#Club Jake Lockley

[pimosworld]

So Blue

Club Blue Jones x f!Reader Jake Lockley x f!Reader

This is a fic based on this post by @thedarkcoven and @melodygatesauthor

Summary- Jake comes to his cousin Blue’s aide in a time of need but finds something he needs much more.

CW-NSFW,18+ MDNI,Explicit, dub con,non con, Blue owns a Brothel and reader is a sex worker. Degrading comments,possessive Blue,possessive Jake, hints of yandere Jake, cursing, kissing, angst, innocence kink,fingering,oral sex female receiving, unprotected piv,anal,anal cream pie,dacryphilia,cum eating, orgasm denial,kidnapping.A hint of Steven and Marc if you squint.

WC-3k

A/N-Please do not read if this is not for you, this is a safe space to explore things outside of the normal world. If I forgot any tag warnings feel free to comment.

Not beta read

Your hands are shaking as you make your way down the hall to Blue’s office. You were only called into the office for two reasons, when Blue was feeling possessive and needed to let off some steam. He would bend you over his desk for what felt like hours, ramming his thick cock into you. Your screams of pleasure would echo down the hall for all his men to hear. 

  The other reason which usually resulted in the same outcome was that you’re in trouble. Each time brought a flutter of nerves and excitement, your brain can’t decide how to feel about Blue. He was so wrong and fucked up in so many ways, yet he could be so sweet when he wanted to. Keeping you right where he wanted, in limbo with your own body. 

  You stand in front of the door taking slow deep breaths as you smooth your hands down your barely there skirt and adjust your tie front crop top. Blue made you wear these clothes if you could call them that. You slowly open the door and you’re hit with a strong musky scent, like Blue’s but there’s something different there. You see the back of a man’s head seated in front of Blue’s desk, your heart slams in your chest at the thought of interrupting a meeting.

  So stupid you should have knocked 

  You’re turning on your heel faster than you can register. 

  “Where are you going sweetheart.” His voice stops you in your tracks and you turn to see Blue uncharacteristically smiling at you. He motions come here with his fingers and you’re at his side in an instant. He places a firm hand on the small of your back as he faces you towards the man in the chair. Your breath catches in your throat as you're met with venomous eyes and a grim expression. He’s staring at you but he’s looking at your eyes, something most men don’t do.

  You can smell it now the difference it’s fresh leather, his jacket and gloves in pristine condition. He definitely cares about his appearance, it seems just as much as Blue. Something about him was so familiar and you don’t even notice how long you’ve been staring at each other until a tight squeeze on your hip brings you back. 

  “This is my cousin Jake, he’s gonna be here for a few days to keep an eye on some things for me.”

  “Jake, this is my number one girl.” He smacks your ass eliciting a yelp from you and you can’t look at the man in front of you. Your face grows hot at the display he’s showing in front of this man who certainly peaked your curiosity. 

  “What’s your na-.”

  “Don’t worry about what her name is.” Blue bites out. Jake shoots him a look of warning and Blue holds his hands up in mock surrender.

  He’s not in control

  “Listen, her name is not important. If you need anything from her you ask me. Jake nods at him in understanding. 

  “Go get ready,you’ve got a busy night and I don’t want you keeping anyone waiting.” He slaps your ass again and you stifle a groan not wanting to deal with the aftermath of him hearing you. 

  “Yes sir.” Is all you manage as you round the desk.

  “Adiós Princesa.” He’s gonna be trouble. 

  ****

  “I need you to keep an eye on some high profile clients.” Blue lights his cigar and settles further into his chair. 

  “You’ve got muscle all over this place, what do you need me for?” Jake knows he’s not here by accident. 

  “They don’t have an eye like you…I think there’s some business going on under the table and I don’t want it going on in my club.”

  “Fair enough, I can only stay a few days.” Jake pulls his hat down nervously. 

  “A few days is all I need and you’ll be paid before you leave.”

  Jake stands to leave but hesitates just before the door.

  “How much for your number one girl?”

  Blue clenches his fist, digging his fingernails into his palm. He takes a steady calming breath and rolls his tense shoulders back. Jake was doing him a favor, but the thought of him having you still made him jealous. 

  “I’m not paying you enough for her.” He smirks to himself waiting for Jake's response.

  Jake is seeing red-does he know who I am? He knows he would never do anything to his cousin but it was hard keeping his cool when he always had such a smart mouth.

  “I have my own money hermaño.”

  Jake's insistence was pissing him off but he needed his help.

  “You can have her tomorrow night, she’s busy tonight.” 

  “For how lo-.”

  “I’ll decide how long.” He says through gritted teeth. 

  Jake exits the office with a noxious grin. I think I’ll decide.

  ****

  Blue told you to be ready for Jake. He was colder than normal and didn’t give you many details. You weren’t new to this but something about Jake made you nervous. 

  You knock lightly on his door and he immediately opens as if he was waiting on the other side. He beckons you in and turns you to face him.Your eyes trail down his bare chest and notice the bulge in his black boxers. He looks at you hungrily as he pulls the tie on your black silk robe letting it fall to the floor. You’re wearing matching blue lace lingerie underneath. 

  “I see you followed my instructions.” He grazes his thumb over your nipple sending a shiver down your spine. He leans in to kiss you but you pull away. You see that look in his eyes again and you’re trembling but they immediately soften into something sad. 

  “He doesn’t kiss you?” 

  “No sir.” He places a hand behind your neck pulling you into a bruising kiss, your lips melt into his as he moans into your mouth. He’s pushing you onto the bed without breaking the kiss as your tongues dance with one another. You feel like you’re floating from this intimacy. You feel the guilt creep up on someone other than Blue making you feel like this but you push it down not wanting to ruin this moment. 

  “I’m gonna make you feel good Princesa.” He’s breathless as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your body, he gently lifts your hips to slide your panties down and groans at the sight of your dripping folds. He licks a stripe through your entrance and circles your clit with his tongue. Soft whimpers leave your mouth as you grip the sheets beneath you.

  “He doesn’t take his time with you, does he?” He doesn’t give you time to answer as he inserts a finger into your slick cunt drawing quick circles around your clit with his thumb. 

  You slam your hand over your mouth to muffle the cries of pleasure. He quickly grabs your wrist with his other hand. 

  “I want to hear you, I want him to hear you.” Fuck

  He inserts another finger and fucks you at a fast pace, you don’t know how you’ll survive if his fingers stretch you like this. His tongue is on your sensitive nub and your breath hitches as he closes his lips down on your clit. He grinds his hips into the mattress for some friction where he desperately needs it. 

  “Oh..fuck…sir right there.” He chuckles lowly into your pussy and the vibrations could send you over the edge.

  “You can call me Jake.” He curls his fingers and presses down on your bundle of nerves. Your release slams through you leaving you sobbing his name as your whole body shakes. He’s kissing your thighs as you come back down and looking at you like you hold all the answers. 

  “Be a good girl and get on your hands and knees.”

  Your body moves faster than your brain wanted you to but you’re putty in his hands now. You can hear him shuffle behind you as he discards his boxers somewhere. You’re trying to calm your ragged breathing but his hot tongue devours your slick folds and circles your rim. His hands grip your waist before you collapse into the headboard.

  He grips the base of his cock slowly dragging it through your slit, you can feel his tip breach your entrance and you keen at the stretch. He’s rocking his hips back and forth and his thick cock can barely fit.Your pussy clenches down on him and he bites down on his bottom lip practically drawing blood. 

  “I need you to relax…just let me in and it will feel so much better.” He reaches around and his fingertips circle your swollen clit. He can feel you relax around him as he works your hips onto his length. He’s in awe watching your slick coat the base of his cock as he stretches your pussy to the brim. 

  “Tell me who's making you feel this good.” He’s panting behind you as he picks up his pace.

  “You Jake…fuck it feels so good.” All you can hear are the sounds of his hips meeting yours, the squelch of your cunt as his balls slap your clit over and over.

  “Can I put it anywhere?” He runs his thumb along your lesser used hole and all you can manage is a breathy yes. He pulls out of your entrance and spreads your ass wide with his calloused hands.

You feel a glob of spit on your rim causing your pussy to clench around nothing. He prods just the tip and you already feel so full, he churns his hips slowly and your body feels on fire. The sensation has never felt so good, no one has ever taken their time. 

  You can tell he’s coming apart as his groans grow deeper and his thrusts become erratic. The pain gives way to pleasure as he snaps his hips into yours, he’s filling you with each roll of his hips and you can’t hear your thoughts over the screams of his name. 

  “Who do you belong to?” He’s grunting behind you as he slams you down on his cock. 

  “You..I’m.yours.Jake.” Each word punctuated on a thrust. A wrecked sound tears out of his chest from deep within as his release slams through him. His hips slow as he empties himself inside you. He trails light kisses down your sweaty spine and pulls out of you with a hiss. 

  You collapse onto the bed and he pulls your back flush with his chest. You can hear him drifting off to sleep as he mutters under his breath. 

  “Not letting you go, never letting you go.” 

  ****

  You don’t know how long you’ve been asleep when you hear a rap on the door. You turn to see Jake fast asleep, you raise his arm from your waist and slink out of bed to not disturb him.

  As you place your robe back on you hear another frantic knock on the door. You hurry over to open it, not wasting time to find your panties. 

  “Times up sweetheart.” Blue’s eyes are bloodshot, his liner is smeared down his face and the anger in his expression isn’t one you’ve seen before. He grabs your arm and yanks you out of the room slamming the door behind you. His grip on you doesn’t loosen as he stalks down the hallway. You can hardly keep up with him as you trip over your feet.

  “He fuck you so stupid you can’t even walk.” He doesn’t bother to pick you up, practically dragging you down the hall to his office. You can feel the tears prickling behind your eyes. His office door is a welcome sight for your poor knees. 

  “Get up.” His pupils are blown wide as you stand on shaky legs to enter his office. He’s pacing back and forth, Blue’s never been like this. He wouldn’t kill you, would he? He asked you to go to Jake's room. He finally stops pacing and sits in his chair. You can only stare at the floor afraid to meet his gaze as you fidget with the hem of your robe. 

  “Come have a seat.” His voice has softened a little and you feel a brief moment of relief. You move towards the chair but hear the faint sound of his belt buckle, as you look up and meet his eyes you can see the resemblance- the venomous eyes. 

  “You know where I want you to sit.” You can feel the arousal between your legs mixed with the dried cum. His cock is red and angry leaking precum down his length. You move to stand in front of him facing away as he smooths his hands up and down your thighs. He smacks your thigh and you hover your entrance over his lap. 

  “Sit.” You cry out at the stretch as he pulls you flush against his hips giving you no time to adjust. 

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” How do you answer this?

  “No.” He slaps your pussy hard and you bite down on your tongue. 

  “Yes.” He growls in your ear and you can feel his cock pulse inside your walls. 

  “If you want to keep lying to me that’s fine, you’ll just have to make it up to me later.” He circles your clit with his fingertips and you clench around him. 

  “Who do you belong to?” You're weightless as he bounces you on his cock punching something deep inside you. 

  “You Blue…I belong to you.” He grips your hair pulling you back against his chest as he thrusts his hips up. 

  “Oh…tsk tsk I thought you were Jakes?” Was he listening? 

  “I’m so sorry Blue, I’m yours I’m all yours I swear.” You’re sobbing now as he picks up his pace, never releasing the grip on your hair. Your orgasm is approaching and you shouldn’t have this reaction to him but your body craves it. He’s the rehab and the drug all at once. 

  You’re thrust forward onto the desk and your grasping at anything for purchase as he fucks you at a relentless pace.

  “Oh my god…Blue please.” Your cunt swallows him with each thrust. He pulls out of you suddenly, coming with a choked sound as he pumps his cock with his fist. You can feel the hot ropes of cum on your back staining the black satin robe. You can hear his wrecked groans as he milks the last of himself into his hand. He leans forward onto your back holding his hand in front of your face. 

  “Clean it.” You lick the salty remnants of his spend from his hand, moaning and savoring the taste the way he likes. As he slumps back into his chair you feel your pussy ache at the lack of release. 

  “You can go sweetheart.” The whine that escapes you is not lost on him.

  “Maybe when you remember who you belong to you can come.” His menacing laugh echoes in your thoughts for the rest of the night.

  ****

  “Those clients you wanted me to watch, we're trying to poach some of your girls. I took care of them so you shouldn’t have any more problems.”

  Blue doesn’t really care what taking care of them means as long as the problem is resolved.

  “Good, feel free to stay one more night. I’ll send some girls to your room.” 

  “Thanks hermaño, I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow. Ugh no need to send any girls, I need my rest for the drive.” Jake stands to exit Blue’s office but hesitates once again at the door. 

  “How much for your girl?” Blue groans white knuckling his chair -not this again. 

  “It’ll be double for tonight, same rules as last time.” He relents not wanting to cause a rift and is grateful for Jake's help.

  “I mean how much to keep her…I want her.” 

  If Blue could spit fire he would. Who does he think he is? He would have anyone else killed for less than what Jakes got away with and now this? 

  Jake turns to face Blue and he’s seething, a long silence passes between the two men as he awaits his response.

  “I wouldn’t let you have her for all the money in the world...She’s mine” His voice is dark and barely above a whisper. His eyes narrow slits and he looks like a snake ready to strike.

  Jake walks towards his desk and Blue stands,both men on either side. He’s a wolf in the lion's den but he won’t back down. He leans forward placing his hands on the desk. 

  “People don’t say no to me Blue.” He laughs, the bastard laughs and for the first time Jake thinks he might be in trouble. Blue leans forward just inches away from Jake's face.

  “There’s a first time for everything…Goodnight Jake.” He doesn’t falter, their faces still inches apart and then his face splits into a sickly sweet grin sending a chill down Blue’s spine.

  “Goodnight.”

  ****

  Your head is pounding in your skull and your body feels in motion. You can’t tell if it’s day or night but you know you’re not in your room. The smell of leather permeates your senses and it hurts to open your eyes. Your face is wet from laying in a puddle of your own drool. 

  You lift your weak body up and come to the realization that you're in a car. The windows are tinted black and you can hardly see outside-its a limousine. You wipe the drool from your mouth and try to remember the night. After Blue made you leave you cleaned yourself up and went to bed.

Is that really all you remember? 

  Tears begin to spill as panic sets in, the bile coming up in your throat at the thought of being in a stranger's car. You start to crawl towards the front and your body is so weak, you’ve never felt like this before as you try to focus on the soft carpet beneath your palms. You knock lightly on the partition and it slowly lowers. 

  “Good morning hermosa, how’d you sleep?” Your breath catches in your throat at the site of Jake. His hat pulled down above his furrowed brow.

  “Please…take me back please. He’s going to be so mad.” You're crying and trying to catch your breath. All the while he’s laughing as his gloved hands tighten the grip on the steering wheel.

  “Don’t worry, you’re safe with me now.You’re safe with us now.”He raises the partition muffling your screams as you bang on it incessantly. You feel the exhaustion creeping in from your panic and you know no matter the outcome you were not safe.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging anyone that commented on the original post @thedarkcoven @simpforbritgents @fandxmslxt69

[melodygatesauthor]

Just a thot, Jake Lockley being a cousin of Club!Blue Jones.... Maybe Jake even becomes one of your #1 customers while working at Blue's club. <3 Id die from hotness lol

oh.my.GOD

Who's writing this hm??

WHOMST IS WRITING THIS

cause I would if I didn't already have a mountain of ideas I was drowning in. WHAT THE HELL.

And Blue getting jealous.

Jake's like, "Mm, you know that one over there, with the pretty blue lingerie and the eyes that take your breath away?"

"Her?" Blue points at you, "yeah...what about her?"

"How much?" Jake asks.

"For the night?"

"No...I want to keep her."

[age-of-moonknight]

“The Terminal Seconds of Moon Knight,” Moon Knight (Vol. 9/2021), #30.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Alessandro Cappuccio; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[soft-girl-musings]

9 lines, 9 people

ty for the tag @virtie333, this story's shaping up to be a fun challenge so enjoy a wee segment

Noir!Jake Lockley x Lounge Singer!Reader

"...We have a dress code here,” you bite back. You notice him tip his cap to someone behind you, a busboy with a toothy grin hustling back to the kitchen as you turn back around. Flat cap resting on his knee, the stranger (intruder) innocently raises a brow at you. “Apologies, miss. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” You set your jaw. “Plan on coming back, then?” You’re met with an enigmatic smile, a sight that throws you off guard. “Depends on how good the band is.” He offers a wink and laughs as you storm back toward the stage, ready to be done with him and get back in the zone. If you never saw his smug face again, it’d be too soon.

np tags, per usual: @chrissymodi-frost @cchickki @mrs-lockley @hon3yboy @runa-falls @boredzillenial @fandxmslxt69 @moonknightly @moon-knights-balls

[little-cereal-draws]

Jake Lockley is a slutty asexual

[moondoposting]

thinking about that run set in mexico city… jake is fronting through most of it… staring directly at it…

[segue-into-romanticism]

Me, an imbecile, watching Moonknight: omg wow this is just like fight club

[oof-poof-roof]

“There’s no way I’m gonna abandon you. You were the only real superpower I ever had.”

[moon-knightblog]

Here me out…

Moon Knight x Fight Club crossover!

Or

Moon Knight Fight Club AU

[pimosworld]

Read it again Series

You ever have that fic or series that you just can’t get enough of. You revisit it whenever you need to scratch that itch or have a good cry. This is my way of showing appreciation to the writers and also a little self indulgent to be able to find all my favorites in one place.

Part I

Part II

Part III

[astroboots]

Min Redux

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Marc Spector x female reader x Steven Grant (x hints of Jake Lockley)

Summary: Marc is possessed by a horny ancient sex spirit and refuses the help you're willingly offering. Sequel to Gift of Min but can be read as stand alone.

Content: sex pollen, restraints, Marc being a stubborn bastard.

Word count; 12,800 words (do not look at me)

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

There's a white, pot-bellied goose staring up at Marc expectantly with hunger. He ignores it, pretending he doesn't see it as he turns his head, eyes circling around the park.

If he ignores it, it will give up eventually.

"Oh hello there fella! You're a plump one aren't you?"

Marc resists the deeply ingrained urge to roll his eyes. Of course, Steven would acknowledge the animal.

“I think it wants us to feed it”, Steven says.

Marc hums in acknowledgment. He doesn't want to get into this right now. Doesn't want Steven distracted and excitedly buzz in their head with anecdotes about Geese and the bird wildlife in London when they're supposed to be on the lookout for their contact.

Flicking his wrist, Marc glares at his watch.

8:12am.

Twelve minutes late. You'd think Ancient Egyptian Deities would have some kind of culling process when picking their Avatars. Punctuality should be a bare minimum requirement.

He leans back against the wooden slats of the park bench, hands shoved inside his field jacket against the chill of the London air as a woman with a stroller walks by nearly running over the goose in the process (to Steven's outrage). For the umpteenth time since he sat down, Marc's fingers trace the lining until he catches at the sharp edge of the small golden trinket box, just to make sure it's still there.

Gift of Min. A tiny trinket box that's been sealing away some sex-crazed sprite serving the Ancient God of Sex for decades. One that Steven managed to accidentally free with his uncanny puzzle solving skills in just under a minute, getting himself possessed in the process.

Marc's fingers clutch at the brass-metal, until it's digging into his palms as he squeezes down. Flashes of your bare skin underneath Steven's hands, and the soft curves of your naked form pressed underneath him, pushes to the surface of his mind.

Fuck, he shakes his head. No, his mind is not going there. He needs to stay here, in the present, find the other Avatar and hand this over so it's out of your lives for good.

Get rid of it so that what happened last week won't ever repeat itself. He won’t allow that to happen, won’t risk putting you in harm’s way again.

It's all so vivid and Marc has replayed the memory of it so many times, every detail of it. Every gasp, moan and whimper of your voice. The way your back arched from the floor, the way your mouth fell open. The way your eyes would roll back right before you came… repeatedly. He’s played it like a VHS tape on repeat until it’s been so worn out from replays that the image is filled with static and he almost can't tell anymore if it was entirely Steven's experience or his as well, trapped as he was in the mind space. 

Steven rutting into you mindlessly like an animal. Hips snapping against your soft plump thighs. Your legs squeezed tight around his hips, around his cock as you kept coming uncontrollably, again and again and–

"Marc Spector?"

With a jolt, Marc's pulled from his thoughts at the voice. Looking up, there's a man standing two feet away from him with a much too friendly smile on his face for someone that's—Marc flicks his watch—22 minutes late.

The man reaches out a hand in an inviting gesture to shake Marc's hand.

These Avatars always want to make pleasantries and be friends, like they're all part of the Mickey Mouse Club on account of their ostensible connection of being in indentured servitude to defunct Egyptian Gods.

Reluctantly, Marc relents, slipping one hand out of his pocket. The man's hand is bony, his grip tight like he's trying to assert dominance by crushing Marc's hand. Then he lets it go, the smile spreading even wider with that uncanny eager friendliness.

"I believe you have something for me?"

Standing up from the bench, Marc reaches into his pocket again and shoves it into the man's hand.

"Ah there it is. Gorgeous little thing isn't it?" Min’s avatar holds the box up in the daylight, inspecting it as if it were a diamond, then he tilts his head with a confused expression.

"Oh dear," he says.

At first, Marc misses the alarm in his voice, because the man practically sings out the words.

"What?" Marc asks. 

Instead of answering Marc, the man hums, turning the trinket box in his hand as if weighing the contents, his friendly smile fading into a slight frown.

"What is it?" Marc repeats, irritated this time.

"Well…" the man shifts the box into his other hand, repeating the same weighing motion. Then the man holds the box up to his ear, like he’s trying to hear the ocean in a seashell.

The Avatar’s inability to give a straight answer has Marc's patience balanced on a tenuous line that he can physically hear as it snaps.

"What is wrong," Marc repeats for a third time through gritted teeth.

"The seal's been opened."

There's a tension in Marc's jaw as he grinds down on his teeth. "There was an accident. Someone opened it. But I made sure to trap the sprite back inside."

"Well whatever you did, you didn't do a good enough job.” The man says it so matter-of-factly like it’s not even an insult, and Marc has to take a deep calming breath, his hand closing into a fist. 

“The puzzle sequence wasn't completed when you retrapped the spirit and thus not sealed. It must have escaped." This time, the man flips the panels in sequence of motion, in-out-up-up-down until Marc loses track. The gears in the box whir and the box opens-- and adrenaline ramps up in Marc as instincts have him backing away from the box, holding up an arm to shield his nose and mouth shut.

But there's nothing. No blue shiny smoke like last time.

It's empty.

“Wait so what does that mean?” you ask him, as you stab the fork into the thick double slice of french toast he’s made you. Double dipped in batter drowned in cinnamon sugar, just the way you like them.

Turning on the tap, Marc fills the kettle with water as he puts it on the stove to boil your morning tea.

Except it’s not morning anymore. It’s the afternoon now, almost 1pm. You slept through the whole of the morning, but considering the morning-afternoon-and parts of the evening you endured with Steven barely 48 hours ago, Marc is hardly going to begrudge you sleeping in.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marc says, hoping his reassurance will allay any worries you may have. Because you don’t have to worry. He’s going to fix it—fix everything—and keep you out of trouble this time.

But as he looks up at you, the frown that borders on a glare on your face tells him that was absolutely the wrong thing to say.

Shit, he’s doing that thing again isn’t he? The very thing you told him not to do after the post-possession talk.

His shoulders sag. He sighs in capitulation. Right. Communication. Tell you things.

“I have to find it again. This time I’ll have Steven seal it so it doesn’t escape.”

“It’s been days, it could be anywhere, did they tell you how to find it? Do we have some kind of magical ancient artifact compass?”

Marc’s shoulders tenses at your use of ‘we.’ There’s no ‘we’ here. He’s not getting you involved in this. He’s gonna catch it. Steven’s gonna seal it. That’s the plan.

“Marc?” You ask, but he pretends he doesn’t hear you as he moves to the cupboard, to find a teapot.

“Do we know how to find it?” you repeat when he doesn’t answer.

He pretends to busy himself, foregoing the perfectly good teapots he can use that sits in the front and pushes them aside as he continues to search the cupboard.

If he ignores you, you will give up eventually.

Faintly, he thinks he can hear Jake’s (sarcastic) voice in his head. “Jefe, she’s not a Goose. Ignoring her isn’t going to cut it.”

“Stop pretending you’re looking for teapots and ignoring me. I’m just going to keep asking until you answer.”

Shit.

You’re so insistent. Worse than park geese. Worse than Steven and Jake combined.

“No compass,” Marc answers as he pulls out a random teapot in the furthest corner. Dusty from lack of use. He’s gonna have to clean this. With the way Steven cleans this apartment, it might be covered in asbestos for all he knows.

“The guy said it likes cramped small enclosed places. Tiny chests, jewelry boxes, tupperware. Anything that closes with a lid.”

“That hardly narrows it down in London!”

“Like I said, I’ll take care of it.”

Turning on the tap, he runs the teapot under water in the sink, scrubbing the dust and grime. He lifts the lid but it’s been so long since it’s been used the pot is practically sealed shut from dirt, even as Marc pushes against the top.

He can hear you approaching from behind. “You won’t get it open that way,” you offer as you turn the tap and turn it as far as it goes for hot water. Then you take the pot from him, running the lid over the running water, gripping at the base and start to turn it until he can hear it give with a quiet ‘pop’.

“Tada!”

You’re grinning at your success, and Marc has to bite the inside of his cheek to tamper down his own smile at the sight of you. Because fuck, that gloating, I-know better-than-you smile, (which should be aggravating) is infectious.

“See! This is why you need me,” you sing-song, rubbing your success in his face as you lift the lid. He’s so distracted by your easy-smile and glow of schadenfreude he doesn’t pay attention to the quiet hiss of pressure that gives from the lid.

A tendril of blue-white fog rises up, reaching towards you. Before Marc fully processes what he’s doing, he’s already stepping forward into your space. One hand clasps at your wrist as he yanks you backwards and away from the kitchen.

Gotta fucking be kidding him. That fucking thing was hiding in the teapot all this time.

It hits him like a kick in the gut. It’s like swallowing live fire into his throat except it keeps burning all the way as it travels into his chest and digs into the inside of his stomach, settling into every inch of his flesh. It’s the feeling of downing a bottle of whiskey in one sitting with none of the side sickness and nausea that he has to swallow down. It burns and crackles inside his veins.

With the intensity of the heat as it bubbles in his blood, he had expected it to hurt. It doesn’t. Instead it’s molten and slow, oozing through his system like a heated haze. He feels heady as the sensation rushes through him from the curl of his toes to the tip of his nose until it has his scalp tingling. It’s pleasant. Euphoric even if he lets his mind linger on it. He doesn’t.

From a distance he thinks he can hear your voice, and buried underneath the fog, Steven’s concerned babbling. But it’s drowned out by the blood thrashing in his ears. He tries to find you, but his vision is swimming in front of him.

Then he hears it, you’re shouting his name. You sound so worried.

He can feel you. Soft and doting hands cupping his cheeks with a tender touch that has the heat in his stomach reach a boiling point, then you tilt his face upwards to meet your worried gaze.

It’s the same expression on your face when you were tending to Steven not two days ago. Heat spikes in his lower belly, his cock twitching against the constricted confines where it’s trapped under hard denim.

‘Need you’, a voice inside his head, neither Steven or Jake’s but entirely his own, calls out. ‘Want you’.

Flashes of you, your back arching from the floor, trapped underneath him as he thrusts into you invade his vision. The phantom sensation of your wet tightness wrapped around his cock shivers through him and the ache makes the length of him pressed hard against his boxers, twitch and leak against the soft fabric.

Fuck… He can’t put you through that again.

He can’t have you here.

"Leave," he grits out, scooting backwards, dragging himself away from you by the heel of his hands along the wooden floor.

"What?"

"You need to go. Leave!" He barks out.

He tries to get up but fuck, his legs have gone all wobbly like fucking Bambi, can't steady himself, and his faulty balance has you running forwards towards him. 

Marc throws out his hands, palms up as a signal for you to keep your distance.

"No! Don't get close to me. You need to go now."

He grabs at the side of one of the wooden shelves, as he steadies himself on his feet and props himself up, but fuck, everything is spinning. He feels like he's drunk, and he closes his eyes to make it stop.

"Marc," you say his name so softly, it makes the heat in his veins grow hotter. There's liquid fire pumping through his blood.

Even with his eyes closed, he sees you.

You underneath him, exhausted and fucked out. Swollen lips kissed raw and tender. Legs shiny and slick, with your come and his, as it drips over his cock in a shiny silvery thread and down the wooden floor below.

Shit! Shit! Stop, don't think of that.

His eyes fly open to the sight of you, the you in front of him right now, your pretty face mere inches from his. Lips so close he can practically fucking taste you already on his tongue from pure sense memory.

He's getting worse by the second. He's not sure how much longer he can keep his body in check. Every inch of him wants to touch you. Fingers itching to dig into your plump flesh. His cheeks tingle and all he wants is to have your thighs pressing down and enveloping his face. His tongue is heavy in his mouth and salivating at the thought of licking every inch of your soft skin, to have the familiar taste of you fill his mouth– fuck, he can’t– he needs something to restrain himself with as a precaution.

His eyes flicker to the bed, and of course, it's not there. Where is Steven's stupid ankle bracelet when it’s actually needed? 

Shit.

Wait, the cuffs. Jake keeps some cuffs here, where did he – his eyes roam the space, until he spots the shiny metal glinting from underneath Jake's cap that he's carelessly slung against the shelf behind him.

"I'm not going to leave you here by yourself. Let me help," you say and his eyes linger on your pouty lips, the way they open and close as you bite your lower lip in worry. He wants to sink his own teeth into them until you whine for him. Slip his aching cock between them, until his hard cock is enveloped by your softness.

He shakes his head, taking a step back as he looks around himself, planning his exit route. The front door is behind you, which means he'd have to get past you to get out.

Crap. Stubborn as you are, you'd try to block him in a heartbeat, and unless he's gonna tackle you (out of the question) this is going to get him nowhere.

"You can't help with this," he says, eyes continuing to scan the room until he spots the open door to the bathroom.

You frown, eyes narrowing in irritation. "I can actually. We've been here before Marc. I helped Steven remember?"

And fuck does he remember, can't forget. That's part of the problem.

Your hand reaches for him, fingertips brushing over his fisted knuckles, and the touch of it tingles with a burning ache.

"It'll feel better if you let me help you," you say.

Marc takes a step back, arm reaching behind him, until he feels the cold metal against his hand and grabs the cuff.

"I'm not going to do that to you," he says. Before you get a chance to respond, he's already turning around. He's leaping on his feet, darting to the bathroom and slams the door shut behind him.

His fingers are trembling, cold sweat dripping down his forehead as he fumbles locking the door.

From behind the door he can hear your panicked voice calling for him.

"Marc? Marc!!"

The rickety panel door rattles and shakes against the frame with your effort to slide it open. “Marc, did you lock the door?! Marc!” 

You sound so worried, and a small pang digs under his skin when he hears you. 

It’s so stupid. He knows you’re safe, that the worry in your voice is meant for him, and yet every instinct in his body is screaming out for him to check on you and make sure you’re okay. He fights it. Eyes darting around the tiny confined space to search for something, anything, permanently affixed to the wall that he can cuff himself to. 

“Marc, open the door or I’m gonna kick this bloody thing down. I swear to god.”

Marc doesn’t have much to work with. There’s the toilet, the sink, with nothing he can attach the cuffs to, and the railing to the shower head that looks… flimsy at best. Still beggars can’t be choosers. 

Forcing his stupidly shaky hands to bring the cuffs to the shower, he tightens one end to his wrist until he can feel the sharp metal dig through his skin, hard enough that it’s probably going to cause the blood flow to constrict. 

Stupid, he’s so stupid, he knows better than this, but his coordination isn’t cooperating and if Marc is honest with himself, the blunt pain helps. 

Helps his mind to sharpen and to distract himself from the burning heat that’s riding him hard at the sound of your voice on the other end of the door calling his name. 

Helps him to shove down the pathetic need that sings in his vein to tear off the flimsy panel door and run into your arms and beg you to help him. 

Helps him find the will in himself to clasp the other end of the cuffs around the metal rod before it clicks satisfyingly to let him know the deed is done. 

Safe. the metal click tells him. You’re safe from him now. He couldn’t get his grubby hands on you even if his weak will breaks. 

The rattling of the door has stopped now. The room fills with silence and you’re no longer shouting for him. Marc turns back and sees the shadow of your feet under the spring as you walk away from the door. You’ve finally given up on him. 

Good. That’s good. 

You should get as far away from him as possible. With any luck, you’re already halfway down the stairs towards the tube.

He knows you’re pissed. Probably slamming the front door on your way out. But that’s ok. He’ll take your anger over your worry. He can deal with anger, knows how to handle it like an old shitty friend he wants to cut ties with but never can. What he can’t take is the way you sounded when you were calling for him. 

The worry. The care. You always care. And it’s wasted on him. All that’s ever earned you since you got involved with him is trouble. 

If you weren’t involved with him then you wouldn’t have been in their apartment that morning when Steven opened the stupid thing. If you weren’t there, Marc would’ve taken over, would’ve taken care of himself instead of — instead of– 

‘Steven, fuckfuck Steven–’ the phantom memory of your voice rings hauntingly sharp in his ears. Slurred and honeyed, the feel of you, slick and dripping between your thighs, clamping down tightly on his Steven’s cock. 

His whole body aches. Skin flushed and burning and his brain feels feverish and rubbed raw with heat at the fraying edges. 

A shower. A cold shower will help. 

Marc takes a shaky breath, as his fingers fumble with the taps. Turning the cold water as far as it goes. He thinks he’s prepared for it but he’s not. It’s a shock to the system. The cold water slams down on him with a heavy punch. Cold and piercing and bitter as it wraps all around his feverish skin and strangles his lungs with it. 

His eyes are closed, but instead of the blank darkness all he sees are your big eyes staring back up at him. Dazed and out of it, fuckdrunk, on him. 

His skin burns. Blood boiling inside his veins until it’s painful. The icy water is still pummelling down at him punishingly, and he’s grateful for it because he thinks he’s going to incinerate from the inside out if it wasn’t. His cock is hard and heavy against the clammy and cold wet denim that’s pressing up against his searing skin. It’s uncomfortable, painful. 

The memory of you refuses to leave him. The silky feel of you wet and hot and writhing on his painfully hard cock. Fuck, fuck, why does he do this to himself. One hand comes up to his face, and he scrubs it hard with the freezing water, rubbing his thumb into his eyes to help with the throbbing heat that’s growing at his temple. It doesn’t help. Can’t scrub out the image of you, mouth parted, head thrown back as you squirm on his cock, as you grind yourself on him and come… again, and again, and– again. His eyes slam open, until he’s staring at the grungy white tiles of the wall. 

There’s something inside his flesh, burrowing into his skin and veins. An infectious heat that slivers and crawls that drips with hunger and greed. Starved for touch and pleasure, it screams and it roars until it’s all Marc can feel too. He wants it, wants you, and nothing else will do. You and the warmth of your body and the way you always welcome him as you wrap yourself around him. 

Shit, he – fuck. fuckfuckfuck. 

He takes a long shuddery breath and it fogs against the cold of the room. He’s shivering but if it’s from the cold of the water stinging against his skin or the heat burning underneath it he doesn’t know anymore. Does it even matter? 

Everything feels raw and painful. Sore and tangled up inside him. He wants– fuck, no fucking stop. He needs to – 

“Marc.” He can hear it again. Your voice calling out his name. Not Steven’s name, his. It echoes and lingers in his mind, soft and sweet. The way it had been when he’d been the one fucking you into the bed between the soft sheets of their bed the night before the incident. 

The way you’d whimpered it, while your nails were digging crescent shaped marks into his skin that were still denting the back of his shoulders when he’d looked this morning. Tiny little marks that are evidence of your love for him. 

His stomach draws tight, hips hitching up without his permission, desperately searching for any friction… shit shit, it’s not enough and it’s too much, the sensation that spears through his stomach as his cock rubs against the hard seam of his jeans. Heat settles at the base of his spine and the sound that escapes him is pathetic. He’s not sure if it’s a gasp or a sob, but he grinds it down between his teeth, snuffing it out. 

Why is his brain trying to murder him like this? 

The heat (or the cold, he doesn’t know which anymore but it doesn’t matter, one of them) is making his mind fuzzy. The grout delineating the tiles in front of him is blurring together, and the room, Marc realizes, is starting to sway and swim. He draws in another breath into his chest, but there’s no oxygen in it. He tries again, and this time the sharp jagged breath hurts, like swallowing broken glass and needles. He doesn’t know what’s wrong. The body is panicking. 

Jake’s trying to push him for the front seat. Marc can feel it, an insistent presence that lingers at the edges of his mind, trying to gain and take hold. But Marc is much better at resisting him these days. Marc’s not going to let him. He doesn’t trust that Jake will be able to hold himself back when it comes to you. Doesn’t trust that the man won’t selfishly uncuff their body and run straight to where you are. His priorities are different from Marc. Jake’s prime concern is to always take care of their body first, everything else comes secondary to that man. Marc doesn’t trust it. Doesn’t trust him. Not with you. He can’t risk it. 

Alarm and anxiety blares bright in his veins, but he can take it. Can endure this. Can–

There’s a loud slam from behind him. 

“Marc, Jesus christ!” 

The sound of your voice makes him whip around. You’re standing in front of him, the bathroom door’s been shoved to the side, wide open, and you’re holding a butter knife in your one hand and what looks like the remnants of his dismantled door handle in your other. 

His heart flutters erratically, a pleasant warmth trickling into his chest. You’re here.

It lasts for a heartbeat and a half, until the realization hits him harder and colder than any ice water could have. You’re here. You’re actually here.  

There’s a concerned expression in your face as you take him in for a full second. Then you drop the items in your hand and rush forward to him until you’re standing under the shower with him. 

“The water is bloody freezing! Have you lost your mind?” You’re shoving past him to get to the tap and turn it off entirely, as you continue to scold him. “You’re going to get hypothermia”.

Your voice might be harsh, but your hands are soft and doting, palms cupping his cheeks, and your eyes are wide and worried in that way that makes everything inside him tighten. His skin tingles where your fingertips brush up against his cheekbones and it takes everything in him to not nuzzle his mouth against your wrists, chasing into your touch for more. 

“You feel like ice. We need to get you into bed, we need to–” your eyes stop at the shower rail and then trail downwards to his right hand that’s cuffed to it in disbelief. Then he hears you take a long exasperated inhale. “Of course, you did,” you murmur, “of course you’d cuff yourself to the damn shower. Where are the keys, Marc?”

His eyes flicker away from your face to stare at the tiles on his left as he grinds his mouth and jaw shut. 

You sigh, then you come closer. You’re crowding in on him, pressed tight to his chest, “fine, I’ll just look myself shall I?” You stand on your tiptoes to reach for the small shower shelf behind him, lifting a shampoo bottle to check if there’s a key underneath. 

Your hair tickles his nose and the familiar comforting smell of you surround him. You’re soft and warm, and amazing and he just wants to sink his teeth into your bare throat that’s inches from his jaw and bite into you like the sweetest and ripest fruit of Summer. 

You shift as you reach for the highest shelf, hips rubbing up against him where they’re slotted between his thighs and fuck–fuck– 

Sharp heat shoots through his stomach, white pleasure blinding and intense that rushes to his head and his knees want to fold under his weight. He groans at the touch and you freeze as he does. 

For a moment both of you are silent and still. The only thing Marc can hear is his own ragged and hash breathing. His body is trying to acclimatize to the new temperature of the room as the heat from his body is quickly evaporating out of him. But the thing under his skin, poisoning his mind and sanity is still there. He feels like he’s on fire. You’re pressed up against every inch of him, and it is screaming in his ears with an ugly hungry need. Marc feels like he’s burning up. Like he’s going to die, flesh burning away until there’s only ashes left, and that’s okay the burrowing need tells him. Let it burn away every inch of resistance left within him, and then he can have you.

Marc wants that, wants you in any way he can have. 

Wants you to grind up on his aching cock that’s so hard it hurts. Wants you to hold him, fingers tugging at his hair until it stings and burns. Want your legs and arms wrapped around him as he sinks inside of you, bury his cock as deep as it goes until he can never leave. 

Wants you, wants you, wants you. It echoes with fury and overtakes everything else. There’s no other brain process except this, as his hand clamps down on your waist and grinds you down on him. His traitorous hips hitching up until he can feel that perfect press of your body against his trapped and pulsing cock. 

You don’t stop him, hand coming up to the back of his neck and hold him close to you. You’re so fucking perfect letting him rub himself up against you, even when he’s acting like some stupid animal in heat. The pleasure sends him on the tip of his toes, chasing the high and it’s good, it feel so fucking– Fuck! 

His eyes slam open, tearing himself away from you. You’re blinking up at him with a confused look. 

The fuck is he doing? 

With his free hand, he moves you out of the range of the shower until your back is pressed against the opposite wall. 

He’s such an idiot, he’s such a fucking stupid– his cheeks burn and prickle, sweat stinging his back underneath the waterlogged shirt. He needs to cool down. Get his head straight. Needs to rid himself of this burning inferno of a hellfire that is roaring under his skin. 

A shower, a cold fucking shower. He needs to calm the fuck down. Needs to– Marc moves back towards the tap and turns it back on. 

“Marc! No! Stop!”

You’re leaping forward into the shower again, uncaring of being in the firing range of the cold water cascading from the showerhead, as you reach for the tap to turn it off. 

“You’re fucking freezing, you need to stop. Marc, I need to get you out of the shower. We need to warm you up. Where’s the keys?” 

He ignores you, tries to wrangle you away from the shower with his back and shoulders, wrestling his path to the tap again. 

You slap at his hand. “Marc, no!” you bark. “Stubborn fucking –” 

He knocks your hand away from the tap, turning it again as he tries to block the ensuing shower from you with his shoulders, and you growl in frustration. 

“Fine, fine! You want the water on, it stays on, but you have to let me–” you shove your way back to the front of the tap, turning the hot water on. It takes a few moments but then the punishing coldness turns lukewarm and almost comforting against his stinging skin. 

“There,” you murmur and back away enough until you’re both staring up at each other again. The water is hitting you too, drenching and soaking your clothes as you peer up at him cautiously. 

“Should I help you take your clothes off? It’ll be more comfortable for you this way,” you say the words slowly, giving him the time to react before you move. 

The logical part in him that’s still intact knows he should stop you. Should tell you to leave before he loses the last of his sanity and tries to maul you like an animal again. 

But his tongue is heavy in his mouth. All his words are failing him, and as you inch closer to him, all he can do is stare up at you, silently begging you– to go, to stay, to abandon him, to touch him, to run, to help him– until he doesn’t know anymore what he wants, and ducks his head to the ground. 

“I can help you if you want to,” you tell him. 

His eyes squeeze shut. He’s so fucking useless. He swore to never let this happen again to you, never put you in that situation again and here the two of you are not even 48 hours later, in the exact same fucking seat. He’s no better than Steven at this. Useless at protecting you. Instead you’re the one trying to take care of him. Maybe you’d be better off with Jake in the saddle. 

“You shouldn’t have to hel–” he starts, but you cut him off. 

“I want to help you,” you enunciate each word and syllable, leaving no room for doubt, as you’re facing up to him in challenge. Then your eyes soften as does your voice. “But I don’t want to force anything on you that you don’t want.” 

There’s a brief silence and the only thing he can hear is the water falling from the shower. Then, “Marc, look at me.” You say it softly, it doesn’t sound like an order, but not quite a request either as Marc tips his head up to meet your gaze. “I’m not going to touch you unless you want to. But I’m gonna stay here with you until this passes. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stares up at you like an idiot, eyes drawn to that determined look in your eyes that he knows he can never win against, and he feels his resolve fail him. 

“Is it okay if I take off your clothes?” you ask again.

And until he gives you an answer, he realizes, you’re going to ask him again and again. You’re so persistent, more than a goose. He loves that about you and he doesn’t know how to say no to you anymore, even if he had wanted to (which he doesn't, not really). 

So he doesn’t, instead he nods. 

You move slow, giving him plenty of time to change his mind. Your hands come to the soggy hem of his shirt, drawing it up against his torso and over his head. Fingertips scraping under the bare naked skin underneath as you go, and it fucking tingles. It tingles and burns and smolders until his insides are on fire, and for a second, Marc is sure that his knees can no longer carry his weight and he’s going to tip over and capsize. 

He leans down his head for balance, and you’re there to catch him. You ground him, as you always do. He rests his forehead against yours and for a moment, the roaring noise of blazing fire in his veins stops. It’s quiet and calm in his head. 

“You okay?” you ask, staring up at him, eyes gentle, as you go slow. 

“Yeah.” 

His shirt is left hanging on the shower rail, where his hand is still cuffed to it. Then your fingers come to the front of his jeans, nail tapping against the metal button and his cock jerks and strains against the wet and heavy material in anticipation. 

Popping open the button, you undo his fly, and the too-strict pressure of the material finally eases. He squirms, “Fuck, baby,” he gasps out, raw and broken. 

You hush him, sweet and comfortingly, with your lips pressed close to his ear, “do you want me to touch you?” 

His mouth feels thick and dry, everything turned into cotton against the roof of his mouth. He swallows, taking another long breath and holds it deep as he tries to get himself together. He’s weak, useless. Can’t get anything right. Can’t even say no when he knows he should. 

“Marc?” you ask again and he inhales deeply to calm himself, then nods. 

You smile, sweet and bright, and…relieved. You look so relieved and… happy, even. It makes it better. Makes him feel a little bit less of a colossal fuck up that you’re doing this for him when you’re smiling at him like that. Your head tips up, lips pressing up against his, and that helps too. With his eyes closed, listening to the sound of your soft hums as he licks into your mouth, he can almost pretend to himself that this is okay. 

Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing firm and tight in that perfect way that you know he likes. It's relief and pleasure and warmth all wrapped into one, as everything inside him buzzes with a quiet soothing noise that drowns out the rest.

Your soft lips, drags downwards, mouthing at his neck, teeth nipping at his shoulder. He’s still aching, but it feels good. It doesn’t hurt this time, instead everything lingers pleasantly as your lips drift further down, soft plushness dragging against the sore muscle, down the slope of his belly and–wait! What’re you– 

His eyes fly open. He’s staring at the empty walls again. You’re no longer standing face to face with him and his head drops down. The sight that greets him slams into his ribs until he nearly doubles over. Fuck. 

You’re on your knees on the wet bathroom floor, tucked between his legs. Staring up at his cock through your water-lined lashes that glitters against the harsh fluorescent light. 

“Baby– wai–wait,” his words fumble and trip out of his mouth, brain unable to process the sight in front of him. He wasn’t prepared for this. “You don’t have to–” 

“Marc,” you breathe, cutting him off again. From this close distance he can feel the warmth of your mouth gust over the overwrought tip of his cock, and he nearly blacks out. Your voice sounds drippingly sweet and warm. “I know I don’t have to. I want to. Let me do this for you”.

He should stop you. You shouldn’t have to be on your knees and take care of him when he’s the one who fucked up and got himself caught in this mess. There’s a tight lump stuck in his throat that he tries to swallow down so he can speak, but it doesn’t ease and the words aren’t coming to him. 

Your hand comes to the side of his thighs, dragging the drenched denim down his legs and discard them into a sloppy pile in the corner of the floor. 

He gazes down on you, how the shower has drenched your oversized sleepshirt, until the white of it has gone see-through. The drenched cotton cling onto your skin and the curve of your breasts and his cock bobs up and strains against his stomach at the sight. Shit. 

Embarrassed heat climbs his cheeks, and judging from the smile tugging at your cheeks, you definitely noticed his reaction. You lean up, mouth brushing up against the length of his cock and press a kiss to the swollen flesh. White blinding heat streaks through his chest and his stomach draws in tight. He can’t think. 

It’s here again, that hungry ember that scalds hot in his veins. It’s overwhelming, his toes curl against the tiles, breath catching sharp in his lungs until he feels like the ground is going to swallow him up. His knees are giving out, the hard tiles gone soft and weightless beneath the sole of his feet. He’s panicking again. His hand flings out, clutching at your shoulders, fingers digging in, it’s too hard and too rough, and he shouldn’t be doing that – shouldn’t be doing anything of this, but he can’t help himself. 

One of your hands comes to rest on top of his, and you tilt your head just enough to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. 

“It’s okay, Marc. it’s okay,” you say, and with those words, the panic in him dissipates somewhat. Enough to have his fingers ease their hard grip on your shoulders, as you lean your back closer between his thighs. 

Try as he might, he can’t pretend he doesn’t want this, want you. Your mouth is inches from his cock, and he can see the incriminating precome welling up at the tip, where it shines slick, giving him away. His breath constricts in his chest, as he waits for you. 

You lean closer, and he catches the pink tip of your tongue as it darts out to lick at the liquid dribbling down the length of him. His spine seizes up at the barely there contact, an ugly noise tearing from his throat. 

“Marc, you okay?” you ask, and when he blinks down at you, lips slick with him, he feels undone. “Should I keep going?” 

Marc swallows down the whimper that is lingering dangerously at the tip of his tongue that wants to leap out. He nods a little bit too frantically in response and he barely has the time to meet your eyes, and how it glitters with pride at his reaction. Then your lips part and you envelop his cock in the perfect sweet warmth of your mouth. 

An electrical static noise crackles in his head. Your mouth is so fucking good. Soft silk wrapped all around him. Your tongue slides softly over the ridge of his cock and sweet aching bliss twines through his limbs. It’s slow and languid, the tip of your tongue darting out with soft, fluttering licks against his oversensitive flesh as you take your time and try to murder him. You’re succeeding too. 

Heat carves through him sharp and intense. With the way his heart is trying to pound its way through flesh and muscle and out of his chest, he’s pretty sure he’s only got minutes to spare before his heart entirely gives out and he drops dead on the bathroom floor. 

You’re so ridiculously gorgeous. Eyes half-lidded as you stare up at him with unwavering attention. 

It’s bliss. It’s torture. It’s heaven and hell. Marc doesn’t know up from down anymore. All he knows as his cock slides between your lips, wet and slippery and so fucking good, is that he doesn’t want it to stop.  

For all the composure he’s trained into himself for years and decades, he can’t seem to find an ounce of it to draw from in this moment. He never can as far as you're concerned. His hands fists at his side, every muscle in him tensing, trying to stop the way his hips cants up with small thrusts into your mouth. But it’s not working. His body is betraying him, refusing to stay still. 

Good, it feels so– The burning flame under his skin is back, the whole of his body is wracked in warm pleasant shivers and he wants to curl into your touch. 

You hum, a small quiet little sound as you suck on the tip and he can feel the pleasant vibrations of it skitter up his entire spine. He jackknifes forward, pressing further into your mouth and fuck, he can feel the head of his cock nudge against the resistance of your throat. He stops there. Makes himself stop, ignores how every muscle in him is screaming for him to move. His cock pulses eagerly on your tongue, desperate for friction. But he ignores it. 

He can’t have this for himself. Doesn’t deserve it. 

“Come back up here, need to make you feel good baby. Let me- fuck let me make you feel good,” he says, even as his balls are drawing up, cock going somehow even harder, swelling and throbbing on your tongue. 

Marc swears, bites down on his lip hard until he tastes blood, and clenches every damn muscle in his body as he backs away, and slides himself out between your lips. Somehow, miraculously, he manages to hold on. His damn dick jerks and bounces spasmodically, oozing precome all over the damn floor as he struggles for control.  And through it all you just smile indulgently up at him, eyes gleaming, the pearly edge of your teeth digging into that perfectly plump lower lip.

He wonders if you even fucking heard him, because you’re leaning back in towards him, and wrap your mouth back around his cock. That inescapable fire is building at the base of his spine, threatening to burn him to the ground, but he can’t let himself come yet. He can’t because then it will be over, and you’ll have given this to him, and he doesn’t fucking deserve it. 

Marc doesn't deserve you, period. But he definitely doesn't deserve to have you on your knees like this for his miserable ass. Doesn't deserve that warm, worshipful mouth, slicking and sliding so perfectly over his aching cock. Perfect lips stretched tight around him as you struggle to take him as deep as you can. Doesn't deserve the way your hand alternates between clutching at him and petting so gently over his skin. Doesn't deserve the loving look in your eyes. Has to close his own eyes against the sight of you or this is all going to be over in about half a second.

But somehow that's even fucking worse, behind closed eyes it makes the feeling of it all the more acute. There's nothing there to distract him. He can't escape the feel of your clever tongue and perfect wet heat of your mouth wrapped around him in the blank darkness. The way your tongue curls around him. You’re moaning just slightly with each press forward, and he can feel the vibrations of it along every throbbing inch of his dick. It's fucking killing him.

“Let me–I can’t stop, I can’t–” He’s sobbing, the sound raw and needy as it wrenches out of his throat. Pleasure sears through his entire back. 

He's trying to hold still. He's fucking trying. But his legs are fucking shaking. Trembling thighs threatening to dump him on his ass any second, and he can't seem to control the way his hips are hitching forward in tiny abortive thrusts, seeking more even as he knows he should be jerking back, pulling away, and convincing you to let him make you feel good instead. but you don't seem to mind at all. 

Fuck, you seem to love it, moaning louder every time he loses the battle with his instincts. 

This is so wrong. He’s not in his right mind, not in control. You should be shoving him away, but instead you’re clutching at his ass with one hand, fingernails digging in as you encourage him to thrust harder, deeper. Tiny sharp bites of pain that just seem to add to the maelstrom of pleasure twisting and building in his gut.

Marc opens his mouth, determined to make one more attempt at convincing you, but then you swallow around him, moan around him, and all that comes out is a guttural groan. 

"Ba-baby-," he stutters out. He tugs on your hair, trying desperately to be gentle, but he's not entirely sure he manages it. You let him pull you off, one torturous inch at a time, and he barely manages to stop the thrust of his hips, the instinctual need to chase your mouth.

You look up at him, all wide eyes and slick, swollen lips. One long shiny string of spit or precome of both still connecting the two of you.

Oh shit,  how is he supposed to resist when you’re looking at him like that? Like he's actually worth a damn, when you’re the one who's worth anything, everything. He can’t, he was crazy to think he ever fucking could.

"Marc," you say, tone mildly reproachful. Your voice is hoarse... from swallowing his cock, and for a second, he thinks that's fucking it for him.  

Close, so fucking close. It’s pushing and clawing at every stitch and seam inside of his skin and he is unraveling. No wonder Steven lost it. No wonder he gave in. Marc can taste his climax at the tip of his tongue, dangling precariously on the fine thread of his fragile sanity. He squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to block it out. 

“Let go,” you hum, and you press your mouth to the trembling muscle on the inside of his thigh that makes him jolt up and nearly swallow his tongue. “You don’t have to hold on anymore. I want you to come. Want you to come in my mouth.”

Fuuuuck. 

You kiss your way up, and he’s trying desperately to hold on, to hold back. But he can’t, not when he feels your tongue trail the underside of his cock with a long wet and devoted line. Not when you’re kissing his hips. Not when you put that perfect mouth of yours back on his cock and swallow him down. 

Your hand wraps around the base of his cock, where your mouth can’t reach, giving it a firm stroke downwards, and his toes tingle. His whole body is shaking uncontrollably now. The pleasure is almost unbearable. his muscles jerking and twitching uncontrollably with every slide of those pretty lips.

That insidious flame flickers at the base of his spine ominously. Warning him of what’s to come. It feels too fucking good, he can’t deny himself of this anymore. His orgasm swells up, large and looming, rushing out along every nerve ending and won’t be ignored. 

“Baby, fuckfuck, please– I can’t–can’t,” he opens his eyes, and looks down on you and fuck that’s such a mistake. You’re looking up at him, a dark pitch that bleeds into your blown pupils. His eyes slam back shut again because he can't survive the hungry look in your eyes.

But it’s already too late. 

His orgasm is consuming, large and looming as it’s trying to eat him whole. It wraps around his flesh and licks down to the marrow. From the curl of his toes, searing through his thighs until it’s permanently carved somewhere deep into his ribs, as he comes down your throat. Leaving nothing but a tingling ache in its wake.

It feels endless, the way he keeps pulsing into your mouth. Cock twitching against your lips, riding out his oversensitivity at your lapping tongue. 

He’s moaning and whimpering, toes skidding along the wet tiles as he desperately tries to find his footing. There’s nothing left but his undeniable surrender. Letting you take as much as you want from him. Until he’s empty and the blazing blue flame in his veins is sated and wrung dry from your attentive tongue. 

There’s clarity again. The dust and smoke clears until there’s only a faint smell of ashes lingering in the back of his mind and he feels like he can think again. His muscles ache with the soreness, and as he takes a long inhale, oxygen floods his head with a rush. Sweet fucking relief, he can breathe again. 

It doesn’t last very long. His eyes open, to see you smile up at him, bleary eyed and messy, drenched hair plastered on your forehead. The water from the shower is still running down your face as you’re trying to catch your breath.

You look like a mess. He did that to you, and you look so fucking good like this.

It’s all it takes, and the insidious heat licks at his bones, corrupting his blood again. The hunger in him returns with a devastating scream in his flesh. His mouth salivates, like what came before was only an appetizer. Now he’s gotten a taste and he’s hungrier than he was before. 

It makes him gain a new sympathy for Steven and the hell the man must’ve gone through with you two nights ago.

Fuck what’s wrong with him. Marc’s already gotten one release. That should’ve sated him. But he can already feel the simmering hunger gain hold again. All it did was make that selfish hungry monster inside him more insatiable. The greedy need claws at his veins, refusing to be ignored anymore.

There’s a knowing look in your eyes that makes his heart seize up. “Do you need more? Do you want to go again?” you ask. 

He swallows around the constricting lump of guilt lodged deep in his throat, blinking up at you, unable to answer. Unable to open his mouth to ask. You’ve given him too much already, he can’t ask for more. 

“It’s okay, Marc. You can ask me.”

You say it with that voice. Breathless, filled with love and affection, like you’d offer him the world if he asked you for it, and it’s not right, he’s the one that should be doing that. The one to give you everything. Yet somehow he keeps finding himself in this seat where he’s the one taking and you’re the one giving. 

“I’m here,” you tell him. “It’s going to be okay, I’m not going anywhere until you’re okay.”

Shit. His chest squeezes tight. The feeling is so large and overwhelming his veins are overbrimming with it. But he never knew how to tell you with words. So he shows you in the only way he’s ever known. 

He drops down to his knees, ignoring the strain in his shoulder from the hand still cuffed tight to the shower. His free hand reaches for you, cupping the back of your neck to pull you in, His mouth slant over yours, and he swallows the sweet affectionate hum between your lips. 

I love you. 

That’s what he’d say if he knew how to. 

I love you and I want to be everything to you. 

He cups your face in his one free hand, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone as he tilts you up to his mouth and kisses you. Your mouth parts, letting him lick into into your mouth properly. You still taste of him. Tart and salty, and the taste of him on your tongue makes him lightheaded. 

Needy heat rolls over his back, and he can feel it again. The demanding hunger that is consuming his insides. The one that wants him to sink his teeth into your soft and pliant flesh, lick and nip at every inch of wet skin you’ll let him as he tries to swallow you whole. It’s not enough. Kissing you isn’t enough. He wants you pressed up against every inch of him. Wants your body lined against his, your legs spread wide as he settles between them. Wants your back arching up against him, breathless and keen as he buries himself inside you. 

He leans further down, pressing you downwards until he has you flat on your back against the cold and hard tiles, and he should do better by you. Should take you into bed, where it’s soft and warm. Nice and sweet. Not fuck you against the dirty floor of Steven’s dirty bathroom like some savage. 

But his body isn’t listening to him, surging down to reclaim your lips as he grinds his hips and cock against the softness of your stomach. He’s hard again, or maybe he never went down for the count, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s aching for you. All of him dying to be buried inside of you to the hilt. 

Pleasure sparks deep in his veins at the contact, and he does it again, grinds himself needily into you, smearing precome over the fabric of your already soaked sleepshirt. God he’s such a mess, he’s ruining your clothes. 

He forces himself up again, kneeling over your body, as he stares down at you. He’s made such a fucking mess of things… of you. Your face is wet from the shower, hair matted against your forehead, and your shirt is soaked and opaque clinging wetly to your skin underneath. The sight of you makes his mouth dry with heat. 

Behind him, the spray of the shower is raining down lukewarm water over his back. It should calm him, that’s why he turned the damn thing on in the first place, but it doesn’t. He can’t even feel it anymore, can barely hear the sound of the shower drizzling down like rain. Instead it’s all turned to static noise inside his head. 

The only thing he sees is your pretty face look up at him, warm and affectionate, and so fucking loving, and he feels sick with want over you. 

“Baby, you gotta tell me to stop,” he forces out, and his hand draws down between his legs to grip his aching cock, that’s throbbing in time with his heartbeat. 

“If it gets too much– you have to–” 

You rise up to meet him, curling one arm around his neck until you’re face to face, so close that your nose nudges his. Your hand reaches down between you, wrapping your hand over his, and your eyes never falter from his, as you shove your panties to the side and guide his hand to notch his cock against your entrance. 

Fuck, you’re dripping. He’s not even inside, and he can feel you slick and warm and wet against the head of his cock. 

“Can you feel that?” you murmur, against his lips. “How wet you got me? I need this too. Need you to fuck your cock inside me, Marc.” 

Shit. 

He snaps. Plain and simple. 

He thrusts down and into you with a long and deep consuming stroke and it’s fucking everything. 

Ecstasy rushes into his bloodstream with a heady sugary rush, and he chases it with his hips, burying his cock inside as deep as you can take him, until it nudges something sweet and blissful that has you clawing at his arm with a gorgeous sob ripped from your throat. 

And it’s so good, so fucking good, he wants to crawl into that sound and nestle into it. He drags himself out of you, until only the overwrought tip of his cock rests inside you, watching you bite down on your lip to muffle your sounds, and that won’t do. Marc wants to hear you. Wants you to scream so loud his ears ring from pain with it. Fuck, he wants to go deaf with it. Wants the sound of your voice obliterate him until it echoes in his ears til the day he dies.

His arm moves to your leg, curling around your thigh to pull you in closer towards his torso, canting you upwards, tilting you at that angle that he knows will make you cry for him. Then he slams forward, his thighs tense, burning with the pleasure that threatens to incinerate him. You’re so fucking tight around him. It’s heaven if Marc ever believed in one. 

Your fingers tighten down on him, nails digging into his skin and the biting pain only makes the pleasure of it all the more ripe and sweet as you clamp down around his cock. 

He can’t stop. Hips thrusting into you with a demanding pace like his body is no longer his own, just a conduit for him to chase that mad pleasure that skitters to his brain and has him want to go harder, deeper, until he’s lodged so deep inside that you can never rid him of you. 

It’s a selfish need that Marc would never allow himself to give voice to. He keeps it jammed under a lid and pretends it’s not there. That deep gnawing hunger that wants you all to himself and never have to share. The possessive streak in his veins that wants to mark you, fuck himself so deep into you until you can fucking taste him in your throat. 

Your legs are wrapped all around him, clamping down around his torso until he’s sure you’re constricting his lungs from the sheer force of it and he almost can’t breathe. “Shit, baby–fuck, you’re so– I–” he grinds down on his teeth, and doesn't let himself say the words, swallowing down the groan that tears through his throat. 

So good, he thinks to himself. You feel so fucking good. So warm and wet and blissfully tight around his cock. He loves you. Loves you so fucking much and he can’t stop, won’t stop– Never want to stop fucking his cock into you. 

Then he sees it. That all familiar tell that lets him know you are close. Every muscle in your body goes taut, and you’re squeezing down almost rhythmically and so tight it knocks the fucking breath out of his lungs. “That’s it baby, come on my cock for me.” 

Your eyes roll back, mouth parting as your back arches upward.

And there you go. You’re so fucking beautiful. 

You come hard and punishingly tight as you squeeze around his cock. 

The pleasure swirls hot and hungry inside his gut, and it’s all it takes to push him right over the edge with you. He spills himself inside, pulse after greedy pulse as he fills you. 

He barely manages to catch himself with a palm braced next to your head on the tiles as he tries to come down.

There’s no relief this time. Not like last time, however brief it was. This time his climax only serves to fuel the pathetic need in his chest. Like someone threw gasoline over an open fire and now it’s spreading everywhere and there’s no extinguisher in sight. 

More, the hunger inside his veins scream out. Again. 

Wants to feel you come again. Wants to feel you squeeze tight around his cock, as your lips part and moan out his name in bliss again. Want to feel your slick drench his cock as you come again and again and again and again. 

He’s still hard. 

He thrusts forward, and you cry, high pitched and broken and the sound makes the blood in his veins sing. 

You're slick and excruciatingly tight, but his come drips out of you, easing the tight press of his cock no matter how hard you squeeze down on him. 

“It’s okay baby,” he hushes, and you sob in reply even as he bends down to press a kiss to your temple. “It’s okay. You can take it for me. Doing so good. You’re being so good,” he coos, as he cants his hips and pushes into you as deeply as he can again. 

Closer. He needs you closer than this. Wants his hands to touch and grip every inch of your skin. He brings his other arm to wrap around your waist, and something tugs and restrains him from behind. It locks up his shoulder, and no matter how hard he pulls forward, he can’t quite reach you. 

You blink up at him, eyes narrowing in confusion as you watch him before your eyes widen, hand reaching up for him. “Marc, wait– you’re–” 

His free arm shoots out around your shoulders and reels you close as he captures your mouth, swallowing down your words. He’s trying to come down to you, to press you down against the floor with the weight of his body, and wrap his arms around you, and never let go. Hold you so tight to him until you can never leave. But something won’t let him. No matter how hard he strains forward the strength holding back his arm won’t budge. 

There’s a metallic groaning noise that protests as he continues to pull against the resisting strength from behind him, as he rolls his hips relentlessly into you, chasing the pleasure. It digs sharp into his wrist with a jagged pain, but he doesn’t even care. Marc wants to hold you close, wrap his arm around your leg and squeeze it tight to his hips and lock you there. 

He rips against the hindrance, with an impatient and angry snarl. The strain and resistance finally gives, and he’s free to put both his hands on you. His arms lock up tight around your waist. 

There's a cacophony of sound somewhere in the distance. Of broken dishes and sharp crashing noise, but he doesn't care. The roof could be collapsing right now and it wouldn't make any damn difference to him so long as you were still here with him.

“Fuck! Marc!”

It doesn’t even register until he hears your agitated shout. He looks up in a daze at you, Your wide and alarmed eyes. Something’s wrong. 

His head whips back, tearing himself away from you prepared to leap into action at the culprit. But that's not what he sees.

There’s debris on the wall. Bare cement in the large torn cracks of the tiled walls. There’s jagged pieces of cracked white porcelain on the floor. Debris and parts of the wall along with the showerhead and the metal rod he handcuffed himself to is lying in ruined shambles below, as the shower spits out water all around like a death rattle. 

Well fuck.  

Fuck– what is he… 

Shit!

He’s completely lost control. The familiar dread and anxiety bleeds into his veins, and he can fight it all he wants, but it’s already here. 

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. He was the one who was supposed to be able to keep it together. The one who was supposed to protect you from this and keep you safe from harm. The bitter acrid taste of failure lingers on his tongue and drips down his throat until it reaches his lungs. Embarrassment clings to his cheeks and burns like fire. His body wants to curl into itself and hide, until he’s so small no one can see him anymore, least of all you. 

“Marc, it’s okay,” you say as you plant an elbow against the slippery floor to you can raise yourself into a sitting position. Until you’re both at eye level with each other. 

“It’s okay. Just ignore it. We’ll clean it up later,” you murmur as you crawl closer to him, until your face is within inches from his and you press your mouth to his cheek. Then you climb into his lap, the firm press of your warm body straddling his thighs and he looks up at you in dazed awe. 

“Do you want to keep going?” you ask. 

Despite the fact that he knows he shouldn’t. That he shouldn’t ask this of you, he still nods, whimpering at the reassuring press of your body against his achingly hard cock. 

“As many times as it takes, okay?” Your fingers circle around the base of his cock, and he chokes on a moan, as you position him against your entrance. You’re slick and warm and fucking dripping for him. 

“Let’s keep going until you feel better. I don’t want you to hold back anymore. Is that okay?” you say.

He doesn't understand how that's a question. Of course it's okay, it's more than okay, it's all he wants. All he ever wants. He nods, and you smile at him. That warm and affectionate smile filled with love and it fills him to the brim. He feels like his heart is going to give out again. There's no more space for shame anymore, the way your smile crowds his vision and every inch of space inside him.

You lift your hips slightly, then you lower your knees, slowly sinking down on his cock until he’s buried all the way inside you, squeezing down around his cock in that perfect way you do, and he can’t fucking think. 

You’re looking down at him like you’re expecting him to answer and he doesn’t even remember how to open his mouth and use vocal cords anymore, fuck he doesn’t even remember what the question was. 

“Marc,” you repeat, 

He still doesn’t know what you’re asking him. But it doesn’t matter does it? When it comes to you, he’s never going to say no to you. So he answers you with the only answer he has. 

“Yes.”

It must be the right answer you were looking for, because you’re looking at him in that way again, smiling up brightly at him, like he’s worth a damn, worth everything to you. He knows that you’re wrong about that. He doesn’t deserve it. But it fills his chest with something sweet and heady. An antidote to the poisonous fire that’s still burning hot and bitter in his veins. He doesn’t fight it. Doesn’t fight the warm buzz that’s trickling slowly into his veins and lets himself bask in it. 

After all, who is he to say no to you? 

You roll your hips against him and your eyes flutter close with a gasp as his cock hits something deep inside, and both of you moan at the feeling as he tightens his arms around your waist. 

You lean closer, lips pressed to his ear, “I love you, Marc” you whisper in the hair above his ears and his whole back shudders pleasantly. 

He tilts his head upwards, his nose brushing up against your chin and cheeks as he tries to find his way back to your mouth. 

Marc might not deserve you. But you deserve everything you want and more, and if Marc is one of those things (for whatever unfathomable reason that he will never understand)… then that makes things a little bit easier for him. 

He wakes with a pounding headache. 

The muscles in his shoulders and back are stiff and sore, cramping up with a sharp throb as he tries to get up. Every limb aches. He feels like he was hit by a fucking truck going at full speed down a highway. 

“Morning,” your voice greets, as your hand comes to his forehead and rests there as if you’re checking for his temperature. It’s soft and soothing, a balm to the ache in body and he fights every instinct to not nuzzle into the palm of your hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” he replies. His voice scrapes against the lining of his throat, like something crawled up in there and died. 

He can hear you laugh quietly at his reply, and despite how crap he feels, the sound seeps into his chest and the stiffness melts just a little bit. The bed dips as you sit down on the edge next to him. 

“How long was I out for?” 

“Not too long. Just a bit. You needed the rest,” you answer, and it's entirely too vague for his liking. 

He anchors his elbow into the soft bedding below and despite the angry creak of the mattress and the protesting groan in his bones, he tries to get up into a sitting position. His head feels lightheaded with the sudden altitude, like he’s about to throw up all over the sheets. It’s like he’s experiencing the world’s worst hangover, the second time in less two days. As soon as he gets his hand on that sex sprite, he’s going to fling it into the surface of the sun. Don’t care how upset that will make Min’s avatar. 

Bringing his hand to his face, he rubs at his temples and the blunt throbbing pain that’s killing his head, when it occurs to him. His wrist feels light and unimpeded, there’s no sharp metal digging into his wrist.  He stares down at his now bare wrist, then he looks up at you in confusion. 

“Jake told me where the key was,” you answer. 

He frowns, but holds his tongue. That means at some point while Marc was still unconscious, Jake must've woken up without him being aware. Marc doesn’t love that. He’s still not completely at ease with Jake being around you. Especially when he’s unconscious and can’t keep an eye out to step in and protect you if something were to go wrong. 

As if something hasn’t already.

Marc is such a hypocrite, talking about protecting you as if he isn’t the very wolf at your door, fangs poised at your throat. 

Your thumb smooths over his knuckles, as you nudge his leg with your knees.  “Should I make you some coffee? Maybe some breakfast. Can whip up some omelets for you.”

He shakes his head. “No I gotta get up. Try to catch that thing before it does more damage again.”

He should tell you to leave. It’s not safe for you here. But he knows you’re going to fight him tooth and nail over it. 

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” you say as you rise from the bed, “stay there for just a sec will you?” 

You walk up to the Gus trio’s tank, sliding a few books around, and pick something up before you make your way back to him, holding an all too familiar brass-metal box in the palm of your hand outstretched to him. 

He can see from the shape on the golden lid the puzzle sequence has been properly completed, just like that obnoxious Avatar had shown him. Locked and sealed.

“How did you–” he sputters out in shock as he eyes it. 

“Steven sealed it for me.”

He blinks, feeling a little bit stunned as he takes the box from you. “How did you get it back in there in the first place.”

“You said that it liked small cramped spaces with a lid. I figured it couldn’t have gotten far from the flat like last time. So I just started opening every single item in the place with a lid. It hid in an empty shoebox this time.” 

Marc grits his teeth. “That’s dangerous, it could’ve possessed you.”

You wave your hands dismissively at his concerns. “It’s alright. I had a fly-swatter,” you answer, like that answers everything and Marc’s just being silly. 

“You what?”

“A flyswatter. I just swatted at it until it finally got back into the box. Had to chase it around the flat, reopening every jar and box in the flat for a good hour or so until it got the hint.” 

He wants to scold you, want to point out everything that could’ve gone wrong and how you should have just ran out of the apartment and gotten yourself to safety. It’s a speech he’s made a hundred times before, but you never listened then either, and those times you didn’t have the upper hand with the argument, given that he passed out and you saved the day. 

So he bites his tongue. 

“Hey,” you say softly as your hand comes to cup his cheek. “Everything worked out fine alright? It’s a happy ending. You don’t have to look so sad.” 

He bites the insides of his cheek. Flashes of you under him, soft and moaning, legs spread and wrapped around him, invading in startling technicolor.

“I’m…” he wants to say sorry, but the word won't come. His hand curls into a fist to his side with unease. “That shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let you stay and do that for me”.

“Marc, it’s not a punishment for me to have sex with you. This shouldn't come as a surprise to you by now, but I like having sex with you.” 

He doesn’t answer you, just stares blindly at his feet at the end of the bed, as the guilt crawls in his gut and tries to consume him. Maybe he should let it. It’s what he deserves after all. 

You scoot closer to him, an exasperated but fond look in your eyes as you take his hand in yours. “You see Marc, when two adults love each other very much,” you sing-song and start to jokingly explain to him about the bird and the bees.

Despite himself he can feel the smile tugging at his lips, and the gnawing anxiety fades a bit. You think you’re so fucking funny sometimes (and to Marc you are), but he isn’t going to let the laugh that wants to push up against his throat betray him. You meet his smile with your own, and that helps to take away the last of that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“Can you promise me that next time something like this happens again, you won't run away… or lock yourself in the bathroom to deal with it all by yourself? We’ll handle it together alright?”

Marc meets the look in your eye. It's the same one that he keeps finding somehow even though he never quite understands why, of love and adoration for him.

A part of him wants to fight it, push it away because he doesn't deserve it... But your soft voice echoes in his ear. The weight of your arms wrapped around his shoulders still lingers from before. 'I love you', you had told him, and whether he deserves your love or not is maybe not the point. You love him regardless. And who is he to say no to you?

“Yeah,” Marc nods. “Together.”

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

Happy Moon-aversary everyone!!! I can't believe I'm still here a whole year after this show premiered. When I first saw that trailer with Oscar Isaac's strange british accent I remember telling @thirstworldproblemss I was sceptical and then I watched about 5 minutes of Steven on screen and went "oh no, I'm in love with this man" and the rest is history.

I hope you guys enjoyed this piece as much as I enjoyed writing it, thank you so much for taking the time to read it I appreciate all of you so very much.

Dedications and credit: To my co-worker, co-clown and the love of my life @thirstworldproblemss she's had a busy few months and she is everything to me please go over and send her some love if you have time!!!!

Also to my muse @guruan who draws horny sketches and the most inspiring artpieces that makes me write near 13k of blowjob for this man. That blowjob scene was particularly inspired by THIS sketch. Send her love! Send her reblogs, send her everything you have and more!

[ivystoryweaver]

3 Times Jake Lockley Tried to Kill You and 1 Time He Saved Your Life

Part 1 of 4 - Knife

Miniseries Masterlist || Main Masterlist || next

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Summary: Jake has been hired to assassinate you - the daughter of Chicago's most powerful and corrupt man

Or: If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

Word Count: 2.5k

Content: nsfw, mdni, more below the cut, READ the warnings. Dead dove - you will get what is warned!

There is no non-con in this fic, but it's dark in the sense that the reader IS in real danger from Jake. Violence, language, stalking, blood, knife play, also actual knife use - like for its intent - stabbing, danger, sexy dreams, glove kink, masturbation, not beta'd

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

The second time Jake saw you up close, he darkly chuckled to himself at how easy of a mark you were.

Everyone in his line of work knew who you were - the beautiful daughter of the most powerful man in the city. And your father had endless enemies.

Including the one who hired Jake to take you out. Jake's boss was a lot of things, but he wasn't stupid. To assassinate the most powerful mob boss' only daughter required someone removed from the situation. Someone professional. Invisible.

Jake wasn't stupid either. There wasn't enough money in this city to lure him into crossing your father.

No, this was plain, old fashioned revenge. So maybe Jake's boss was stupid - this was personal, for Jake anyway.

So tonight, as he saw you walking out of a club with your girlfriends, your inept bodyguards flanking you, he sneered.

You had style - that, Jake had to admit. Your dress fit you like a glove, but landed an inch or so longer than your obvious minions’ skirts. The girls around you were trying too hard. You didn’t have to.

They flocked to your power and your money (or your father's), but the attempt was desperate, at best.

But you held yourself with a self-assurance and something Jake had no idea he was interested in until he'd started tailing you: class.

Your eyes shone as your laughter rang out into the night. You must’ve been a little tipsy, if the glow of your cheeks was any indication.

The bodyguards - who Jake mentally referred to as Dumb and Dumber - ushered the small group of you into a waiting car.

Jake thought about it: driving you. Using his day (or night) job to get close to you. Too complicated. You had a faithful driver, well paid, who had shuttled you around the city practically all your life. Then, of course there were Dumb and Dumber and the other girls to...dispose of.

So no driving. Not this time.

You rarely ventured out alone, but Jake had discovered your quietest moments. You lived in a hotel, actually - one of your father's - in a penthouse, with, at least, adequate security.

So, no home invasion. That made Jake feel like a creep anyway, and he wasn't a creep. He was a professional.

He found the easiest access to you would likely come during one of your early morning jogs in the park, or while you liked to shop or run errands during the day.

In fact, he walked right by you just yesterday.

That was the first time he saw you up close.

You were even more beautiful up close.

Yesterday, he simply wanted to see if Dumb and Dumber would notice how close he got. He was also checking out the lack of security cameras in the park.

He had to do this right. And even then, he would flee afterward. He hated this city anyway.

Fucking Chicago. Every horrible thing in his life went wrong in this city. New York never treated him so poorly. And besides, the alter in his head preferred life across the pond. So, finishing this job would be the perfect excuse to never return.

So the next morning, he arrived in the park before sunrise. Sure enough, you came jogging round the corner, an unsafe number of strides ahead of Dumb and Dumber. Or...it was only Dumber this time. One bodyguard? Seriously, this was too easy.

All it took was a gloved hand around your mouth and a knife to your ribs to get you where he wanted you, into the dense thicket, away from prying eyes.

You struggled, but Jake’s experience won out. He used the tip of his knife to inflict the slightest twinge of pain.

"I can make this almost painless," he breathed on your ear.

You whimpered, angry with yourself for going limp in his arms as you felt the pinch of pain in your ribs.

However, you're weren't stupid either. If he wanted to kill you, he would have dragged that blade across your jugular with your mouth still covered. You would bleed out silently and he would have plenty of time to escape before your bodyguard found you.

His annoying poke to your ribs and striking up a conversation meant he wanted something else and that's why you shuddered. This was a kidnapping or an assault. Or he was a sick freak who wanted to play with his food first.

He whirled you around and pushed you up against a tree, crowding in front of you, with your mouth still covered.

The tree's bark scraped against your bare legs, but cold, dark eyes which - under different circumstances, might have captivated you - momentarily distracted you.

Distinguished nose - mouth set in a thin line, strong, square jaw with a beard - well kempt. Dark brown curls peeked out of a flat cap. He almost looked like something out of the 1930's when you really thought about it.

Which...given the circumstances, why in the hell were you thinking about his looks?

Finding your courage, you tried to speak against his gloved hand. He positioned the knife at your throat - finally a more useful spot - and breathed against your cheek. "Scream and it'll be your last word, doll."

You nodded quickly, trying to blink back the moisture in your eyes. Your father was going to end this asshole, but you might suffer mightily first.

Slowly, Jake removed his hand, keeping it close to your mouth in case you got any ideas.

"Why didn't you just cut my throat?" You gasped, your chest heaving, drawing his eyes momentarily down to the fit of your sports bra and your chest, glistening with a light sheen of sweat.

"Are you offering suggestions?" One dark eyebrow shot up, almost comedically.

"It would be the quickest and quietest way," you confessed, shrugging one shoulder. "I'm just trying to see what I'm in for. You want me to beg or something? Cry? Just tell me and get it over with."

Jake chucked.

Oh. So he was a condescending asshole. Awesome.

Still, he didn't taunt you or threaten you, which probably meant ... damn it.

"Aw hell, you're a pervert then?" You scoffed. "I'm not a virgin, if that's what you're hoping."

That puzzled your captor, but only for a moment. " - no," he scoffed. "That's not something I have to...coerce."

You rolled your eyes, but made sure to keep still because that knife tip was starting to dig into your throat. "I'm sure you're a real catch. Just get this over with. My bodyguard will be here soon."

The corner of Jake's mouth curled. "Trust me, I'm not worried about him."

You shivered slightly, realizing he'd done his homework. "What do you want?" You managed, a little more desperately than you were hoping to sound.

"Revenge," he evenly responded

You locked eyes and saw honesty there.

You slightly nodded, swallowing hard as his breath ghosted your cheek.

"W-what did I do to you?"

Jake's eyes darkened as he pulled the blade from your throat and positioned it right over your heart.

"Your father killed my brother."

Wetting your lips, you whispered, "I'm sorry. I-I don't know anything about that."

"'Course you don't," Jake sneered. "But your father does."

"So I have to pay for your brother's life with my own?" You hurriedly reasoned. "You think that will make my father suffer the way you have? There's no way. I don't even think he loves me." Your voice was now dripping with panic, but Jake started to admire the way you fired off protests.

"Nice try," Jake scoffed. "Everyone knows you're daddy's pride and joy. You're the only way to his heart."

"Then do it," you spat. "I hate all this Criminal Minds villain discourse bullshit. Just put us both out of our misery."

"Villain?" Jake huffed. "I'm the villain? Your father has corrupted this entire city! And you benefit from every cent and every life he takes. You're the villain - both of you."

"Then what are you fucking waiting for?" You hissed, jerking against him, causing the knife to slip and slice your chest.

"Shit!" You cried out, your hands flying to cover your wound, which was only superficial, but still hurt like hell.

The gloved hand clamped back over your mouth as the knife tip dragged down your sternum to just under your ribs once more. Without hesitation, he pushed the blade into your abdomen.

You screamed into his hand, tears streaming down your face. Your body flamed with searing pain as you went limp in his arms.

"Shhh, shh, sweetheart. It's only enough to slow you down. You'll live. Promise."

And he fucking left you there.

With his knife inside you.

Oh your father was going to crucify this asshole.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

You spent hardly any time at all in the hospital - the wound was so insignificant. Still, you were stabbed so it warranted medical attention and your father was furious. He attempted to double security around you and forbade you from leaving your penthouse.

You indulged him for a day or so but you weren't one to be caged. He'd made your life enough of a living hell. You felt scared all the time, always a pressure point for him - a bargaining chip for his enemies.

You didn't tell him about the bouquet of tulips you received from your attacker, with a note that read, 'Did you keep what I left inside you?'

The next day, gardenias arrived with another note. 'I'll show you how to use it sometime.'

Okay, so maybe you were stupid. Because instead of turning the notes over to your father, or even the police (not likely), you kept them to yourself.

The most intriguing thing about this mystery man was how he was managing to get these flowers and notes past your (obviously shit) security.

You dreamed.

He's pinned you up against the tree. His gloved hand applies pressure to your throat. The tip of his knife blade traces lightly over your bottom lip, before he drags it down the smooth column of your throat. He trails down your chest, raking it between your breasts before slicing right through your sports bra. Your breasts spring free and his eyes darken. He grazes your nipple with the blade - the cool metal electrifying your peak, making it go stiff.

His grip on your throat loosens as he pushes gloved fingers up over your jaw and slips his leather clad digits into your mouth. His eyes find yours again as you obediently suck without being asked.

He pushes his fingers to the back of your throat, gagging you, which makes him smirk.

Then he surprises you by taking his hand out of your mouth and pushing the hilt of the knife into your palm.

"Hold this for me, baby," he instructs, roughly shoving his sopping wet glove - wet with your spit - into your tight leggings, slipping them between your already soaked folds.

Your hand shakes as you realize you have the power - you have the knife and you can get away. You can hurt him back, like he hurt you.

Without another thought, you jab the knife into his side, even as his gloved thumb circles your clit.

"That's my girl," he pants as blood pools and spills through his crisp, white dress shirt. You yank the knife back out, puzzled, but your brain is starting to short-circuit from the wildest fingerfucking you've ever experienced.

You try to whisper his name, wondering if he'll be okay, but you realize - you don't even know his name. You have no inkling whose fingers are stuffed inside your cunt, even as you grind down on his palm, riding his glove like a toy.

You woke up covered in sweat, slick heat pooled between your legs even as your belly filled with shame.

Without another thought, you reached into your nightstand drawer for the knife he left inside you.

You yanked your nightgown aside, gently running the cool metal over your nipples, just the way he'd done in your dream.

You shoved your fingers into your mouth, just like he had, and once they were sopping you slid them into your silky panties and rubbed your clit furiously.

"Oh god," you moaned, writhing, carefully scraping the knife across your other nipple before a nasty idea formed. You used the knife handle and pushed it down over your clit with two fingers of the opposite hand stuffed inside you.

You felt wrong - disgusted with yourself. The man wasn't being sexy - this wasn't some fantasy of a dangerous man in the woods. He had no interest in you. He threatened you - stabbed you, for fuck's sake. Who knew what else he was capable of? He could've taken advantage of your body or sliced your throat.

And now he'd sent the flowers and messages. So he was probably a stalker. This would escalate and be dragged out, just like you'd wanted to avoid.

He was probably watching you right now.

...which, to your utter shame made you feral.

You moaned so loudly, you were sure your bodyguards would rush in.

"Can you see me?" You panted, repulsed with yourself, but so close, rubbing the blunt end of the knife faster and faster over your clit as you shoved your fingers as deep as they would go.

One more thought of that horrible man plunging his knife in you and your back arched euphorically as a powerful orgasm wracked your body - as good as any with your array of top-of-the-line toys.

As you lay there panting, wondering how you would rid yourself of this shameful new obsession - masturbating to a man who wanted revenge against your father - who attacked you and honestly, showed no real interest in you - you decided you needed a way to reach him.

He was able to get to you somehow, by sending you flowers and notes.

So the next day, you instructed your staff to return a wrapped, sealed box to whomever delivered flowers, and you paid handsomely to make sure the box got back to the sender.

It may never make it to the mystery man, but you had to try.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"I told you - you can't come back here," Jake scolded the young delivery boy.

"Sorry, mister. That lady gave me a ton of money to bring this to you."

Fortunately, Jake had met up with this little idiot on a street corner and not near where he lived, nor near his car. He also used a false name.

It was risky enough sending things to you, but you got under his skin.

He knew this was all a bad idea. His boss wanted you dead and Jake wanted his revenge for Randall.

But here he was, behaving like a pathetic stalker, sending you flowers and creepy notes, bypassing your security.

And now you sent something back?

Jake pulled the lid from the box and almost choked. It was his knife. Something had...dried on the handle, along with what he could only assume was still your blood on the blade. And there was a handwritten note.

'I came on it.'

next

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Jake Lockley-Centric stories

Moon Knight Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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[st4rymoon]

🕷️𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭🕷️

This will be my first time writing for kinktober, hope you all enjoy <3

⭐︎ List created by me <3 I’ll be adding onto the list if I think of others! By the way new character will be in the works!

1. Best-friend - Poe Dameron x reader (published)

2. Gamer bf/on call - Miguel O’Hara x reader

3. Halloween party - Jake Lockley x reader

4. Edging - Marc Spector x reader

5. Cock warming - Loki x reader

6. Choking - Blue Jones x reader

7. Predator x pray game - Miguel O’Hara x reader

8. Dads best friend - Joel Miller x reader

9. Corruption kink - Raymond Leon x reader

10. Breeding kink - Steven Grant x reader

11. Fingering/Sub - Jake Lockley x reader

12. Size kink - Bucky Barns x reader

13. Creampie - Steven Grant x reader

14. Temp play (ice cubes) - Miguel O’Hara x reader

15. Bondage - Santiago Garcia x reader

16. Praise kink - Joel Miller x Reader

17. Impact play - Poe Dameron x reader

18. Overstimulation - Jonathan Levy x reader

19. Dumbification - Miguel O’Hara x reader

20. Mile high club - Poe Dameron x reader

21. Tutor - Miguel O’Hara x reader

22. Phone sex! - Steven Grant x reader

23. Pussy! Fiend - Bucky Barns x reader

24. Sex! Toys - Poe Dameron x reader

25. Academic rivals - Miguel O’Hara x reader

26. Touched starved - Poe Dameron x reader

27. Cam girl - Steven grant x Reader

28. Car sex! - Jonathan Levy x reader

29. Riding! - Steven grant x reader

30. Brat tamer - Loki x reader

31. Rough sex - Joel Miller x reader

[campingwiththecharmings]

driver!jake x rich girl!reader

👀👀👀👀

i...am 99.9% sure @melodygatesauthor has probably written this (or something similar lol) but i am happy to put my spin on it as well 😌

---

You're wearing that skirt again.

The one he's sure you know drives him crazy, the one that's so short it barely covers anything, the edges fluttering slightly as you walk, granting him glimpses of the tantalizing treasure beneath.

He tries not to stare, really he does, knows it's not the most professional thing to do (especially as an employee of your father's) but...it's just so hard (in more ways than one).

You certainly don't make his job as your driver easy. Dancing and drinking into the early hours of the morning with your friends (all of whom have tried to pick him up at least once), drunkenly piling into his limo in your designer dresses and heels, giggling and screaming as he quietly drives you back to your penthouse (where the party will likely continue). If he wasn't paid so much, he might be more annoyed at the state of his backseat after he's dropped you off--more than once, he's had to have his (normally) pristine limo professionally cleaned after one of your overserved friends has puked all over his leather seats.

Yes. You're definitely lucky he's paid so well.

Tonight had started as it usually did, with you and your friends asking to be dropped of at some club downtown. It's 1 a.m., and Jake knows he still has a few hours before the club closes for the night. Deciding to stretch his legs, he exits the vehicle, shucking his jacket and tossing it in the driver's seat. He closes the door with his hip, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up to his elbows.

Briefly, he considers taking a walk but this part of town is a tad sketchy and he's not too comfortable leaving his car unattended here in the street. Instead, he opts to lean against the side, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He lights it, groaning softly as he takes a pull, the smoke filling his lungs as he inhales deeply. Jake closes his eyes to savor the pleasant buzz in his head from the nicotine, tipping his head back a little and exhaling slowly. He opens his eyes just as the last tendrils of smoke are blown away by the warm, night breeze, and sees you.

There you are, standing alone on the sidewalk in front of him, designer coat folded over your arm, soft smile on your lips. Jake starts, immediately throwing the cigarette down and stomping it out, his back going rigid as he stands to attention.

"Oh, ah--Ready to go, Miss?"

Your lips twitch, eyes dragging slowly down the length of him before you say, "Yes. Take me home, Mr. Lockley."

Jake nods, briefly wondering where the rest of your group is as he pulls open the door to the back of the limo for you. When you don't get in immediately, he looks back, questioning.

With a twinkle in your eyes that he hadn't noticed before, you tell him, "I'd rather sit up front this time, actually."

He nods slowly, wondering what game you're playing with him now. "Of course, whatever you'd like."

Jake closes the back door and turns, pulling open the passenger door for you instead. You make eye contact with him as you brush past, the delicious scent of you invading his senses.

Yeah. He's in big trouble.

Absently, he wets his lips, closing the door once you're inside. He takes his time making his way back around to the driver's side, trying to compose himself for the ride back to your penthouse.

You've always been a hard one for him to read. You've teased him before, sure, but...he'd always figured you were just having fun, that you were just toying with the hired help--that's just what spoiled, little rich girls did, right?

He tosses his jacket into the back and gets in, closing the door and pulling his seat belt on. The engine purrs to life when he turns the key in the ignition, the sound calming his nerves a little. He puts the car into gear, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You're looking out the window, head turned mostly away from him, body angled so you can rest your elbow against the door. He takes a moment to admire your profile, the soft line of your neck, the way the material of your skirt pulls against your thighs. Then, he clears his throat.

"Seat belt."

You look over at him, teasing smile returning to your painted lips as you look at him from beneath your lashes. For a moment, he thinks you're going to talk back, to argue, to tell him you can do whatever you want, but instead, you wordlessly buckle yourself in, eyes never leaving his. He nods, swallowing thickly as he returns his attention ahead.

Your penthouse isn't far from the club you'd been at, and it normally doesn't take long for him to make it back there after your nights out on the town, but he remembers too late that you left earlier than usual this evening and hits a little more traffic than he'd like. You've been quiet the entire drive, simply staring out the window, shifting in your seat every now and then. He can't be sure, but he feels like you might be doing it on purpose, to draw his attention to the fact that your skirt has ridden up so high on your delectable thighs that he can see a flash of the white lace panties beneath them. Jake fights the urge to groan, instead keeping his attention on the road a head of him.

He's relieved when he spots the familiar building that houses your penthouse, internally breathing a sigh of relief as he smoothly halts at the entrance. The doorman rushes out to open the door for you, but you wave him off, instead turning back toward Jake, that gleam still in your eyes.

"Would you mind walking me upstairs, Mr. Lockley?" you ask, your voice soft and far more innocent than the look in your eyes. "I'm not used to being up there all alone."

Jake pauses, considering the repercussions. If he says no, will you complain about him to your father? He could lose his job. But if he says yes, and you do what he thinks you're going to do, he'll lose it anyway, won't he? (that, or your father will kill him)

So either way he's screwed, it seems. Least he can do is have a little fun first.

Jake nods, wetting his lips again as he steers the car toward the garage beside your building. He parks in the spot marked for the penthouse (a spot that's conveniently located right beside the elevator), and helps you out of the vehicle. The edge of your skirt has risen up so high, he can see the curve of your ass cheeks peeking from beneath it as you walk ahead of him to the elevator. He stifles another groan, trying his best to remain professional just in case he's misreading this situation.

The ride up in the elevator is excruciating. All he can think about is pinning you up against the side and shoving his face between your legs. He wonders how you taste (he imagines something rich and sweet, like champagne), how you'd sound, how you'd look just as you're about to come.

The elevator chimes, startling him from his thoughts, the doors opening into the foyer of the penthouse. It's lavish, elegant, but also somehow understated. Perhaps a little like you, he thinks.

Inside he breaths a sigh of relief, thinking his task is done, that he's free to return to his car and go home for the evening...but as you step off onto the white marble floor, you turn slightly, waving him inside.

"Come in, have a drink with me."

Jake hesitates, and you must see it because you chuckle and say, "It's the least I can do for making you walk me all the way up here."

He smiles, nodding his thanks as he makes a waving gesture with his hands. "Please, Miss, there's no need. I'm just doing my job."

Disappointment clouds your eyes at his words and you look away with a quiet sigh, one he only catches because he's watching you so closely. Suddenly you look so....lonely. Standing there in this grand penthouse, all alone. He shouldn't feel bad for you, you have everything you could ever want, everything he doesn't, but...he can't seem to help himself.

Knowing he'll likely end up regretting it, he steps inside, his shoes squeaking slightly on the floor. Your head swivels back toward him at the sound, a light in your eyes when she realizes you've decided to stay. The sight makes something warm unfurl in his chest.

Half an hour later, you're both sitting in your living room (on the most uncomfortable couch he's ever had the misfortune of sitting on), glasses in hand and a bottle of Macallan whisky between you. Your ridiculous heels lay discarded on the floor, delectable legs curled up beneath you as you both laugh about something one of you had said.

Jake's always prided himself on being able to hold his alcohol but, honestly? He's pretty certain that, if he's not drunk now, he is well on his way. He can't stop staring at you, at the way your smile lights up your whole face, the way your eyes sparkle when you say something cheeky...the way your skirt is still riding up your thighs.

He takes another sip from his glass (which he should really stop doing if he's planning on driving himself home later), the liquid burning down his throat. Jake licks his lips, eyes glued to your thighs, wondering idly how soft your skin is, how you'd react if he pushed his calloused hand beneath the hem of your skirt, his fingers dancing along the edge of your panties--

"Jake?"

His eyes shoot back to yours, heat flaring in his cheeks at being caught. You're close (when had you gotten so close?), so close he can smell you, can feel the heat of you through your clothes.

He hums in response, not trusting that his mouth is capable of coherent speech at the moment. You smile, putting your arm against the back of the couch, the length of your body pressed along the side of his as you lean in to whisper in his ear.

"I want you."

Jake groans softly at your words, unable to contain himself any longer. He feels you smile against the side of his neck, your lips dragging along the skin there. You press a feather-light kiss just below the hinge of his jaw and he leans back a little, giving you more space. You hum, nipping at another spot and soothing it with your tongue. Your fingers find their way into his hair, plunging into his soft curls, and gently angling his head where you want it.

You kiss him and he groans again, eyes fluttering shut as your lips move tentatively against his. His hand cups your cheek and you sigh, the action making something tighten in his chest. Soon you're straddling his lap, skirt ridden up so far you might as well not be wearing it (which would be just fine with Jake). His hands are everywhere--cupping your face, slipping beneath your top, clutching your ass, pushing up your thighs toward the hem of your skirt--

You break the kiss with a gasp as his fingertips skim over the delicate lace covering your pussy, your thighs quaking on either side of him.

"Please," you whine breathlessly, mouth falling open as you chase his touch.

Obligingly, Jake slips a finger inside, groaning softly at how warm and wet you are. He swirls his fingertip around your clit, gently teasing it, and dragging the most delicious sounds from between your lips. He watches transfixed as you writhe in his lap, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted. You moan as he slips his fingers further south, briefly teasing your entrance before dipping inside. Your fingers clench in his shirt as you move against his hand, his name spilling from your mouth like a prayer.

"That's it, bebita," he breathes, his chest heaving a little as he watches you. "Take what you need."

You moan again as he circles your clit, leaning forward to press your forehead against his, breath fanning against his lips. You whine his name again and he groans, the sound going straight to his cock. When you come, he swears it's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen, your breath hitching, mouth slack, eyes closed in ecstasy, body shaking as your orgasm rocks through you.

Jake brings his fingers to his lips as you try to catch your breath, moaning as the rich taste of you explodes on his tongue. He wants more, wants to devour you, to make you come over and over and over again on his tongue until he's swallowed every last ounce of your essence.

He wonders if you'd let him.

You kiss him then, slow and sensual, humming a little as you lick into his mouth. He groans when your hand slips inside his trousers, taking him in your hand.

"Need you, Jake," you pant, lightly rubbing your thumb over his tip.

He throws his head back against the edge of the couch, cursing under his breath in Spanish. He hears you chuckle, your delicate hands working him from his pants.

He clutches at your hips as you sink down onto him, that silly little skirt bunched up around your waist. His fingers dig into your soft flesh as you ride him, your hands fisting in his thick hair as you pull his mouth back to yours. You're squeezing him, your cunt fluttering around his length as he fucks up into you, searching for the spot he knows will fling you over the edge. You break the kiss with a gasped moan when he finds it, whimpering and whining into his ear as he hits it again and again ("Oh fu--right there, Jake. Yeah, just like that. Oh God. Oh fuck---"). You gush around him when you come, soaking and squeezing his cock. He follows you over the edge, spilling himself inside you with a broken groan.

He ends up staying the night (and if he makes you come a few more times before the sun rises, well, who's to say?).

**apologies for any mistakes, this was absolutely not proofread lol**

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.

PART 2

[elliaze]

Taste of desire

Parring: Jake Lockley x fem!reader, mentioned Steven Grant x fem!reader and Marc Spector x fem!reader (but in like one sentence only, so it's mainly Jake x reder)

Warnings: smut, rough sex, creampie, sex in public place, both Jake and reader are crazy about each other, but they are so in love, this is my first time writing a smut so probably this is also a warning

Summary: Y/N and Jake are in the club.

Words Count: 1400

MASTERLST

Evening’s with Jake had their regular moments. First he would take you to your favourite restaurant, then you would end up at a nearby club to unwind after a long day. Mostly it ended with one or two drinks and a few dances, but you noticed that tonight was going to be different. 

“What are you doing?” You asked curiously, glancing at Jake. 

He was sitting next to you, sprawled out on a couch in one of the boxes you had managed to occupy. Jake put his hand on your uncovered knee and there would have been nothing strange about that, as he had held it almost all this time, showing that you were taken. This time, however, his hand slowly headed up the inside of your thigh, making you shiver. 

“ I have no idea what you're talking about, hermosa.” 

You rolled your eyes. Sometimes you forget what a cunning bastard Jake could be. Lockley actually acted as if he didn't know what was going on and was quietly drinking his whisky. You knew him too well and knew that it was just his game, which he mostly won, because at the end of the day you would let him do anything he likes to do to you. Just like now, when you felt getting hot at the thought of what state he could bring you to again. 

“Jake” you said his name with warning as you felt his hand travel higher. You quickly grabbed his wrist, stopping him between your legs, but you still managed to feel the heat coming from him. Something tightened in your stomach at the fact that he was only inches away from touching you where you needed it. You looked around to see if anyone had noticed that his hand was under your skirt, and you breathed a sigh of relief when you noticed that everyone was busy with their own. “We're in a public place. This is not funny.”

Lockley tsked in satisfaction. He slid his hand out from under your skirt and for a moment you hoped you might have talked some sense into him, but then he grabbed you around the waist and moved into his lap. He put his hands on your hips, not letting you move anywhere. There was a devious smile on his face, and you could see that dangerous glint in his dark eyes. Jake leaned over you and placed a hot kiss on your neck. As hard as you wanted to fight it, you couldn't ignore the fact that this alone made you feel yourself getting wet. You moaned softly and tightened your fingers on his shoulders. You knew by now that you were at a loss.

“Fuck you, Lockley,” you whispered directly into his mouth, moving your hips back and forth. Jake was unpredictable, but you weren't going to let him be the only one to torment. He only laughed, as if he had heard the best joke. 

“That's my intention, querida, but only with you. That's why you have two options,” he said, bringing his lips close to your ear. “I can take you right now, right here, where everyone can see us. Or you can be a good girl, and we'll go to the bathroom, because you look too sexy for me to wait until we get home.”

You drew a loud breath as he gently bit the lobe of your ear. You had forgotten about the world around you, and he could actually fulfil the first option. But you still had some sense, and all you could do was clasp his face in your hands, and kiss him hard, showing that you were agreeing to whatever he was thinking about. 

“The bathroom,” you whispered.

Jake set you on the ground and you could feel your legs go weak under you. This was to be the first time he had acted this way towards you in public. He had teased you, and made you blush, but you had always been able to wait until you got home. This time, the journey in the car would be too long, and you needed to feel his touch and kisses on your body.

“That's what I thought,” he spoke up slyly.

Lockley threw his arm over your shoulder and, paying no attention to whether anyone was watching you, led you into the bathroom. As soon as he closed the door, you had the feeling that some wild animal had entered him. He kissed you immediately, and the kiss almost left you breathless. You moaned protractedly as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. He pushed you towards the washbasin against which he leaned you, and you widened your legs, allowing him to stand between them. He was so close to you that you could feel his bulge in his trousers growing larger. 

“I swear you're going to drive me to death one day,” he said between kisses. 

Jake reached one hand up and placed it on your throat, squeezing gently. He didn't hurt you in any way, but it only made you want more. You could feel his familiar touch on your body, which was causing you to lose your mind completely, and that was all that mattered to you. Everything he was doing was not enough for you. You craved more and more. 

“Jake…”

“Don't worry, princesa. I'll make you feel like you're in heaven.” 

You believed him, because he was able to do it every time. Whenever he touched you in this way, you felt like he was discovering some new place that you had no idea of, where his touch could give you such pleasure. Jake sat you down on the sink and pulled your skirt up to your hips. He moved you to the edge of the counter so that your body bent at an unnatural angle, and you moaned into his mouth when you felt his other hand land between your legs. He slipped his fingers under your underwear and as he ran his fingers over your clit, you heard him curse under his breath. 

“I haven't even done anything yet, and already you're wet for me. This is all just for me, isn't it?”

“Just for you,” you said and pushed your hips forward, impatient with the fact that he kept teasing you. “Only for you, Jake.” 

You kissed his neck and slipped your hands under his shirt, immediately directing them to his back. You ran fingernails over his skin, and he growled at the small gesture. 

“That's right, that's my name, baby. And you will be screaming it so that everyone who walks by will hear you and know who's giving you so much pleasure.”

Without warning, Jake slipped two fingers into you at once. You cursed loudly and leaned your head against the mirror behind you. You were breathing heavily, and your chest was rising and falling at an irregular rate. You were on the verge of euphoria, and Lockley only smiled to himself with satisfaction at seeing you in such a state. He leaned over you and, still exploring your delicate insides, began to descend lower and lower with his kisses. He started from a place behind the ear, down your throat and neck, on to your breasts and chest, which were hidden under the material of your dress. He placed a kiss just above your most sensitive spot, until finally he grabbed your underwear and pulled at it. 

All you could hear was the crack of the material, and that sobered you for a moment.

“Did you…just…destroy my underwear?” You asked, struggling to form the words into a question. 

Jake just laughed and lifted his hand, which contained the torn fabric.

“I'll buy you a new and sexier set.” 

“Asshole, how am I supposed to get home now?” 

“No one but us will know you're acting like a pequeña puta.”

You hated being addressed that way. You considered it a completely sexist text and, above all, disrespectful. But when Jake lost his temper and addressed you with these kinds of words... Oh, you knew it only turned you on. You didn't have time to answer him when Jake crouched down and his lips were between your legs.

Lockley was unrelenting. His fingers had driven you mad before, but now, combined with his tongue, they were a pleasurable torment. You slipped your fingers into his hair and clenched them, trying to find something in the way of balance. This was extremely difficult as Jake touched you in ways you could only imagine. Then Jake slid a third finger inside you, and you felt as if something slowly broke inside you. Pain and pleasure were merging together. You felt the pressure in the pit of your stomach becoming more and more unbearable, as if waiting for the right moment to let go. 

“I'm holding you, querida. Just give in. Come for me.”

His words of encouragement made something inside you relax. One minute you could feel the end approaching, and the next the greatest fulfilment had completely taken over you, and you came with his name on the lips. However, Jake did not pull away immediately. He ran his tongue over your sensitive folds once more, and only then did he straighten up. At the same time, he slid his fingers out of you, and when your gazes met, he slowly began to lick them.

“You are so sweet,” he muttered. You smiled blissfully, trying to focus all your attention on him, although it wasn’t that easy. You were shaking all over, and you were glad to be sitting, because you wouldn't have been able to stand on your own feet.

“I have no idea how I'm going to get out of here,” you said, struggling to normalise your breathing. It felt like your heart was about to fall out of your chest, and you felt as if you had run a marathon. “I don't think I can walk.” 

Jake just smiled with satisfaction. Your words had tickled his ego pleasantly. He couldn't take his eyes off you and, in some way inexplicable to him, you were even more beautiful than normal and, above all, he wanted you even more. 

“You don't think I'm done with you, do you?”

You merely said his name, and he used that moment to slip his fingers into your mouth this time. There was something disgusting about it, but at the same time, so sexual that you could feel it starting to work again. If you had somehow managed to normalise your breathing, now you felt it accelerate again, and all you were able to repeat in your mind was his name. Jake grabbed you by the hair and tilted your head back to start kissing your neck and throat. He was doing this extremely aggressively and was finding it increasingly difficult to hold back, especially when he had you in front of him, ready to receive anything he was able to give you.

Jake moved his hands to his trousers, quickly unbuttoning them. 

“Turn around,” he commanded, and a shiver ran through your body. “I need you now.”

You didn't even have a chance to reply as Jake grabbed you by the hips and rolled you over onto your front. He bent you forward for better access and then slid his hands down to your exposed buttocks and slapped one of them. You let out a surprised squeal, but quickly forgot about it as you felt him begin to slowly enter you, giving you a chance to get used to the feeling. 

“Fuck, I always forget…” you began, but were unable to finish when Jake entered you full length. You took a deep breath, and although it wasn't the first time you'd had sex like this, you felt like you were feeling it doubly now. You leaned your head forward, accepting the feeling of fullness that you only felt with him, Marc or Steven. You entwined the fingers on Jake's head. 

Lockley at the same time reached forward and placed his hand on your neck again. He pulled your chin so that your gazes met in the mirror. There was a devious smirk on his lips, but you were too absorbed in what he was doing to care. 

“Forget what?” He began to whisper in your ear, slowly moving inside. “That I'm so big you can barely fit me? Or about the fact that you're always so tight for me, no matter how many times I take you?”

“YES! Yes, yes! Fuck… Jake, please…”

You were in a state where you couldn't string a single sentence together. You didn't even have a clue what exactly you were asking for, but you knew you needed it more, faster. 

“What are you asking me, hermosa?”

Jake brushed your hair away from your face, and leaned over to start kissing your neck. You tightened your fingers in his hair. You pulled at it a tad harder than you had expected, but Jake only growled into your hot skin. 

“Don't stop,” you said with difficulty. “And don't hold back. I know you won't hurt me.” 

It worked on him, like the best spell. Jake clamped his fingers tighter around your throat and you held your breath for a moment. But then Lockley sped up and amplified his movements so that you had no idea where he ended and you began. He moved inside you so sharply and aggressively that you could feel your hips thumping against the sink. You were sure you would have bruises later, but at that moment that was the last thing you worried about. You were thinking about how you would be able to get to the car later, as you knew you wouldn't be able to stand on your own. Jake's action was taking away every ability you had. 

“Can you do this?” Your gazes met again in the mirror. This time, Jake could see the tears gathering in your eyes. You merely nodded her head. “Say it.”

“I can do it,” you repeated after him. “Jake, fuck, I…”

You paused as another moan escaped your lips. Jake moved his hand down over the neckline of your dress until he finally slipped his fingers under the fabric of your bra and squeezed your breasts. You cursed again and leaned your head back, resting it against his shoulder. You closed your eyes at the feeling that slowly wanted to leave your body. Jake ran his thumb over your nipple. 

“Yeah, me too,” he answered slowly, losing the ability to form sentences properly.

Jake sped up even more, and you began to move, mimicking his pace, until you finally came, once again shouting his name, and he did the same literally seconds after you. You were panting and breathing heavily and needed a longer moment to recover from what had happened. When you were finally able to function normally, Jake slid out of you, and you felt his seed running down your legs. You didn't have the strength to do anything about it, but you didn't need to because Lockley quickly took care of you. He washed you thoroughly and then helped you to fix your dress and hair.

“You were so good to me. So beautiful. Let's go home, shall we?”

You nodded her head.

“I love you, mi corazón,” he said.

“I love you too, Jake.” 

You smiled and allowed him to place one hand on the side of your head. You entwined her fingers around his wrist and immediately felt him place a brief and tender kiss on your forehead. Later, supporting you firmly at the waist, you left the bathroom together, and he led you to the car.

[redeyerhaenyra]

Hey, its ya girl, ominoose. Honoured to be here on opening night.

I would like to request Jake Lockley, Blue Jones and Basil Stitt with a curvy/chubby reader please! XOXOXO

Jake, Blue, Basil, with a curvy reader

Summary: Some headcanons for Jake, Blue, and Basil with a curvalicious reader

Warnings: Masturbation(male), possessiveness, unhealthy relationships in Basil's section, recording, thigh fucking, dollification(?)in Blue's section, a small bit of titty worship if you squint

Notes: MUSHI omg, yes yes yes 1000% yes, autistic bisexual curvy oscar isaac lovers RISSSEEE- I kinda got carried away with Basil's section hehehe but I hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

Jake Lockley

OK so if there's one thing we know about Jake, he is the opposite of shy, especially when it comes to his affections for you

Man lives and breathes to just look at you

The bastard will fucking pout if you're going out and you don't wear tight clothes

"But, hermosa, I wanna show you off, you're so hot. Everybody wishes they were you, prometo."

He's so proud you're his, there is nothing about you he doesn't love. Like I said earlier, he just likes to look at you.

All the curves and bumps, your soft tummy, your plush thighs, he can't get enough.

You will be sitting in his lap most of the time and this is non negotiable

It's half a sex thing for him and half that you're basically his plushie that he likes to cuddle, just having you sit pretty on his lap, all warm and squishy, makes him feel better

I think he'd definitely be into thigh fucking like c'mon now it's obvious

Feeling and seeing his dick between your squishy thighs just makes him go feral

I've said it before I'll say it again he fucking lives for making Marc and Steven jealous and recording himself fucking your thighs on Steven's phone for the poor guy to find later is just one of the many ways he does that

He talks alot too, just to rub it in further

"Guau, qué chica tan bonita. Hmm? You're so beautiful aren't you, baby? So perfect and squishy for me, I bet Marc and Steven wish they were here right now, huh? Don't you agree? Yeah, I bet you do."

Blue Jones

Oh no

If you thought Jake was bad you have a whole nother thing coming

Blue will PERSONALLY make sure all the costumes you wear on stage highlight just how curvy and plush you are.

But no one else is allowed to touch you

Oh no, that right's reserved for him and him alone

Tbh even when you're not performing, he'll want you to be wearing tight fitting shirts so he can stare at your boobies as you go about your day

Yeah he's a tit guy, don't get me wrong he loves all parts of your body but titties just do it for him

Him and Jake are very similar tbh, he also likes to show you off.

When high rollers are in the club you'll be sitting on his lap and no one else's

You're his doll, toy, barbie even

He likes to dress you up and play with you ;)

I'm serious he will pick out outfits for only him to see you in, dress you up in them, sit you on his lap and brush your hair

Like I said you're his toy, his stress ball, even

Just squeezing you will calm him down, any part of you, it's almost grounding to him

He talks to you in these moments, but it's just sort of general babbling about how shit his day was, and all you have to do is sit in his lap and let him nuzzle your breasts

"You're so good to me, bunny. I don't deserve you, do I? No matter what I do you're always here.. always so soft for me.."

Basil Stitt

Ah, everyone's favorite recluse

Look at the way this man lives and tell me he's not a porn addict please

YOU KNOW I'M RIGHT

So we've established that he's a greasy little basement dweller who watches porn on the regular

And we all know that most mainstream porn showcases sort of a singular body type (no hate to my skinny ladies btw ily mwah mwah)

Like it never occurred to him that he might find chubby ladies attractive

So when you, his new neighbour, moving into the apartment across the hall from him, knock on his door to say hi with the most wonderful tight leggings on he basically dies on the spot

The way your thighs looked so squishy and plush- he just wanted to grab them and sink his teeth into them

He tried to end the conversation as quickly as possible because he knew he would've ended up moaning out loud at any point

And then you turn around to walk away AND HE SEES YOUR ASS he's dead he's so dead

The next time he sees you, you're coming back from a night out, clearly a little tipsy, and wearing the shortest, tightest black dress he's ever seen, he dies a second time

His face is pressed up agaisnt the peephole in his door so he can watch you

You drop your keys at one point and bend over to pick them up and he basically cums in his pants untouched

Groaning and falling to his knees as his now softening dick rubs against the wet patch in his jeans

He makes it a point to watch you whenever he can now

He learns your schedule off by heart, it becomes his schedule. Probably has alarms set for it on his phone

Like "Oh , it's 9AM, time to watch my neighbour leave for work." "Oh its 8:30 time to watch her come home."

He really desperately wants to talk to you more but the poor guy is just so insecure :(

This cycle continues for a while.. until one fateful day, you come back from your weekly night out, in the same tight black dress that he loves so much on you... but this time... you're accompanied by a man

The both of your are similarly a little drunk, giggling and fumbling over the keys to your apartment

What? What's this? A friend, brother... partner? Basil silently begs you from behind the door to not let him into your apartment but oh god that's exactly what you do

He feels the tears running down his face before he realises he's crying, pleading for you to stop from behind his door.

His pleads turn to shouts as you close the door, sniffling and crying

Definitely fucks up his apartment again in his anguish

And when he's done that he angrily jerks off, to get back at you? He's not sure. He doesn't even know if you're having sex with the guy, or if it's just a friend you're letting crash at your place, but he's so obsessed with you he can't imagine it being any other reason that you would "betray" him like that

His poor cock is red and sore and he realises he shouldn't have tugged on it so hard 🥺 poor baby

He spends the next day crying in bed, it feels like you've dumped him when you're both barely more than acquaintances but by this point he's formed a sort of parasocial relationship with you, and your soft tummy, that he can't get over the prospect of you even looking at other men

And so, it's decided. He's going to go, knock on your door, and talk to you.... tomorrow. One day. He will do it! Just.. not today.