He Hates The Am And The Pm 💥🤯🕷️🕸️🎸

Who took the bomp from the bompalompalomp? Who took the ram from the ramalamading-dong? Spider-Punk by Pétra

miguel o’hara x afab!gn!reader smut

the people in my walls told me to write this blame them, not me

↳ warnings: 18+ content, DNI IF MINOR i’ll get violent!, porn w/o plot, pussyjob, if miguel big bad boy why so bbg?, reader is mentioned to be smaller than miguel so obv size kink, KINDA sub!miguel but its mostly pussydrunk!miguel, no p in v, not edited as always lmao, this might be rlly bad but oh well blah blah blah you get it

thanks for reading <3 i appreciate any comments, reblogs, and likes! u guys rock my socks off B)

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☆ raven's very belated 2k followers celebration ☆

hi!!! I reached 2000 followers back in... august I think? but never really had the time/strength to celebrate properly, so now's the time I guess!

everything's happening through my inbox and anyone can participate :)

status: opened

—💍fmk: give me three characters and I’ll choose who I fuck, marry and kiss. (no killing here)

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—📷 paparazzi: send me a 📷 and I’ll reply with a random picture of oscar!

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—💭thoughts: send me headcanons, thoughts (or thots) about one character I write for and I'll let my wild mind run with it!

I don't know how long this celebration will last, I'll see how it goes and I'll update the status at the top of the post!

thank you for 2k!!!

tagging some lovely mutuals<3 @my-secret-shame @whatthefishh @spacecowboyhotch @campingwiththecharmings @midgardian-witch @nowritingonthewall @ominoose @alwritey-aphrodite @dameronshandholder @missdictatorme @foxilayde @spider-starry @moonknightly @eatingyouryoung @lunaesidus @melodygatesauthor

Spider-Punk by Matías Bergara Paint, pencil, & ink on cardboard

Rose - Oneshot

Pairing: Jonathan Levy x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Jonathan wants to say you came into his life like a flower, but it feels too fickle, too unlasting. Instead, he thinks, you grew like a rose bush for him.

A/N: The Jonathan Levy era is here folks. Keep in mind this was written after watching only the first two episodes of the show. I am completely ignoring Jonathan's second wife and his cheating.

I don't own photos or characters. Divider from @firefly-graphics

Ava’s head is lying on your stomach. You’re lying on your back, your head in Jonathan’s lap. He’s against the headboard, trying to find the courage in himself to fully wake up Ava, and break your drowsy state. This is no way for the three of you to sleep tonight, there’s not even a pillow behind his back, and you’re surely going to freeze, just in a pair of shorts and one of his t-shirts. 

You’re actually matching with him, pulling off the plain grey cotton better than he ever could. His book is long forgotten to the side, the sun having set a few minutes ago, all his will to get any more reading done that evening lost to the wind. There was a movie playing on his laptop, one that you’d set up for Ava. A movie Jonathan had paused when he saw his daughter asleep, your eyes hazy and struggling to stay open. 

The lights had remained on, a half-hope of his that he’d finish his chapter and tuck his daughter into bed before drifting off himself in your arms. He knows now that that was a foolish hope. There’s no sight prettier than the softness of you in his arms, his daughter in yours, both of you in his. He feels strong, indestructible. Wants to take the two of you and let no harm ever come to you again, be it at the expense of his own safety. There’s a bubbling need for him to protect. Feral and unknown. You’d scoff at him if he ever told you this, tell him that his old man is showing and they don’t do things like that anymore, but he wants to think it all the same. 

He lets his fingers follow your hairline, down to the curve of your jaw. The movements make you catch his eye and he’s filled with instant regret for even drawing a drop of your attention towards him like this. 

You smile at him and let your eyes droop to half-shut again 

Unlike Mira, who’d come into his life like a twenty-year hurricane, and left just as abruptly, you come into his life like you’d always been there. In many ways you’d had. Had been introduced as the daughter of his PhD supervisor, graduating with your Bachelor’s the same week he had stuttered his way through and promptly threw up after his field of study exam. 

He wants to say you came into his life like a flower, but it feels too fickle, too unlasting. Instead, he thinks, you grew like a rose bush for him. When you had blossomed out for him in love, he knew, that this wasn’t a storm he had to ride out, one that would inevitably end for better or for worse, but that with a little care, a little attention and love, your adoration for him, your rose bush would be a permanent fixture in his life. 

Your seed had taken root quietly. For many years, as he drifts in and out of your life, helping you secure a position with a supervisor for a graduate degree, visiting your mother every once in a while, smiling at you, when you shyly bring in a tray of coffee cups and sit quietly all through the afternoons he’s spent in your living room, you furrow your way into his chest. 

Though you don’t make a sound, barely talk to him for the first year of his acquaintance with you, you’re working. Growing a myriad of roots, a complex maze that only you alone can make your way through. You do it so subtly, like the gentle flutter of your eyelashes. Always there but never noticed. 

By the time you burst up in a little sprout, a promise of what is to come, it’s too late for Jonathan to weed you out. You’ve reached deep inside his chest and with your roots, you tug at heartstrings he didn’t know he had. You’re walking across the stage to receive your degree, when he notices you for you. Feels his heart quiver in a concerning way, thinks he’s hallucinated hearing your name called out, booming over the cathedral where the ceremony is held. But you’re very real. There’s an earthy, grounded freshness to you, an aura hanging around your body that Jonathan hadn’t noticed until then. It draws him in, leaves him thirsty for more as he hungrily drinks the sight of you, as your traditional academic robes billow with every step. 

When you were graduating, he was steps away from becoming an instructor, his post-doc in its final stages. Tenure was almost on the tip of his tongue, if he kept his contacts, if his cards were played right. He just had to get to and then through associate professorship. Ava had just arrived, had disrupted his mind and his sleep schedule, had taken over the entire house with a seemingly never-ending load of laundry filled with baby onesies, toys scattered across the living room, a milk bottle always drying alongside all the rest of their dishes.

Needless to say, there was a lot on his plate. He shouldn’t have even been at the ceremony that day had it not been for the promise of the cocktail hour afterwards. But he was and his relationship with you changes irredeemably.

You don’t belong in his life, really. You’re…nobody to him, at least, you should be. The daughter of a mentor who supported him during one of the hardest periods of his life. The daughter of a mentor whom he gave a favour to and put in a good word with the department head, who had sat in on his defence. Jonathan really could just chalk you up to an acquaintance, had it not been for the way your seedling had made its home in his chest. 

So, he runs to the campus floral shop, booming with business and buys you a mismatched bunch of flowers from the ones left over. He taps your shoulder and pulls you, beaming, away from all your friends. Your mother, he knows, is away in Europe at a conference, will be back next week and will celebrate privately with you. He’s tongue-tied as he congratulates you, his fingers have turned into knots as he struggles to hand you the flowers. 

As a child you’ve probably been to so many of these you were most likely bored out of your mind through the commencement ceremony. Still, Jonathan thinks you deserve flowers. Knows that you’re fond of brushing past the big events of your life as if they were just another day, a day not worth noting in the album of your life as your eyes are already drifting on towards new adventures. He tries that day, to make you slow down, to breathe deeper, smile wider, take in the world around you without any responsibilities on your shoulders. 

He also gives you his number, tells you to stay in touch and let him know if you ever decide to return to the dark world of academia. You laugh and give him a mysterious smile, not a yes or no. You don’t let him dwell too long on your smile, on the sudden glint in your eyes, before you ask him how Ava is doing, where her mother’s health is at, post-partum. 

At the end, right before you’re pulled away again, he asks you for a hug and he’s oddly sentimental about the whole thing. It’s not like you were a child when he met you, but he’s seen you grow, has seen you take on the challenges of graduate school head-on and come out triumphant at the end of each one, if a little bruised or scarred. So, it does feel like the end of an era. The end of his time as a student, and a gaping, wild unknown territory of teaching, research, supervision in store for him. 

Jonathan knows better than to ask you what you plan to do with the fancy piece of paper in your hands. Knows you must be sick of the question by now and that today was one of those rare days that was supposed to be reserved for only the present, the breaths between minutes. 

He’s drawn out of his thoughts when he sees your eyes blink slowly, as if there’s molasses dripping from your eyelashes, drying stickily. You glance down at Ava, and he sees you brush the hair away from her face gently, tucking it behind her ear, and placing your hand over her eyes, so the frown can fade away from her otherwise smooth skin.

Reaching over, he dims the lights, and it feels like the room is lit by candles only. 

Really, it’s just electricity, probably some horribly inefficient light bulbs that were killing baby pandas all over the world. He knows you’d like to light candles instead, knows you prefer natural light, and nice, comforting smells. When he had hugged you that day at graduation, you smelled like the citrus candle at the grocery market. 

You don’t smell like it anymore though. Because you’d given up candles for him. For his inflamed, damaged lungs that struggled with the stale air of his favourite lecture hall. The one with the high ceiling windows, the seemingly never ending amount of chalk close to the blackboard, the projector always working. 

Over the years, as he secures tenure and Ava grows up, your sprout grows, fresh green branches hardening into delicate twigs, jagged edges of leaves springing up in every available corner. But there are no flower buds yet.

You meet him for coffee, rant about the job market to him, appalled at how you could have two, top-notch degrees, stellar references, and several first-author publications, and still not manage to land an interview. He listens, hums and shows his support, tries to rack his mind for any of his friends who took a master-out and went into industry instead who could maybe line something up for you. 

He takes you to museums and art galleries, to street food stalls afterwards and buys you greasy foods that don’t rest well with his stomach. Invites you over for dinner, watches fondly as you talk with his wife, play with his daughter. Comes to your apartment in turn, and meets your mismatched group of friends that you love fiercely and proudly. Considers himself blessed that he’s considered part of them, part of the people you deem worthy of your attention, your time, your cooking and wine. 

His marriage becomes strained. He texts you more, sets up coffee, lunches and walks in the park with you more and more. Your chatter, your fresh, still hopeful outlook on life breathes air into his lungs, new life into his soul. He finds he can forget the growing pit in his stomach when he’s with you, the terrifying fear that if things don’t work out with Mira, if they don’t figure out how to heal, leaving Mira and being left by her is going to tear him to bits. 

Instead, he laughs until he has to reach for his inhaler at your eerily accurate impressions of your shared acquaintances at the university. He tries new food with you and watches foreign films that are poorly translated through the subtitles. Exchanges books and gets into heated arguments, pushes you to use and maintain the skills you learned while writing your thesis as he vehemently stands his ground on the other side of the debate. 

Six months after you graduate, you secure a job, and a well-paying salary, with a workweek that ends Friday evening, no ifs ands buts or doubts about it. Of course you would. Jonathan had no doubt about it. And if he’s honest with himself, on a Saturday evening cooped up in his office with a stack of essays to grade, he’s jealous of you. 

The day he takes you to see that new space documentary at the movies, he gets a taste of a line you’ve never crossed with him. A line you’ve surely crossed with all your friends, except him. He notices that day that you’ve always kept him at an arm’s length away, that your friendship with him was different than his friendship with you. 

And, fuck, does it hurt, does he hate how it makes his stomach twist. 

Jonathan had just juggled the popcorn and the tickets, handing them over to the boy to be ripped when he felt you stall, stiffening up beside him. You don’t mention anything and he doesn’t ask. Just like how he never mentions Mira anymore and you never ask. You keep your conversation, your questions and attention, for little Ava. 

But, instead of following him to the last door on the right, you stop at the third door to your left. You tell him you want to watch a movie instead, a cheap thing, with a cheap budget and mediocre acting at best. He wants to say that? You sure? But your eyes are glinting and he doesn’t want to prod. 

Of course, the film is, objectively, terrible. You’re the only ones in the theatre so it doesn’t matter if he pokes fun, mocks the acting, goes discretely silent at the sex scene that really, shows too much. He’s grateful that you don’t notice how he blushes, how he wants to melt into a literal puddle on the floor. You’d surely think he’s an old fart, if it seems like he can’t handle a little full frontal nudity. 

But you’re too astute of an observator, can pick up on the cues of his body better than he can, and you nudge him and with a little flick of your head, let him know that it’s ok to leave. 

You notice how he blushed, how he wanted to melt into a literal puddle on the floor. You don’t care though. You don’t think he’s an old fart, and instead, walk behind him and throw popcorn at the back of his head until he looks at you with a glare. 

That’s when it happens. 

He hears your name called across the theatre, a rush of people piling out of one of the doors. 

Mile-wide grin, square-set shoulders and clean-shaven. The man waves you down, and Jonathan doesn’t know where he wants to look at that moment. He follows behind you, the greasy bag of his popcorn brushing against the side of his pants and surely leaving stains behind. 

This is Jonathan. He remembers you saying, turning towards him with a smile that has the promise of an apology behind it. Jonathan reaches forward and gives the so far unidentified man a handshake, maybe a little firmer than necessary. A family friend, we go way back. 

Awkward would be one way to describe the way you talk with your ex. At least from your perspective, it really is awkward. Gauche, maladroit. It makes his skin crawl to see the way you look at him, the way you dig your nails into your palm. You hand over sugary-sweet smiles that Jonathan can see right through. It’s the synthetic sweetness of maraschino cherries, the taste of the fruit underneath, subtle and addicting, drowned out through chemicals and fructose corn syrup. High in calories, low in nutrients. 

But Mr. Patagonia jacket doesn’t seem to mind this, thinks that the encounter has gone wonderfully, since he confirms with you if you still have his number and asks you to text him, for coffee or dinner sometime. 

It hits Jonathan then, that the nauseating feeling crawling up his throat isn’t the popcorn. 

You’ve never talked to him about this stuff. People with whom you wanted to be closer to than just friends, with whom you’ve wanted to cross that line with. It occurs to him that never, not once, have you ever shut down plans with him because you had a date. It was always that there was something at work, something at home, you were just too tired. 

He’s not sure why it bothers him so much. You’re allowed to dictate your relationship with him, and matters of the hearts are intensely private affairs, not to be divulged with just anyone. So, it shouldn’t bother him. Surely, he doesn’t have the right to demand you divulge your love life to him, and he’s not going to even attempt to go there. 

But, though he tells himself to calm the fuck down, he’s still bothered. Bothered by the fact that he’s never even met one of your partners. Ever. Not in passing, not in the evenings he’s spent at your house and the ones you’ve spent at his. You’ve always opened the door by yourself, grinning wide as you welcome him inside, and in turn, you’ve always come alone, with a bottle of wine. 

Sorry about that. My ex. 

Jonathan, still deep in thought, hums and muses that he seemed like a nice guy. He says it only out of politeness. He didn’t care for the guy the minute he gestured over for you to come over and didn’t tell you to stay put so he could come towards the two of you. 

His eyes fall on you as he watches for a reaction to his words. Nothing. You don’t twitch an eyebrow or bat a lash. You make a low noise at the back of your throat and say that when he wants to be, he can be a nice guy. 

“Hey, you,” your voice is raspy, quiet with the fear of waking up the girl curled into your body. It draws him out of his thoughts and makes him acutely aware that he’s been staring at the wall ahead of him with a horrible kink in his neck. He takes a deep breath and straightens up, his back cracking. 

He peers down and it feels like he’s looking at two stars. “We can’t sleep like this,” he says just as quietly as you. All the other girls never loved Ava as much as you did, some didn’t even like her at all, had fled at the break of dawn from his bed when they saw the toys strewn across the living room. It makes his heart warm to see the way she’s fallen asleep on you now, how much she must trust you. “Ava’s gotta get to bed.” 

You’re going to ask for five more minutes, and Jonathan already knows he’s going to give you ten. 

“Five more minutes?” Your free hand comes to hold his, and you bend your head awkwardly to give Ava a kiss. “She’s so warm. Wanna stay like this forever.” 

It was about six months after he finalised the divorce that Jonathan dared something beyond the friendly touches he normally gave you. In turn, you’d sit closer beside him when you were on his couch, pressed the length of your thigh against his and made his heart beat two times faster. Three months later, he kisses you for the first time. 

He’s sitting on the floor with you in your apartment, hours into what should have been just one round of Dutch Blitz, when it happens. You’re glowing, triumphant and content with the rush of your latest win, when Jonathan realises that the only thing he wants in that moment is to feel your lips against his. Realises that he hasn’t felt a need this strong ever in his life. 

He murmurs your name, catches your attention from the glass of wine you’re topping up for him, and you smile and give him a wink. 

He pushes the cards between the two of you to the side and stands up on his knees, though they protest in old age. He’s mirroring the way you are now, and his hand comes to wrap around your waist, something he’s never done before, not like this. Not with the lights dimmed, soft music in the background and his heart beating the way it is. He hears the faint clink of the wine bottle hitting the glass tabletop, as your eyes fall on him and everything drowns out except for you. 

It feels like he’s moving purely on instinct, not an ounce of logic is behind his actions. All his thoughts are you. The aching, soul-burning desire he has for you to be his. You’ve drawn closer to him, and right now you’re looking up at him through your eyelashes. He asks you if it would be alright if he kissed you, if it would be something you liked. 

You brush the tip of your nose against his, repeating the action with your lips. Tantalisingly, as if daring him to do it, you tell him, demand him to kiss you. And he does. His lungs burn and he knows that this is it for him. That the feelings he holds for you are beyond love and adoration. They’re beyond words. They existed at the beginning of the universe, at the beginning of time. 

Jonathan, in that moment, feels both the chest-crushing pressure of nothingness of before the universe, and the sudden breath in, the moment where nothing changes into now, the beginning of time and life itself, all in your arms. His knees are killing him, and he thinks he’s a little hazy-headed from the alcohol, but nothing’s ever felt this right as it does now. 

He doesn’t think that he’s indestructible, that the world can bring him any harm. He is the world, the rivers and mountains, galaxies and stars and atoms and everything in between. He breathes life into beings and takes it away in the blink of his eye, in the soft caress of your hands against his neck. 

Being in your arms, holding you like he is now, is a solace, a safe haven for him from which he never wants to stray from. His Garden of Eden, his paradise on Earth, his home. A home that he’ll never have the temptation of running from. Why would he? 

Your rose bush blooms for him at that moment, takes his breath away. The seemingly inconspicuous, leafy bush, neither fruit tree nor weed, blossoms into love. If it was possible to ignore the space you had taken up in his body, it’s impossible now. He can’t see unless he’s looking at you, the flower you’ve grown into under the care of his hand, his friendship, his life. He knows that nothing else in his life will be worth as much as you are. 

He’s stumbled upon an underwater cave of riches, of luxuries never seen before on land, and instead of ripping them from their home, into harsh light and to be battered over by greedy hands, he’ll make his home here. Will let the saltwater flow into his lungs, give his last breath away to the ocean, and never leave again. 

In short, Jonathan realises that he loves you, that he’s loved you for some time now, and will never love anyone else other than you. 

He’s not sure how to tell you all this. The sudden tornado of feelings you cause in his chest. So, instead, he pulls away, breathless, only to push his forehead against yours, to let his hands underneath your shirt and trace the knuckles of your spinal cord. 

Kissing you wasn't an impulse at all. He wasn’t acting to fulfil a need, no matter how burning or life-threatening. Kissing you was pure logical decision-making. It was the next rational step in his relationship with you. It was like the exhale of his lungs after the inhale, the inhale to follow after the exhale. There was no second-guessing, no impulsive heat-of-the-moment movements, breathing was never like that, and kissing you would never be like that either.

You tell him, eyes glowing and filled with love, that you did like it, how he kissed you, and wouldn’t mind it if he did it again sometime. 

He sits back, and pulls you with him into his arms. His back comes to rest at the edge of the loveseat behind him, his legs fall to either side of your body as his arms wrap around your shoulders. 

He’s never letting you go. 

“Ok, baby,” his hand comes to soothe over the side of your head. It’s been fifteen minutes and it’s high time that everyone gets to bed. “Honey, I’m going to take Ava to bed, alright?” Your eyes are fluttering, and he takes the pillow closest to him and prepares it right beside his leg. As he slips out from underneath you, you barely feel it, as your head falls onto the pillow seconds later. 

He walks around and presses a kiss to his daughter’s temple before he gathers her in his arms. She’s half-awake, her voice slurred and dripping with sleep. When he asks her if she’s brushed her teeth, she tells him yes, that you helped her to do so, before the movie. 

Jonathan falls a little more in love with you at that moment. For the common sense you had, for the way you could perceive what would happen once the three of you were cuddled up in bed, for the care you extend to his daughter as if she were your own. 

Once Ava’s tucked in, sung to, kissed and loved, her night light turned on, he comes back to your shared room. He manages to catch you coming out of the bathroom, little flecks of water darkening the grey of your shirt. 

“Sorry,” he feels shy with you suddenly, and shoves his hands into his pockets like a little bird tucking its head underneath its wing. You smile at him and walk towards him, your arms fall around his waist and smile up at him. He loves you. 

“For what?” You press your nose against the side of his neck, briefly bite his skin, but change your mind halfway through and kiss over the spot instead. 

He shrugs, “Waking you up.”

“It’s ok,” your hands come to the nape of his neck and you pull him down towards you. Your lips are breaths away from his. “I’ll thank you in the morning when I don’t have a kink in my back.” 

The next rational decision is to kiss you. The world wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t. It took Jonathan a while to get used to the feelings that would rush through him when he kissed you. At first, he naively thought that they would stop after a while. Now, two years after that kiss, he still feels it, just as intense, just as life-changing as the first time. The only thing that’s changed now is that he knows that he has to prepare for them. Ground his feet, take in a deep breath, so he’s not as thrown off as he was that night. 

Now, he pulls your leg to rest on the side of his hip, his other hand comes and rests on your upper thigh. You jump into his arms and he walks you over towards the bed, lays you down and hovers over you, his weight resting on his forearms right beside his head. 

Jonathan loves you. 

“I love you,” you murmur, threading your hands through his hair. 

Jonathan smiles. 

So, what's the verdict? More Jonathan Levy?

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought of it, it means the world to me! Masterlist here.

Everything tags: @whats-belay

Taglists are open!

OSCAR ISAAC 2023 | SAG-AFTRA and WGA Strike Picket Line, New York City (September 14)

the cuntery of it all

Make It Worth It

Pairing: Moonknight trio x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: So many okay; body worship, HEAVY praise, multiple orgasms, oral (f,m receiving) unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it <3), creampie, hella petnames, fingering, kinda marking too, oh and cockwarming, a lil bit of a jealousy thing going, vague mentions of injuries

Genre: fluff & smut

Summary: The idea of you going on a date makes your friend confess feelings you didn't know they had

***

Meeting Marc Spector was something you'd consider a total fluke. A mishap with his suit had him limping down the street hardly able to hold himself up. Against... probably your better judgment, you brought him to your apartment- patched him up, got him some food, and let him crash on your couch. He was gone before you woke up in the morning and you honestly expected never to see him again. A couple of weeks later though he popped by to say thank you and introduce himself, you told him he could stop by if he needed help again. You didn't think he'd take you up on the offer but you were fast friends as you became his only confidante. Apparently, the vigilante life is not conducive to friendships, especially when you share your life with another; Steven Grant.

It was a while before Marc told you about Steven and you liked to call him Marc's best kept secret, considering Steven doesn't even know about it. It took even longer for you to meet Steven. Another mishap with Marc's suit had him frantically banging on your balcony door one night. You pulled open the door and he'd practically fallen into your apartment.

"Y/n! Hey!" He groaned.

"Jeez! I thought that stupid bird was meant to protect you Marc!" You crossed your arms.

"Help now, be mad later. Oh! And if I wake up and I'm not me, lie." He barely got the last bit out before he practically fell on you.

"Heavens above you still haven't told him the truth?" You groaned technically to yourself as you shoved a now unconscious Marc onto your couch. Even with him passed out you'd gotten more than enough practice patching him up that you had it so down that you were quick and efficient. He was out for quite some time afterwards, you even made dinner before he suddenly startled awake.

"Who are you? Where am I? What are you doing here?" The unfamiliar British accent immediately told you that night that Steven had woken up instead of Marc.

"Um- this is my apartment so that's where you are, I live here so that's what I'm doing here and my name is y/n. You're Steven right?"

"How did you know my name?" He'd looked at you suspiciously.

"I- I looked at your wallet for ID?" He does have his wallet on him so that lie was totally believable.

"Well why am I here?" 

That was the question you were dreading from the moment Marc passed out on you.

"You were hurt so I brought you here."

"Hurt? Hurt how?"

"I- I didn't see it happen. You were hurt when I got to you." You shrugged. It wasn't technically a lie. You didn't see Marc get hurt. The answer seemed to satisfy Steven at the time but maintaining separate friendships with Marc and Steven wasn't something you wanted to keep up long term. Hence, with some gentle nudging, Marc eventually revealed himself to Steven and you ended up having to help the duo navigate the new dynamic.

However, where you thought Steven was Marc's best kept secret; a new player had him beaten. A secret so well kept Marc didn't even know until after you did. And his name was Jake Lockley. Meeting him had actually happened intentionally on his end. Apparently tired of watching the back and forth between you and his alters he stepped in to meet you himself. You'll admit you and Marc toed the line pretty much since you met, flirting with each other but not obvious enough to change your dynamic, and once Steven got comfortable with you it was only too fun to tease him. So in came Jake; the hidden protector, questioning you and ultimately deciding you were safe for them to be around. He even trusted you enough to facilitate his introduction to the other two. Now you've got the whole trio you can call friends and they often tell you how instrumental they consider you in maintaining stability in their shared life. You really enjoy having them around most of the time even with how chaotic it can be covering for, patching up, and keeping track of their system.

Tonight, while you're finishing your makeup for a date, you hear a knock from the living room. You're not expecting anyone right now so when you leave your room and find Moonknight on your balcony you're not exactly surprised. You open the door and the suit disappears as he walks into your apartment.

"What're you all dressed up for?" Marc asks taking in your outfit.

"Hello to you too Marc." You roll your eyes.

"Hello. What're you all dressed up for?"

"I have a date tonight." You say with a shrug heading back to your room knowing Marc will follow you.

"A date? What date? You didn't tell me about any date."

"I don't have to tell you about dates."

"Why wouldn't you tell me though?"

"It's a first date Marc I'm not getting married. You're making it a much bigger deal than it is."

"It is a huge deal. You haven't been on a date since we met!"

"Thank you for pointing out that Marc yes this is my first date in a while. Did you come here for a reason? Doesn't that bird of yours have errands for you?"

"I always come here when I'm done with Khonshu's stuff. This is why it's a big deal you didn't tell me about this date. It throws off our routine!"

"Marc you coming here to eat my food after running around for skelo-bird is not set in stone."

"It is set in stone. If it wasn't we wouldn't do it every time."

"Well it's still early, so when I finish my date I'll text you and you can come back over and your routine will be fine."

"That's not the same."

"I dunno what to tell you sweetie, I have to leave, I'm meeting this guy in like 10 minutes."

"Don't go."

"Marc!"

"Come ooon I'm way more fun than whoever this random guy is anyway."

"You don't even know him."

"Neither do you. So stay."

"Let me get this straight, you want me to cancel my first date in over a year because it's more important that we watch a movie while you eat leftovers? Call me crazy but I'd personally rank those a little differently."

"I want you to cancel your first date in over a year because I don't want you to go on a date."

"Okay I know we're close but I feel like that's crossing a line a little bit. That's not really up to you."

"Princessa, are you intentionally misunderstanding him?" Jake's sudden appearance only further confuses you.

"No Jake. I genuinely have no idea what the deal is here and at this rate, I'm going to be late so one of you better start talking straight."

"He's jealous. He doesn't want you going on a date with anyone that's not... us, really. None of us do."

"All of this is about a crush? Bring Marc back out here." You roll your eyes.

"Look I did not send Jake out here to speak for me!"

"You are such a dunce." You smack his chest lightly.

"What?!"

"You don't want me to go on this date because you three like me and you couldn't just say that?"

"I dunno I guess I just didn't want to risk what we've already got, as friends." He says sheepishly.

"Say the words."

"What?"

"Say exactly why you don't want me going on this date and I'll cancel."

"I don't want you to go on this date because I have feelings for you. Stay home. I can make it worth it in any way you ask."

"Any way that I ask?"

"I'll worship you like a god if you want me to."

"Won't that make that silly old bird of yours a little jealous?"

"Let him be if he is. All that matters is you not going on this date and me showing you my gratitude."

"Alright, I'll call and cancel the date."

"Don't bother. Who cares if he gets ghosted?"

"First of all, I'm nice so I care; secondly that's the shit that gets women stalked."

"Oh please, as if he'd ever be able to hurt you with us around." Marc scoffs.

"Okay, bodyguard. The call will take less than two minutes and you'll have my attention the rest of the night." You say grabbing your phone and stepping into the living room. You notice Marc following you as you call your date.

"Hello?" 

"Lewis! Hi, I'm sorry to do this so last minute but something has come up and I'm not going to be able to make it to dinner."

"Oh. Is everything alright? Do you need anything?"

"Uh- thanks but I'll be fine! I just gotta take care of a thing and I didn't wanna leave you sitting there waiting."

"Yeah no, thanks for letting me know. We can reschedule."

"Sure! Soon as I get a handle on things I'll reach out to reschedule." You say, ignoring the look Marc gives you.

"Alright no problem. Good luck with your thing." Lewis says before hanging up.

"You aren't actually rescheduling with him, are you?" Marc asks you.

"Probably not." You shrug.

"Probably?!"

"I already canceled the date for you once."

"You making this hard for me on purpose sweetheart?"

"Not at all. Just not sure how things are gonna go." You smile.

"How things are gonna go? I'm gonna show you that canceling that silly date was the right idea and that you don't need anyone other than us."

"Us? Steven and Jake are in on this too?"

"Of course they are."

"Well, that's a big promise Marc, how do you plan to show me all of that?"

"I'm going to start by kissing you. Is that okay?" Marc asks, pulling you towards him with an arm around your waist.

"Absolutely." You say draping your arms over his shoulder. Marc's free hand comes up behind your head as he kisses you hard. You gasp against his lips and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Without warning, Marc lifts you into his arms and easily carries you back to your room, not even phased when you pull away from the kiss to squeal. He tosses you onto your bed and climbs over you with a smile.

"You have no idea how crazy we are about you." Marc breathes out, trailing kisses down to your neck.

"Crazy about me? Is that right?" You ask, a moan punctuating your question as Marc latches onto a particularly sensitive spot to turn purple.

"Completely." He says softly, staring at you so intently you pull him towards you for another kiss to escape the look in his eyes. Marc pulls away to tug your already bunched up dress over your head, leaving you in your bra and panties as he looks you over. "Fucking hell you're even more gorgeous than I could've imagined." Marc groans.

"You spend a lot of time thinking about me naked darling?" You can't help but chuckle at the thought as you take the moment of silence on his end to pull his shirt over his head and drag your nails down his chest appreciatively.

"I plead the fifth." Marc groans and moves to litter your chest in more patches of red and purple as he reaches under you to unhook your bra. His hands cover your breasts as soon as they're free, palms kneading the flesh while fingers toy with nipples. The sudden onslaught of stimulation has little whimpers falling from your lips that Marc decides he can't get enough of. He pulls one of your nipples between his lips, sucking, nipping, and tonguing at it to test your reactions, discovering all the sounds you make from this alone. "You make such cute little noises." He chuckles switching from one nipple to the other, pulling all the same sounds from you. Eventually, Marc trails his kisses down your stomach, soft and slow, like he has all the time in the world. "So pretty." He whispers. He pulls your panties down your legs, kissing your thighs on the way down and back up. "I'm so going to enjoy this." Marc says before burying his head between your legs. He licks a hard stripe between your folds that makes you moan and his arms wrap around your thighs before you can even squirm. Marc's tongue swirls around your clit as he watches you, testing what pulls the best reaction from you. When a certain rhythm has your fingers tugging at his hair he settles into it, intent on making you cum like that. Whimpers and cries fall from your lips in quick succession as he sucks and laps at your sensitive bundle of nerves. You writhe and grind against him, although his grip on your thighs restricts your movement as he works you quickly towards an orgasm.

"Holy fuck Marc!" You groan, throwing your head back and pulling almost too hard at his curls but the man between your legs only lets out a pleased growl at the action. "Fuck I'm close." You pant out and Marc wraps his lips securely around your clit, sucking harshly until your legs tense and your orgasm crashes into you with a silent scream. Marc doesn't even let you fully ride out the high before his fingers slide into your opening. He curls the two digits just right and you can feel the pull in your abdomen when he brushes the spot inside you. Your back arches into him as he works you open with his fingers, his tongue still lapping at your clit, determined to pull another orgasm from you. Your second orgasm hits you faster than the first your entire body twitching while you let out the prettiest whine Marc's ever heard.

"My goodness." Although the voice is muted in your pleasure fogged brain, you don't miss the accent in his words.

"Steven?!" You blink at him, chest still heaving slightly as you try to catch your breath. His eyes are as wide as saucers as he takes in the situation he's just been thrown into.

"Hi. I can't imagine Marc did this on purpose I-" Steven's words trail as his head snaps to the mirror hanging on your closet door. "He did this on purpose." Steven looks at you and then back at the mirror. "Why would you do that Marc?!" You pull his gaze back to you by grabbing his chin,

"Steven, calm down." You say.

"Clearly I've missed a lot because how did you two even end up like this?" Steven asks and your giggle at his confusion quickly turns into a whimper when the action makes you distinctly aware of his fingers still buried inside you. "My god, help me." Steven breathes out at the sound from your lips. "If this was your act of gratitude why am I here?!" Steven asks to the mirror and you suppose Marc told him how you, in his words, ended up like this. Steven makes a face at whatever Marc says next and then turns to you with a look you can only describe as curious. Before you can question it, his fingers inside you move tentatively, making you moan. He's less sure of himself than Marc had been but he watches intently as he slowly strokes your inner walls, enjoying the way you react to him. "You're absolutely breathtaking."

"And you, are simply adorable." You say bringing him down to kiss him. Steven is obviously much more nervous than Marc was and you take the lead in the kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips as you explore his mouth with your tongue. It seems your reactions feed his confidence as his fingers gain speed the longer you kiss him and soon you're moaning too much to actually do it properly.

"I love the sounds you make." Steven sighs. You pull his fingers from you before he can make you cum again and he pouts at you until you guide the fingers between your lips. You suck them clean, enjoying the way Steven takes a shaky breath at the action. You use one hand to undo his jeans and pull them down his legs, pulling his fingers out of his mouth for him to get up and shove them the rest of the way down with his boxers. You lean forward and take Steven into your mouth, swallowing him down as far as you can.

"Oh god." Steven groans and his eyes roll as he tosses his head back. You bob your head up and down his length, swirling your tongue as you go, enjoying the way he moans and shivers.

"I love the sounds you make too darling." You hum dragging your tongue along the vein that runs the underside length of his dick. Steven hisses and you wrap your lips around him again.

"Holy hell you're... really good at this." Steven's praise is breathy and stuttery. You take him all the way into your mouth, feeling him in the back of your throat. Rather suddenly, you feel his fingers in your hair tugging you off of him.

"Now, it was my understanding that we were meant to be showing you gratitude." Your ears perk up hearing the accent change.

"Jake, yeah so I've been told." You hum.

"And yet here you are pleasing Steven instead of him worshiping you." Jake's thumb rubs along your bottom lip.

"Steven is just so much fun to tease." You smile.

"Tease him later princessa, tonight is about you. How lucky we are to have you in our life. How much of an honor it is to kiss you, to touch you, to please you." Jake intentionally speaks slowly, staring at you intently.

"You are... very good with words." You muse.

"Have our actions not supported them?"

"Marc definitely, and Steven- before I got my hands on him, yes. You however haven't done anything but talk." You smirk at him.

"Tell me what you want from me and it's yours. Anything you ask." Jake says.

"In other circumstances that would be... a dangerous promise to make. But tonight, I just want you inside me. I want you to make me cum on your dick."

"With pleasure." Jake pushes you onto your back and tugs your legs to pull you towards him. He wastes no time lining himself up with your entrance and thrusting into you. Your back immediately arches at the fullness of Jake bottoming out and you can't help but moan. "Fuck you're so wet." He groans dropping his head to your shoulder for a moment. Jake sets a rhythm of sharp thrusts, deep but quick.

"Sh-shit Jake! Feels so good." You whine, dragging your nails down his back. He hisses at the sting and his thrusts pick up speed.

"God y/n you're perfect. So gorgeous. Taking this dick like you were made for us." Jake huffs out. One of his hands reaches between your bodies, finding your clit with ease. You squirm against his ministrations moaning as he drives into you repeatedly. "That's it princessa, moan for me, sounds so nice." He grits out, rubbing circles against your bundle of nerves. You grind against him, trying to bring your orgasm on quicker. "Cum for me sweetheart, let me feel you let go around me. Please mi vida." Jake sweetly kisses you as he practically begs for your orgasm and a few thrusts later you're falling over the edge, nails digging into his back as he watches the way pleasure washes over your face. Once your eyes slowly peel open, Jake tightens his grip on your hips and changes the pace of his thrusts, slowing down now.

"You're gonna cum inside me aren't you Jake?" You ask with a pout specifically to get what you want.

"Mierda." Jake's eyes close for a moment. "Is that what you want princessa?"

"Yes Jake, please."

"I told you I'd give you whatever you ask me for." Jake shifts slightly before picking up the pace of his thrusts, they're sloppier now as he focuses on chasing his own release. "I'll pump you so fucking full, you'll be leaking. Fuck you'll look even prettier dripping like that."

"Please Jake, give it to me. Fill me up baby." You whine, grinding against him. His hips stutter and stop buried inside you and you the warmth of his orgasm inside you makes you moan. Before Jake can twist to lay beside you, you pull him onto you comfortable with the weight of him on you. "Don't move yet, let's just- lay like this for a bit, please." You say.

"Thank fuck you didn't go on that stupid date." Jake mutters and you giggle a little.

"Thank fuck you said something or I would've."

"Well, did we make it worth the stay?" "I'd say so." "Good. After a nap you can discuss the details, probably with Steven, he'll have the most to say." Jake mumbles into your neck.

"I'll have to talk to each of you ya know." You say.

"Sure but start with him. All I have to say is I think you're perfect, and we'd be lucky if you date us."

"You're not the only lucky ones." You say kissing the side of his face. Yeah. It might have been by pure chance that you crossed paths with Marc over a year ago but you're glad the rest of your decisions landed you here. Even if it's not the trajectory you saw that first interaction leading to, definitely worth it.

***

summary: steven ‘accidently’ messages you after you’ve broken up.

pairings: ex! steven grant x ex! reader, allusions to ex! marc and ex! jake as well

warnings: literally just angst :( and very minimal cussing

word count: 870 words

a/n: sooo this is the first small part of a series based on ex! moon boys. will have everything from angst, angst and angst, to pining, forced close proximity and hopefully fluff!!! enjoy :) similar fic here (could be considered another part ig)

Surely it was an accident.

The message shone on your screen, illuminating a small portion of your dark room that the sun had not yet reached, eyes squinting with the unwelcoming light. You had blinked once, twice, harshly, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes to ensure this wasn’t a cruel trick your mind was playing.

But it was still there.

Hi.

The message was so simple, a single word. But your heart was pounding, and your mouth was dry. You could imagine him saying it. Could still feel the warm embrace of his breath against the top of your head as he whispered the word, and you knew you were home.

Steven had messaged you. But why?

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