#need to lock in on jake.

[caseyhughes]

do you know how much i hate this panel

[fettuccin-e]

It's Never Easy

Kinktober Day 24: Edging

Tags: Steven Grant x Reader x Marc Spector x Jake Lockley, yeah that's right they're all here baby, afab!fem!reader, oral and fingering (f!recieving), unprotected piv (wrap it irl I am begging you), edging, crying during sex, orgasm denial (w/c: 1.3K)

A/N: Yeah that's right the boys are back in town, and by that I mean all three moonboys. They're all little shits and I adore them (For Kinktober, I've been using this list from flightlessangelwings!)

You think that you’re finally wearing Steven down.

He’s been at this for hours now, you think, burying himself between your thighs and losing himself like he never wants to leave. He’s fucking incessant when he gets you like this, licking at your cunt until his eyes have glazed over and he’s grinding slowly into the bedsheets. He moans when you tug at his hair, the vibrations from it going up your spine.

“Fuck, Steven, I need-” you moan, your chest heaving with the way Steven sucks your clit into his mouth, licking at you in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your hips hump into his face, chasing the sensation. “I can’t, fuck, I’m gonna- think I’m gonna-”

He pulls his face away just like that, watching as you shout, your hips grinding into nothing but air as your pleasure and your orgasm dissipate. He holds your thighs apart and just looks at the way you tremble, his eyes wide and a blush high on his face.

“That’s it, darling, so fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, and you grind your teeth together. This is the third time, the third fucking time, he’s done that. Gotten you so close, your body locking up and threatening to fall off that precipice, before he pulls himself away, leaving you with nothing.

It’s fucking maddening, and Steven just watches, squeezing at his thick cock as it aches between his legs.

“Please, Steven,” you whine, high pitched and needy. “Need you to let me cum, fuck, please let me cum.” You sound so pitiful, so desperate, that Steven’s eyes soften at your begging.

“Oh, I know, love,” he murmurs, sliding a thick finger up the seam of your cunt. “Need it so bad, yeah? It’s okay, darling, I’ll let you cum,”

You nearly sob with relief when he leans back down and sucks your clit into his mouth, sinking two fingers into your entrance. He’s relentless, playing with your clit with his tongue, nudging the tips of his fingers into a little spot inside of you that makes you want to cry. Your orgasm surges back up inside you without warning, and you can’t fucking breathe.

You brace yourself for him to do it again, to pull away when you start babbling, “Gonna cum, fuck, please let me cum,” between heaving moans. But Steven doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow down, and you start to smile with the fact that he’s actually going to let you have it this time without pulling away.

Except, he does pull away.

You cry out as Steven’s head shoots up from between your legs again, but you can only watch as his eyes roll to the back of his head, his jaw clenched.

Marc looks up at you from his place between your thighs, a cocky little smirk playing at his lips. 

“Oh baby,” he says, and his voice is gruff, dark, so unlike Steven’s. “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” You gasp for air as Marc sinks a third finger into you, and he grins. 

“So pretty when you’re almost fucking there, sweetheart,” Marc murmurs, and he leans close to brush his lips against yours in a whisper of a kiss. “Whining, pleading for us to just let you cum. Steven was going to let it happen, put an end to your misery, but me?” He fucks his hand into you so hard that you choke on a moan. “I like seeing you squirm.”

And the process starts over again.

Marc fucks you on his fingers without a hint of remorse, driving into your g-spot in violent, debilitating thrusts that have you reeling.

You get so close so many fucking times, over and over and over again, your body drawn tight with the overwhelming need to cum. You beg, plead, gripping the bedsheets so hard that you fear you might tear them. But Marc. Doesn’t. Stop.

Every time he feels it, that tell-tale tightening of your body, hears the way you start to go quiet as you focus on finally falling over that precipice, he pulls his hand out of you without any finesse, any mercy.

Around the third time he does it, you really do start to cry, sobbing for Marc to finally let you cum, that you need it so bad it hurts.

“Can’t- it’s too much, Marc, please, please let me, need it so ba-ad,” you hiccup through your moans, tears bubbling up in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks.

Marc leans down and kisses them away, cooing at you as he grinds the calloused tips of his fingers into the most sensitive parts of your cunt.

“Okay, sweet girl, I’ve got you, come on,” he murmurs, his thumb coming up to press against your clit, grinding little circles into it and sending you fucking flying. “Don’t cry, baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank-” you’re in the middle of thanking him, practically tasting your orgasm on your desperate tongue, when Marc’s eyes roll back, and his hand rips away from your cunt.

“No,” you whine, choking on your tears as your body quakes beneath his, “no, no, please.” You’re practically hysterical, desperate for it after so fucking long, after Steven and Marc have shredded you apart.

“Princesa,” Jake grins down above you, unmistakable with his dark gaze and a smile that is purely fucking primal, feral. “If you think you’re going to cum on anything but my cock, you’re wrong.”

And you can only gasp at Jake notches the thick, leaking head of his cock against your gaping entrance, and shoves himself in to the hilt.

You scream, your back bending into an obscene arch as he fills you up so perfectly. 

“Jake, Jake,” you sob through labored breaths, “I can’t, it’s been, I don’t know how long it’s been, please, please. I need to cum, fuck, ‘m begging.”

“Oh, my beautiful girl,” Jake croons, “Of course you can.”

Of course you can. Like you’ve had permission all along, like it was that easy. Like you haven’t been broken apart by each of them, over and over again, reduced to a sobbing, shaking mess beneath their body.

He’s only one, two thrusts in, but you’re coming anyway, screaming with it as tears flow down your cheeks. Your entire body locks up with it, your cunt squeezing tight around Jake’s cock in rhythmic pulses that have him clutching painfully at your hips. Sweet, sweet relief fills your body, like water in a desert, the sun after a hurricane. It’s fucking bliss, incomparable, absolutely debilitating.

“Mierda, that’s fucking beautiful, fuck,” Jake growls, and he presses into your body so deep you think you can feel it in your stomach, and pumps you full of his cum. “Good girl,” you hear him mutter, “Good fucking girl,” before darkness grows into the edges of your vision and quickly swallowing it whole, leaving you to fall into pitch black oblivion.

When you finally come back to yourself, you feel warm, safe. It’s no surprise to you, since you usually feel that way in this flat, in this bed.

“I didn’t fucking kill her, Steven,” you hear Jake growl. “She’s breathing just fine. And don’t act innocent, you and I both know that you worked her just as hard as Marc and I did.”

“And you all better pamper me,” you croak, still refusing to open your eyes, “As soon as I take a nap.”

“Hermosa,” you hear Jake breathe, and you feel his lips press to your forehead. You crack open your eyes to meet Jake’s gaze, his eyes wide and more worried than he usually lets on. “Are you alright? You- you passed out.” he asks, and you giggle.

“Never been better,” you murmur. “But any of you try that shit again, it’s no sex for a fucking year.”

Jake grins in that roguish way that makes your heart flutter. "As if you could resist any of us for that long, mi vida."

[thedevilsoftruth]

Ain't nothing... nothing better than the mere thought of making love with Marc Spector.

Jus.. just Marc Spector..

Marc Spector, who'd be so gentle with you the first time he'd have you underneath him. " is that good, baby? " " tell me if it hurts. " " I know, baby, you can take it. " Who'd start off slowly, making sure you adjust to him well and be careful to not hurt you. He'd stimulate you by rubbing your little clit with his thumb as he gets a bit faster with his thrusts. He'd give you little kisses on your forehead and soft caresses all over your body. " mm.. fuck so pretty. " " yea, you're doing so good, sweetie. So, so good for me. " He'd do nothing but give you praises and compliments. he'd do nothing but truly make sure you were happy and comfortable. He'd finish off and then eat you out as you orgasm. " You did so good, baby. " " my precious girl. All mine. " He'd clean you off afterwards and shower you in kisses and cradle you in his strong arms until you fall asleep.

Marc Spector, who after letting you get used to him, would get more rough with you--or maybe he's only getting rougher because he's so stressed out all the time. Nonetheless, that pretty white tie he wears around his neck while being Mr. Knight is going around those pretty little wrists of yours. No more sweet, slow, romantic missionaries and side sex. If he's going to have you, your face is down and your ass is up, his dominant hand is resting on your back and his other hand on your ass. If he deems it necessary, your hands are going behind your back as he fucks you into oblivion. " yea, look at you. Making all those noises for me and getting all messy beneath me. "

Marc Spector, who'd rub your thighs anytime you're sitting next to him. Who'd give you hugs from behind and pinch your ass lightly. Who'd fuck you literally anywhere like the kitchen, the living room, the backyard of your house, a dressing room, ect. Who'd have you in the backseat of his car and losing himself inbetween your thighs. Who wouldn't flinch when you tugged on his hair and dug your nails into his back. Who'd get drunk with you at a party and dance with you, your back pressed against his chest and his hands on your hips as you both sway the night away. Who'd get hard against you and fuck you in the bathroom later.

Marc Spector, who tells you strip for him if he wants to see you. Who'd start you off by having you on his lap and barely giving you the tip as he covers your neck in bites and sloppy, rough kisses. Who spanks you when you're not grinding against him fast enough. Who puts his thumb in your mouth to shut you up. " this fucking needy? I'm only halfway in and you're already a mess. " Who'd throw you down on his bed, get in between those thighs and throw your legs above his shoulders and completely lose himself inside you. " You like that, baby? 'Course you do if you're whining like that. " Who'd, when you're on the verge of climax, pull out and filp you on your stomach and get mad when you complained. Who'd smack your ass until it was bright red with print of his hands and pull your hair for stability. Who'd be so fast with it that you felt like the air was being knocked out of your lungs and you couldn't breathe. Who, wouldn't only make you come once in that night, but would make you fucking squirt during your last orgasm. " Did you enjoy that, baby? I think you fucking loved that. " Who'd tease you before eventually releasing all over your form. Who'd make you get some of his seed between your shaking fingers and make you taste it.

Marc Spector, who would apologize after tearing you apart becuase on the inside, he doesn't want to hurt you.

[marblish0220]

Prophetic 2017 Draft Class

[lilacflowersss]

[tonys-fav-bitch]

*insert Jennifer Lawrence Hot Ones scene* What do you MEAN?

[redeyerhaenyra]

When Jake is driving with you somewhere he'll purposefully take routes in which he doesn't have to change gears too often so that he won't have to take his hand away from your pussy too frequently

[afrowrites]

Who do you guys want me to write for next?

These were just ideas and characters I had in my head lol.

[sailormoonknight]

(leans uncomfortably close into mic) i need a fic about jake and layla el-faouly

[beexpeach2]

what if we combine peaky blinders with moon knight?? just imagine marc and jake both being gang leaders in the 1920s and absolutely hating each other. and yeah, they hate fuck whenever they get the chance. and steven as the undercover bartender working for the police?? sweet steven batting his pretty lil lashes for marc and jake, just to bring them down. but oh no, what if his pretend feelings turn into real feelings??

[oc3anawrites]

Shattered Reflections

read previous chapter here

Chapter 3- The man in the mirror.

summary: steven uncovers the truth about the man in the mirror, marc spector and it leads him to meet someone new, amaya young.

a/n: the begining is very similar to how layla and steven meet in the show but don't worry it changes fast

cw: small mention of divorce, other than that its mostly just confused steven

When he arrives at the storage locker, he nervously tells them employee,

“Hi im uh looking for a storage locker it might be under the name Steven, Steven Grant or uh Marc? Just Marc, no surname.”

“I know you, you’re number 43. I never forget a face.” The man leads steven to the storage locker. 

Steven enters the storage locker, alone. Once inside the storage locker, Steven finds a cot, supplies that look like army supplies and a duffle bag. He unzips the duffle bag. Inside it’s full of guns, money and a passport with his photo. Steven reads the passport outloud.

“Marc Spector…” Steven sighs and continues looking in the duffle bag where he finds the scarab that Harrow has been looking for.

“Steven, listen to me very carefully..” says Steven’s reflection on a glass pane in the room.

“There he is, hello man in the mirror..” Steven says as he puts his hands into his pocket, clearly nervous.

“You weren’t supposed to see any of this.” Marc responds.

“Well uh it’s a bit too late for that yeah? What am I like, some secret super agent or something?” Steven asks, nervously.

“A bit more complicated than that.” Marc replies.

Growing frustrated Steven asks-

“More complicated what? Am I possessed? Are you like a-a-a demon? Or..” Steven stutters.

“You’re in danger Steven, I can save us. Just like I did last night but I can’t have you interfering-”

Steven moves close to his reflection as Marc continues talking.

“So, you’re gonna go lay down on that cot over there take a nice nap-”

“Are you kidding? I’m never going to sleep again. Look I don’t care how bloody handsome you are yeah? Tell me what it is you are. What are you?” Steven interjects.

“Are you sure you want to know?” Mark asks.

“Yes, bloody yes-” 

“I serve Khonsu. I’m his avatar.Which means you are too, sort of. We protect the vulnerable and deliver Khonsu’s justice to those who hurt them.” Mark states.

“Oh my god, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.I eat one piece of steak and then bam i go bonkers.” Steven says, turning away from his reflection.

“I’m having a panic attack, I think I’m having a panic attack. I need to go to the hospital.” Steven says, out of breath.

“I made a deal with Khonsu, that deal is contingent on you not interfering. Now give me control of the body, let me finish this and you’ll never hear from me again.” Marc interrupts.

“You want my body? Right yeah how about this I’m gonna take this bag full of illegal shit to the authorities and they’re gonna put me away so I don’t hurt anyone else. And hopefully the hospital will pump me so full of pills that you get out of my head.” Steven grabs the duffel bag and exits the storage locker.

Suddenly, all of the lights in the building start to go out, the locks on the storage units rattling, the wind shifting around steven.

Steven screams and begins clumsily running towards the exit while Khonsu chases him. 

“Give it back, you fool.” Khonsu says, looming over Steven.

Steven lets out a girlish scream, clutches the duffel bag and runs outside. He stumbles and trips onto the street, his head nearly being squashed by a woman on a motorcycle.

✦

“Marc, where the hell have you been?” 

“Amaya?” Steven questions, remembering the name and voice from Marc’s phone.

Steven hops onto the back of her motorcycle and she drives away while questioning him.

“What the hell is going on? Is this ‘Steven’ the latest fake identity for you? I thought you were using a coded message when we spoke on the phone.” 

“How did you find me?” Steven asks.

“How do you think? I tracked your phone, I thought that’s what you wanted me to do when you turned it on.”

“Uh- right yeah.” Steven replies confused, he isn’t sure what to tell her, or how to explain any of this.

Steven’s hands awkwardly hang onto her shoulders, as he tries not to fall off the bike.

“Why didn’t you at least tell me you were alive? I thought you were in danger or kidnapped again. But I kept telling myself ‘Marc has the suit, he’ll be fine.’ And then my mind would trail off into well what if he doesn’t have the suit or what if he got ambushed. And would you just stop clasping my shoulders like that!-”

“Oh- uh sorry where do I hang on I-” A bump in the road causes Steven to fall onto Amaya, grabbing her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. Stevens face blushes a light shade of pink.

“Do you see what you put me through Marc? I used to be your wife, you know?” She retorts. The touch of the man she once knew on her waist feels unfamiliar to her, unnatural.

“Sorry did you- did you say wife? Are we married?” Steven says, confused.

“Please just drop the act, clearly we lost whoever is chasing you, and drop the fake British accent.” Amaya replies, clearly fed up with whatever game ‘Marc’ is playing.

“What? This is how I talk?” 

“Okay, get off my bike.” She says, pulling the motorcycle to a stop.

“Wait wait please, I will tell you everything, just get me to my flat yeah?” Steven responds, panicked. 

Amaya sighs but agrees and takes Steven home. He unlocks the door to his apartment and they both walk in. His apartment is a mess. Littered with books about ancient Egypt, Pictures and postcards covering the wall. She walks up to the fish tank, and watches the fish swimming around.

“A goldfish huh?” She asks, watching the fish aimlessly swim in circles.

Steven watches her, and in the reflection from the glass of the goldfish tank Marc says-

“Get her out here Steven, she shouldn’t be here.”

“I just want my life back.” Steven responds.

Amaya turns away from the goldfish tank and faces Steven. “Yeah I can see that.”

“No, no- sorry I wasn’t talking to you, just talking to myself, kind of.” Steven responds.

“Uh this is your apartment.. Marc?” She looks around the room and scoffs when she sees the ankle restraints attached to his bed.

“I’m Steven.” He responds.

“Are you living here with someone else?” Amaya asks, frustrated. She’s had enough of this sick game ‘Marc’ was playing with her.

“No, no no uh this is my mum’s flat.” Steven says.

“Oh so you guys are talking again?” She responds, puzzled.

“Again?” Steven asks.

Amaya  ignores him and begins to walk around his apartment, looking at all of the books and items he has around. She sees pages full of hieroglyphs and questions why ‘Marc’ is suddenly learning how to read them.

“Well it’s not like hieroglyphs are a whole language, it’s more like an alphabet.” Steven responds. 

She looked down at the papers and read them out loud- “Funeral Rights.”

“Well someone knows their unilaterals. You.” Steven lets out an awkward laugh and points to Amaya.

Amaya sighs and rolls her eyes.

“Okay.. yeah I’m not buying this Marc. You sent these papers but never signed them-” Amaya pulls out some papers from her bag and hands them to Steven.

“Oh did I uh- let’s have a look here.” Steven puts on a red pair of glasses, slightly too big for his face and begins to read the papers.

“You told me that I need to move on. But you didn’t even have the guts to sign them first.” She says as Steven reads the papers.

“Divo- Divorce? I would never divorce you.” Steven says confused.

“What the hell are you talking about? YOU sent these to me.” Her voice is short of a yell now. ‘This is a sick fucking game Marc.’ She thinks to herself.

“Look, you seem absolutely lovely. This Marc, on the other hand is a right twit. Yeah?” Steven looks into the mirror behind him and sees Marc, who sighs and hangs his head in shame.

“Look, I don't know how to explain what’s happening. I don’t expect you to believe me, I honestly don’t even believe myself. All I can do is try to show you what I found-” Steven begins to explain.

“Steven, Steven stop. I mean it Steven. Stop. Don’t bring her into this.” Marc pleads, in Steven’s reflection.

Steven reaches into the bag and begins to pull something out-

“You’re going to get her killed, Steven, close the bag. You show her that scarab, you’re responsible when they come after her.” Marc says angrily.

Steven stops in the middle of his sentence and freezes.

“What? What did you find?” Amaya  asks.

“N-nothing, nevermind.” 

She walks over to Steven and opens the bag, pulling out an ancient scarab.

“The scarab pointing to Ammit’s ushabti? What we fought side by side for?What is this whole show just because you want it to yourself?” She asks angrily.

“Just take it, take it please. I swear I don’t want it. Please just listen to me. I am not Marc Spector. I am Steven Grant. I work in a gift shop, or I did work in a gift shop. And I think I’m in real danger and you might be the only person who can help me.”

“You really don’t remember why we’ve been looking for this? Our adventures? Or our life together? You don’t remember me?” Amaya says, collecting herself. She doesn’t want to believe a word coming out of this man's mouth but he seems so innocent.

“Oh god I wish I could.” Steven responds.

She pauses for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

“You’re really not Marc?” She asked.

“No, I promise.” Steven responds, nervously fiddling with his jacket pocket.

Amaya takes a deep breath, unsure if she can trust what the man in front of her is saying. Part of her wants to trust his words, trust that he doesn’t remember how much he hurt her, that he doesn’t remember her. The other part of her wants to spit in his face and never speak to him again. She stays silent for a moment, debating how to respond. 

“Okay Steven, I believe you.” Truly, she isn’t sure what to believe but if this is all true it means a man who looks eerily similar to Marc has put his trust in her. She decides to really listen to what the man has to say and open her mind up to the possibility of his words being truthful even though every bone in her body is telling her to run the other way.

“Really- really? Oh thank god.” Steven takes a breath of relief, his shoulders relaxing.

“Tell me everything Steven.” She demands.

Steven begins to speak and then looks in the mirror, expecting a retort from Marc.

“Good job Steven, you’ve just gotten both yourselves killed.” Marc says.

Steven ignores Marc and begins to blurt out everything.

“So a few months ago, yeah? I started having these blackouts, waking up in random places, not knowing where I was.”

She listens intently and lets Steven continue. ‘Blackouts?’ She thinks to herself.

“And a few days ago I started hearing this voice in my head and seeing someone in the mirror. I think I'm sharing a body with someone. With this Marc Spector guy. And he told me he works as Khonshu’s avatar, this all sounds so bonkers right?” Steven looks over to Amaya.

Amaya takes a moment to process everything Steven just told her. ‘Marc and Steven share a body?’ She asks herself. ‘I guess it’s less crazy than ancient gods being real and being able to possess humans.’

“You’re not crazy, Steven.” She replies after collecting her thoughts.

“What? You really don’t think I’ve gone mad?” Steven asks.

“I met Marc a little over 10 years ago in Cairo, eventually I found out about Khonsu and that he was his avatar. So no I don’t.I just can’t believe he never told me about you.” There’s not even the slightest twinge of emotion in her voice as she explains.

Steven, looking confused, takes a step back from Amaya. Amaya stands there silently, watching Steven. Even though this man has so many similarities to Marc, his beautiful curls, his smile, the same eyes, the same body, he is a total stranger. Until she sees the look on Steven’s face.

“Ten-ten years? Marc and I have been sharing a body for ten years?” Steven’s face looks defeated, he looks like he could just break into a million pieces.

A soft look of worry crosses Amaya’s face, barely noticeable unless you’re staring directly at her. Seeing a man who looks so much like someone she used to love be so hurt makes her head hurt.

“What happened between you and Marc?” Steven asks her, interrupting the ache in her head.

Amaya takes a deep breath. Normally she would never tell a stranger even a tiny piece of the truth in her life but she can’t help but feel a vulnerability in the armor she put up around her heart when she talks to Steven.

“After we met in Cairo we began working together, searching for ancient artifacts. We fell in love, or what we thought was love. I’d provide him information for his missions with Khonsu. He refused to ever bring me along but he would always come home after his missions. We got married 5 years in. A few months ago, Marc disappeared one day and never came back. For an entire month I didn’t hear a single word from him until I received divorce papers in the mail. Then it was radio silence again.” She recants.

Steven processes what Amaya has just said and looks into the mirror. Marc stares back at him with a furious look on his face, but stays silent.

“I’m so sorry Amaya. You didn’t deserve that.” Shame and guilt are riddled across Stevens face and body language. Even though he knows that it was Marc who hurt her and not him, he still feels like it’s his fault. 

Amaya is taken aback by Steven’s words. ‘He’s so…different.’ She thinks.

“It’s okay Steven.” Amaya carefully places her hand on Stevens shoulder, gently squeezing it to give him some reassurance. She felt it was what he needed, even if she wanted to just slap him straight upside the head simply because she knew he and Marc shared a body.

Steven blushes at Amaya’s hand on him. He feels a little bit of shame for liking Amaya’s touch as he now knows that the man he shares a body with is her husband.

“So Steven, I know a lot about Marc, but nothing about you besides that you used to work in a gift shop. Who are you?” Amaya asks, trying to gauge what kind of man this Steven is. Because if he’s anything like Marc, she plans to run away as fast as she can before she breaks.

Steven fidgeted nervously, his eyes darting around before finally settling on Amaya's. Her look was sincere, she wasn’t judging him like everyone else usually does, she actually wanted to know.

 "Um, well I’m- I’m Steven Grant, and, well, I work, or worked.. at a gift shop in the London Museum. I’ve always been a bit of a, um, history buff, especially when it comes to ancient Egypt. It’s just so fascinating, you know? My dream was to be a tour guide at the museum but Donna always shot me down. I have a goldfish named Gus—he’s got one fin, poor little bloke. Or at least he did, And, uh, my mum, she’s always been there for me, even though things have been a bit... complicated lately.”

Amaya and Steven took a seat on his couch as they talked, she listened intently, her eyes softening as Steven spoke. This man was nothing like Marc, not even close. She reached out and gently touched his hand, offering a reassuring smile. She couldn’t really figure out why. It just felt right.

 His hand felt so similar to Marc’s yet so different.  As Amaya sat on Steven's couch, her fingers traced the intricate patterns on the cushion absentmindedly with one hand, the other gently held Steven’s.  Steven fidgeted with his free hand, trying to pull at his sleeve. Amaya’s touch made him nervous. The room was filled with the soft glow of the evening sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm light on Steven's collection of Egyptian artifacts. As Steven spoke about his life, his job at the museum, and his passion for ancient history, Amaya's mind drifted back to the days when she and Marc were inseparable. She remembered their wedding day, the way Marc's eyes looked when they exchanged vows, the way he kissed her, the way he held her…. The memory was so vivid that she could almost feel the warmth of his hand in hers, the sound of their laughter echoing in the air. But then, the memory shifted to the arguments, the days without him and finally the day Marc disappeared. The confusion, the fear, and the endless nights of waiting for a call that never came. What it put her through, the dark path she had fallen down. The hate she had for herself for not being able to find him no matter how hard she looked.The pain of his absence was still fresh, a wound that had never fully healed. 

As Steven continued to talk, Amaya's gaze wandered around the room, landing on a small goldfish swimming lazily in its bowl.’Gus.’ She thought to herself, remembering what Steven had said. The sight brought her back to the present, and she realized how different Steven's world was from the one she had shared with Marc. The meticulous notes scattered on the desk, the way Steven's eyes lit up when he talked about his passions—he was so different from the cold, untrusting and untruthful man she once loved. The juxtaposition of her past with Marc and her present with Steven created a whirlwind of emotions within her. She felt a deep sense of loss, but also a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, in understanding Steven, she could find a way to heal from Marc, to bridge the gap between the man she married and the man who now stood before her, fragmented yet whole in his own way.

Amaya took a deep breath, her fingers still intertwined with Steven's.

` "Thank you for sharing that with me, Steven," she said softly, her voice tinged with a mix of sadness and warmth.

 "It's clear that you’re very different from Marc, and I can see how much you care about the things that bring you joy. It's... it's a lot to take in, knowing that Marc and you share the same body, but are so different in many ways."

She paused, her eyes drifting to the goldfish bowl once more before returning to Steven's earnest gaze.

 "I wish I had known you before,Steven.” ‘Shit, why the hell did I just say that?’ The words had escaped her lips before she could even process what she was saying. She hated this feeling, this dumb fucking fuzzy feeling that you get when you have a crush as a kid. It made her feel too vulnerable for comfort.

Steven's eyes softened as he listened to Amaya's heartfelt words. His heart hurt at her words.

"I wish I had known you too." he said, his voice filled with genuine emotion. 

"It means a lot to me that you want to understand and get to know me. I know this whole situation is... well, it's complicated, to say the least."

He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. He realized that this entire time he was so busy rambling and panicking that he never even took a good look at Amaya. She had long white hair that was tied into a braid and thrown over her shoulder. The last few inches of her hair are an inky jet black. Her eyes looked empty, almost drained of life in their blue-ish gray hues. Her ivory colored skin had but a small tint of warmth in it.Her jaw and cheekbones were sharp but almost soft at the same time. Steven gazed at the scar in the middle of her forehead, right between her brows. ‘I wonder what happened.’ He thought. He continued to examine Amaya, noticing the way her clothes fell on her body, the way she moved her hair ever so slightly. He took one last look at her face, admiring it before he averted his gaze.

"I want you to know that I'm here for you, too. I may not have all the answers, and I might not be able to explain everything about Marc and me, but I promise to be honest with you. My life has always been a bit of a puzzle, but maybe together, we can start to piece it together. And who knows? Maybe we'll find some new pieces along the way that make the picture a little clearer." Steven said, snapping out of his admiration of Amaya.

 His smile widened slightly, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes as he looked at Amaya, feeling a sense of connection and understanding beginning to form between them.

“I hope so.” Amaya smiled softly back at Steven.

suddenly there’s a knock on Steven’s door

[saturnniidae]

Hmhmhm that one tweet where people are severely underestimating the pure amount of aura rattlesnake jake has is making me wanna rewatch rango.....

[unhealthycopingmech]

Mornin’ Sunshine

You find Jake Lockley half-asleep on your couch as you get ready for work.

Soft!Jake Lockley x reader blurb

a/n: it’s just fluff yall! No warnings needed. Reader is non-binary but can be read gender-neutral. No y/n

“Ay, good morning papi,” you walk into the living room and kiss Jake on the lips from behind the couch. “Have you been up long?” You were in your apartment, it was small but not cramped- you made sure of it using feng shui techniques you learned over the years.

Six months in your relationship you felt that it was important that the boys got your apartment key since you learned of Jake’s less dangerous job of being a taxi cab driver. ‘Long hours and all that’ you told them. “Mhm, Buenos Días, mi amor.” Jake hums back as you turn the corner of the couch, onward to the kitchen. “And no, I just got back an hour ago.” Jake stayed on your couch. The space made it easy to have a conversation in your open concept apartment. You nod, “you should have woken me up then, baby. I could have made you breakfast and sat with you.” Sure you might have, once or twice, joined in on the nighttime vigilantism but it doesn’t pay the bills. “No,” Jake’s voice was gruff and you could hear how exhausted he was. “You need your sleep.”

You stop scraping butter onto your toast and come back to the living room. Jake faced you the entire time as you got close; close enough to put his head in your hands. Pecking his forehead, Jake leans into your touch. “Jake” you say softly, barely a whisper. He looks up with those beautiful, tired eyes. How can such a man look so majestic in the morning hue. “You are worth loosing sleep over. I would stay awake until the end of time, just to be with you, Lockley.” Jake kisses your left hand cupping his cheek. One hand moves to the cushion next to him, the other moving to his neck, then kissing him deeply. He can smell your freshly washed hair and perfume you swear reminds you of them. “Aye aye preciose.” Jake mutters against your lips when you finally let go. You chuckle and wink, going back to the kitchen. This time Jake follows you.

Going back to spreading butter on your last piece of toast, Jake wraps his arms around your waist and starts swaying. With toast in hand, you lean your head back onto his shoulder, swaying along with him.

“I gatta get to work” you groan, imagining all the steps you have to take to get to the office. It was a Monday and got to work from home after two on Mondays but it was still such a hassle.

Jake only hums in response. You don’t stop swaying until an alarm on your phone goes off telling you to leave now or be late. Sighing you leave Jake’s embrace. You grab your things before the two of you go to the door. “Love you Jake.” You smile softly, making sure to lock the door on the handle before walking out.

“Love you too, mi vida.” Jake stands a couple feet from the door, engulfed by the last minutes of sunrise.

[jaakey]

why r ppl saying jakes an alcoholic on twt broo u cant even let a man be silly smfh

[camvrin]

ive been thinking about how like. two. three years ago someone who used to be in our friend group felt like we were all falling apart because we didn't talk to each other everyday

[wildbluesorbit]

THE NEIGHBORS ASKED IF I GOT A NEW DOG BECAUSE I WON’T QUIT BARKING