scold you for profanity but he slowly closes it and nods.
“We do,” He says instead. You don’t let go of his hand as you turn your body towards the door of your apartment. You tried to unlock your apartment door a couple more times, missing the key lock each time, before Steven took the key from you and did it himself. He hands you your key back and picks up the laundry bag you dropped minutes ago. With a shaky exhale, you pulled him inside.
hello mutuals and newcomers id like to make another lovely interests post
my name is Jen. I am gonna be 21 in early July :] I’m currently off from school at the moment n would love to engage n interact with new and old mutuals mostly w making art, head cannons, meme discussions & role plays maybe! September I’ll be busier again but this summer I wanna create for me and expand my interests circle, let’s be sillies
here are my main hyperfixations:
•Team Fortress 2
•Industrial metal, nu metal, synthwave, classic hip hop, essentially a lot of 80s-2000s music as well as modern music in these genres
Description: Steven is the sweetest man alive, and he always endeavors to make you feel special, but sometimes he can’t take a hint.
Warnings: None! Fluff central over here.
A/N:Wanted some fluff, made some fluff. There you have it.
Steven is of the talkative sort. He’s a nervous rambler. It’s as if silence makes his skin crawl, which makes sense to you, the void in your head is scary, and you’re not a vigilante. So, the filler talk doesn’t bother you. In fact, you find Steven’s version of filler noise to be really endearing.
His filler is always full of interesting factoids, and a passion for knowledge that you didn’t fully understand. He knew a little bit about everything, Archeology and Ancient Egypt being his prime focus, but it was as if he soaked up every piece of information he thought might be interesting to you.
“Did you know love, that The Beatles got the idea for their name from Buddy Holly and the crickets? Yeah, John Lennon loved the insect thing and puns so Beetles became Beat-les and the rest is history!”
“Did you know that Keanu Reeves does most of his own fight Choreo in John Wick? I wouldn’t wanna fight him in the open, yeesh!”
“Darling? Did you know, that light roast coffee has more caffeine that dark roast? It’s cause when they roast the beans, the longer they roast the beans, the more caffeine they roast out! I bought us a light roast this week to try!”
It always flowed out of him like a fountain, a wealth of knowledge. You loved learning all those little things, you loved that he was reading up on your interests in order to make conversation. It was precious. Every little thing he said made you wanna kiss him. The problem was, you didn’t like to interrupt. You didn’t want Steven to think his knowledge wasn’t valuable to you, so you usually just waited for gaps in conversation.
Today, Steven had out done himself on his little factoid mission. He had taken you, on a wine tasting. You were very excited, any amount of time spent with Steven was worth having, especially when there was good food and good booze to be had. In true Steven fashion, he was a wealth of knowledge. It’s like he had become a Sommelier over night. Each glass and snack pairing they handed you, he would listen patiently as the wine taster talked about tannins and whatever, then he would look at you with his breathtaking smile, hand you a glass, and would whisper a little fact to you while you drank and commented on the wine.
“Darling,” he said as the server handed him your first glass of the evening “did you know, that the tradition of drinking to one’s health started in Ancient Greece?” He smiled, thumbing a bit of your smudged lipstick from your mouth as he handed you the snack that went with the glass you were splitting. “Typically, a host would stand and take a drink before the rest of the guests, in order to prove that the wine was not poisoned.” He laughed, tilted the glass towards you in a salute, and pointedly took the first sip, “so, to your health darling, if it’s poisoned, avenge me!” He whispered conspiratorially as you giggled into your first sip, savoring the wine and the company. You had hoped he would give you a kiss to seal in all the good health luck, but no luck, he was currently telling you about the Roman tradition of ‘toasting’ and you were helpless to his charm.
“Ooh! See that one over there?” Steven chuckled pointing to the bottle you were about to drink, it had a little fox on it, “That one is special, that one is actually called a critter wine!” He chuckled as the server handed him a glass of said wine, “For some reason, when there is a little animal on the bottle, they get a special name, adorable innit?” You looked at him as if he had hung the moon, and muttered ‘you’re adorable.’hoping he would get the hint and kiss you already. Instead, he chuckled at your enthusiasm and kept telling you about the critter wine. He was not catching the hint.
“Oh, love? Have I ever told you the myth of Dionysus and Ariadne?” Steven said as you both sat at your table in the corner, sipping on a glass of your favorite wine in the tasting. At this point, you had learned about the oldest wine on record (some bottle from 200 AD or so in Germany), The oldest wine cellar on record (surprisingly? The Titanic, most bottles were still intact!), and the fear of wine (oenophobia). What you hadn’t learned, was what Steven’s wine soaked lips tasted like at this very second, and by the Gods you were going to find out.
“Pause!” Steven had just started his story when you held up your hand and ground him to a halt, “My love, I love your stories and I have had the time of my life listening to you talk this evening, but I am going to literally pass away if I don’t kiss you right now!” You explained giggling, slightly tipsy. You watched as a mirthful confusion took over his features, before you grabbed the sides of his face and smashed his lips to your own with vigor. At first he was startled, flailing his arms momentarily before settling them on your waist. After releasing him with a loud ‘mwah!’ Steven finally clued into what Marc and Jake had been trying to tell him all evening from the reflections of your wine glasses.
“Oye Papi! They think your brain es muy guapo, hombrecito!” Jake chuckled in the back of his mind.
“Yeah Steven! They’ve been eyeing your mouth all night, and if you quizzed them on your every fact, I think they would ace it!” Marc chimed in with a teasing laugh.
Steven stuttered for a second, looking at you with wide love struck eyes, as he fumbled to find the words for the way his heart swelled. He landed on a bemused, exasperated, huff of laughter as you sat there giggling at him. “Sorry darling! I didn’t want to be rude!” You apologized through love drunk giggles. With the look on his face, you couldn’t resist and kissed him again. “Play!” You said miming a clicker on a remote and leaning forward on your palms. “You can finish!” You nodded encouragingly.
Steven felt his heart swell six sizes as he fought to contain his laughter. You were truly still invested in his stupid stories, they meant the world to him, and all this time he hoped they meant the world to you, and in this moment he knew they did. For all the world, he counted himself the luckiest man in the universe to be witnessing the glimmer of love and fascination that shone in your eyes. “Something about pirates, Theseus, and Dolphins, the end c’mere!” He laughed raucously and pulled you squealing into his embrace, smothering you in affection.
Somewhere far away from this happy scene, Konshu sat in his corner of the sky, where he liked to do his watching. He normally sat guarding over the travelers of the night, but tonight he was watching something different. Tonight, he watched the worm. Steven Grant, was sat in a restaurant with his lover, and they were in their own little bubble. Konshu witnessed as their love infected the moods of the others around them, witnessed as the elderly couple at the table next to them smiled and held hands a little tighter, reminiscing about their young love. He watched as the Sommelier smiled and rolled an old, faded, silver ring around his left ring finger, reminiscing about his deceased partner. He saw as a woman on a failure of a date, with a man who shamelessly flirted with their waitress, rekindled the hope that there may actually be love out there for her. Through this one act of love, Konshu watched, and he was slowly reminded why he cared so much about these humans anyway. He cared, because the smallest acts of kindness, vigorously renewed their most valuable trait of all, hope. Konshu watched, and in his watching decided maybe, just maybe, the worm wasn’t half bad.
I'm 7k words into a one shot that I started yesterday as a coping mechanism for my cat passing away.
It's making me feel better.
The fic I am working on is 18+ (afab/fem reader x MK system), and its the temple smut idea. It's mostly angst and a life time of mutual pining for the first 5/6k words. Then it gets to the point after Harrow is dealt with, and the boys come back into the reader's life to ask her for help on a mission from Hathor. This would be after Marc finds about Jake, and that they all still have to work for Khonshu because of him.
Now I'm just getting to the good bits, where Khonshu just dumps them into the temple with no instructions. And of course, they have to pay 'tribute' to get out.
Gif is a reference picture for what I imagine the temple to look like, but I would say it's got an oasis inside of it that is surrounded by stone pillars. Second and third gifs are references to the inside.
Back in my thoughts again, you know the drill. A bit lengthy!!
I cannot stop thinking about this scene—how Steven clearly remembers that this was his room,
And how he remembers the exact thing he said during this part of the scene, which proves that he was, in fact, in control for at least a couple seconds.
BUT. He doesn’t remember anything from this moment forward. That’s why he wanted to see what their mother did to them, and that’s why Marc was set on getting him out of the room before he saw something that would severely taint his memories and what he knew of their childhood. At the same time, Marc knows EXACTLY what happened.
I’m positive that Steven dissociated at that moment and Marc took over. In general, he didn’t want Steven to remember what truly happened. It’s his way of making up to Randall/RoRo, I would like to believe. He treats Steven like the younger brother that he lost when he was a child. The one who loved drawing the one finned fish. The one who was always eager for adventure. The one who was screaming for help back in the cave.
Remember? His mother explicitly stated:
“Marc, what do you do? Keep an eye on your brother, okay?” And Marc is set on fulfilling that promise to Steven.
Marc let Steven keep all the good memories, while he himself lived through all of the bad ones, just so that he could protect him from getting hurt and feeling pain. Steven, his alter, who he considers to be his little brother.
That’s the reason why Marc was so adamant about simply telling Steven what had happened in that room at the top of the flight of stairs, so Steven wouldn’t have to watch the memory play out in front of him. Seeing what happened would definitely hurt more than just knowing what happened. By telling Steven himself, he would have control over what he would reveal to him, and how he would tell him.
That’s why Marc’s first thought when waking up in the Asylum was Steven. That’s why Marc never complained about fronting right after Steven was pierced by the weapons back in Mogart’s. That’s why Marc probably set up a line for Steven to contact “his mother”, and why Marc replaced Gus with another fish. That’s why Marc didn’t want Steven finding out about him in the first place.
Marc spent most of his life protecting and saving Steven the way he wished he could’ve protected and saved Randall. I am literally bawling over this.
Also ending this with another appreciation for Oscar Isaac because he’s a damn legend for the breathtaking portrayal of Steven AND Marc. He better earn awards for this series or I will riot.
let’s talk jake lockley. jake “i only front when necessary and do so to protect marc and steven because gods forbid they let us die again the body by any means i see fit while letting marc and steven work out their shit that has absolutely nothing to do with me but i let them anyways because i so happen to share a body with them” lockley.