#xerox girl | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

astroboots · 1 year

Text

RED FLAGS ║ PART 11

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

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

Summary: You overhear things you were not meant to hear. Or alternatively: The girls boys are fighting.

Content: mild angst, lots of eavesdropping on secrets.

Word Count: 6.9k words

Series Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

The music box sits atop of the wooden counter. For a love song, it’s such a sad and melancholic melody. Made sadder by the off-key note that clangs jarringly five seconds in, after you've wound up the music box to watch the little deformed Anubis inside twirl.

It's oddly mesmerising in a meditative sort of way, how it keeps spinning round and round with nowhere to go.

Doing the same thing over and over again.

Stuck.

Has Anubis always looked so unhappy?

Steven's hand brushes against your back, interrupting your musing, and you jump in your seat despite the gentleness of his touch. Looking up, you find him standing in front of you with a worried frown.

"You're going to be late for work, love," he says, "It’s nearly eight-forty."

"Shit." You’ve lost track of time, fiddling too long with the music box.

You glance at the table where Steven has already stacked your plate. Two pieces of charred marmite toasts sit atop his emptier plate as he's walking over to the sink. A pang of guilt sits in your chest at the sight of it.

Despite the effort Steven had gone through, getting up early and having it ready for you by the time you woke up, you've hardly even taken a bite of your breakfast.

You rush forward, wanting to at least help him clean the plates, but Steven waves you off with a shake of his head.

"It's all right, love. You go ahead, don't want you to be late. I'll clear this up. Donna can't possibly get madder at me than she already is."

There's a forced smile twisting his lips, and when you don't make any moves to go, Steven sets down the dishes in the sink and walks back over to you.

"Have a good day at work today," he says and tips his head, pressing his lips to your forehead. "I don't want you to worry about anything alright? Everything will sort itself out."

It feels like deja vu when he says it, and for a second you worry, because the last time you heard this sentiment aimed at you, the man who said it disappeared without any physical trace.

As if he can sense your apprehension, Steven continues, giving your hand a gentle nudge. "Go on, love. I'll pick you up after work, and we’ll order something nice for take out tonight."

Despite your hesitance, you find yourself nodding as you head towards the front door. The sound of porcelain clinking together and kitchen clutter continues in the background as you click the door shut behind you.

The hallway is dimly lit and gloomy as you make your way down to the lift.

Once inside, it’s quiet except for the whirring of mechanical gears from above. It’s almost like being trapped in a music box of your own, except that Steven’s building isn’t fancy enough to have elevator music. There's nothing to distract you here. No twirling Anubis. No melodies. The only thing keeping you company is your own thoughts and memories.

‘Marc, I mean it. I miss you.’

The memory of your own words seems to echo between your ears, and you cringe, shaking your head in an attempt to make it stop. You're restless, the cuticles of your nails itching to be picked as you try to push yesterday's telephone call from your mind. Trying to mute your own pleading voice from playing on an endless loop.

‘I'm in love with you– ’

You’re desperate for a distraction, but the cramped lift offers no distraction. There are mirrors on both walls, and endless Xerox copies of your own reflection stare back at you, repeating off into infinity. There’s no place here to hide from yourself.

‘–You don’t have to love me the same way. Just come back.’

Your hand comes to your left wrist, seeking something to fidget with to calm your nerves, but the familiar leather strap of your watch is missing. Your forearm is bare.

Oh, for god's sake. Where have you gone and lost the bloody thing now?

As soon as you think it, you realise where it must be. Can see the watch in your mind's eye, sitting on the porcelain edge of the bathroom sink, right where you left it when you took it off to shower last night. You sigh, pressing the button of the lift back to the fifth floor. This time as the lift ascends the floor, you fix your gaze on the menacing bright red LED sign indicating the floor level, refusing to look into the mirrors on either side of you.

‘Please. I miss you.’

The lift door pings open, mercifully interrupting the replay, and you briskly retrace your steps. You’re so focused on retrieving the watch—and ignoring the unwelcome memories—that you barely register that Steven’s no longer in the kitchen. It’s not until you’re brought up short by the closed loo door that you realise it’s not going to be quite that simple.

Looking down, you can see the light streaming under the door is cut by a shadow’s flickering movement inside. Steven’s gone to the loo. That’s all well and good—nothing out of the ordinary— except the fact that your watch, which you would very much like to wear to work, is in there with him.

You sigh.

You’re already going to be late as it is, but you can’t very well barge in on him in the loo, now can you? The poor man would have a heart attack.

You contemplate your options, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, and you have to resist the impulse to tap your feet like some grumpy old biddy. Trying for patience, you take a few steps back, dragging your eyes away from the bathroom to stare blindly off towards the empty kitchen corner.

There’s not much to look at, just the morning sun streaming in the window to illuminate the pile of sauce-stained dishes waiting to be washed. Your eyes linger anyway. Your mind fills in the gap with an echo of Marc as you’re used to seeing him, standing at the sink or stove, his back to you, outlined in the soft early light. All that’s missing is his voice calling out a soft greeting.

And for a moment, you think you can hear him—his all-familiar American accent echoing from your memories. Better his than yours. Better the voice you've been missing like an amputated limb this entire time he’s been gone.

“You need to stop.”

You jerk upright because that’s new.

You’re no stranger to the flat, demanding tone, but you can’t trace the words back to any memory of what Marc has said to you before.

That means it’s real.

You whip your head back in the direction of the loo where the voice is coming from.

It’s muffled. The volume muted by the door, but you’d recognise that grumpy, impatient voice anywhere. Been replaying it enough in your mind, that you could pick the owner out of a blind lineup based on sound alone. And you can definitely identify it now in the quietness of Steven’s flat, where it’s just you and him.

Marc.

The room seems to narrow to a needle point, the colours blurring into each other until all you can see is the bathroom door. Excitement rushes to your head and everything feels fast and slow all at once.

Marc is in there.

Your legs threaten to buckle, and the wooden flooring underneath your feet seems to sink and warp into porous sand with each step forward. Then you’re standing there, in front of the loo, separated from him only by a few feet and the thin wood panelling of the accordion door, so ancient and flimsy-looking that a gust of wind could knock it down.

You want to knock it down. You raise a shaky hand to hover just above the surface.

All you want is to grab the handle, fling it open and see Marc again. Not as you have these past months, through the lens of the memory—either your own wistful, wishful thinking or the echoes of him that have been haunting your daily life.

You need the reality of him. To see him in the flesh and bone. Marvel at the ever-present scowl as he tips his head in irritation. That deep furrow between his brow when he’s consumed in some task. The rare half-smile that never fails to make you feel like you’ve won a rare prize at the carnival when you’ve manage to coax it out of him.

But you can’t.

Because you know how that will go. Even if Marc is in there, cornered in the loo, the moment he knows you're here and aware of him, he'll spirit himself away like he did last time.

So you stay there, hand raised, feet frozen to the floor, staring down at the shifting shadow visible through the wide gap like it’s shadow puppet theatre, trying to discern the plot as you listen in.

“This is how things are now. It’s better for both of you that I’m not around.”

He sounds tired, weariness weighing down his words, and your throat aches. You don’t need X-ray vision to guess how Marc’s shoulders must be slumped, his hand rubbing over his face and jaw in frustration.

The worst part is that you know Marc well enough to know that he truly believes what he is saying. Believes that his presence is a burden. That just by being here, he’s causing everyone trouble.

He thinks he’s doing everyone a favour by not being around, and there’s nothing you or Steven can say that will make him believe otherwise. You know that. But it doesn’t mean you want to say it any less.

You want to break down the door, take him by those broad shoulders, and shake him until his head wobbles as you scream that he’s wrong. That he would be nothing but good for you.

Because being around Marc makes you happy. Sitting next to him, watching him sip the “rubbish” coffee you’ve made him, makes your chest light up. Seeing his puzzled expression when you make a pop culture reference he doesn’t know makes you smile. And even though you’re not a morning person, he makes you look forward to waking up early because you know you get to spend those extra ten minutes with him. Marc makes you happy.

It goes quiet behind the door, and you can’t hear his voice anymore. Maybe Steven is arguing back. You hope so. You hope that Steven is rebutting Marc’s misguided beliefs the way you desperately want to.

Maybe for once Marc is actually listening.

"She doesn't know what she's asking for, Steven.”

Maybe not, the stubborn bastard.

His voice is pained, and you tilt your forehead forward until it makes contact with the doorframe, hovering as close as you dare. It’s not like it makes any difference; not like he can sense you from behind the door—nor would you want him to, given the flight risk. But your heart hurts for him, and you just want to be closer to him in any way you can, despite the divider between you.

“If I'm around it'll just mess everything up for–” He stops suddenly like maybe Steven has cut him off. Then there’s a grunt of protest, followed by, "Steven… That's not– Steven."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Steven!" This time he sounds almost angry, his voice is low and venomous. And whatever Steven says next must really strike a nerve, because Marc hisses, “Shut up, shut up! Shut UP!" the volume rising to a crescendo with his agitation.

It takes you by surprise, and you jump back, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process. Then you scramble back to the door, pressing as close as you dare. Worried that you’ve missed part of the conversation because you can’t hear Marc anymore.

“Look, maybe if you just, like... chill the eff out for a second, we can talk things over, yeah?”

That’s not Marc at all.

Instead, it’s Steven's warm South-Londoner accent spilling through the door. They must have switched.

“You can't keep doing this. You know that right?” Steven demands. “What's your grand master plan here, mate? Hiding during the day and sneaking out like a burglar in the dead of night...? A bit cowardly, isn't it? You have to know that’s not gonna work long term."

If Marc was angry, then Steven sounds properly hacked off, his patience on the last string, worn so thin it’s a surprise it hasn’t already snapped. This is clearly not the first, or even second time, they’ve had this conversation. Apparently the fact that he's been talking to Marc is one of those things Steven "can't tell you right now." You wonder how many times they've had this same argument. From the sound of things, you wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Steven has tried again and again without being able to even inch Marc to budge from his stubborn position.

"It's not the perfect life though, is it? Not when you’re being a right proper idiot about all this. She wants you here. I want you here, you great pillock!” Steven’s voice is loud and indignant, and you can hear a rattle in there that you’re pretty sure is Steven grabbing onto the sides of the mirror in a frustrated attempt to throttle Marc through it. “And you can stop trying to peddle ‘normal,’ all right? Nothing about this situation is normal, and I for one am perfectly okay with that!”

You can always trust Steven to come through with the honest truth.

God, you love that man.

You can’t help but smile as he quite loudly voices everything you’ve been dying to say to Marc in this moment. You agree with all of it, even the throttling. Because Steven’s so very right. Who needs ‘normal’ when you can have something better together?

“Just–” Steven cuts himself off, and you hear the deep inhale as he takes a calming breath before he continues.

“Listen, Marc…” His voice is softer now, almost cajoling. Trying to negotiate and soothe.

You lean up on your tiptoes and in closer to the door, until you’re practically pressed against it. In your eagerness, you forget about how flimsy the material is until it gives slightly under your weight, and you flinch back. Honestly, it’s probably a miracle the flimsy thing didn’t collapse altogether.

“You’re not fooling anyone, all right? I can feel what you feel when you’re around her.”

You wait with bated breath for Steven to continue, selfishly hoping that he’ll spell it out further because you desperately want to know what exactly it is that Marc feels around you. For you.

“When you wake up next to her, and–” his voice spills from the bathroom, the dry sarcasm unmistakable, “when you drink that bloody awful coffee.”

Again with the sass about your coffee!

You scowl at the door, any goodwill towards Steven’s efforts in this conversation quickly evaporating. Surely, your coffee can’t be as terrible as all that. It’s just beans and water! How much of a difference can the ratio make anyhow?

“Or… Or the way you clutched onto that jacket for weeks after she wore it. Treated it like some bloody teddy bear, didn’t you?”

His jacket? The one that gave you so much grief and guilt after the almost-kiss in front of the fishtank? And Marc had… what? Snuggled with it? Your mind boggles at the very idea, even as it warms your heart.

“‘Don’t?’” Steven challenges, obviously repeating something you can’t hear. “Don’t what, exactly, Marc? Don’t state the obvious?” He barrels on, apparently unwilling to give Marc time to reply, "I know how you feel about her. And I know what you think about when you spend those extra ten minutes in the shower."

Extra… minutes? You frown to yourself. You don't understand. What could Steven possibly mean by ‘ten extra minutes’ in the–

Oh.

An invading image pushes to the forefront of your mind. Of Marc's stern and focused eyes closed in concentration. Wet curls plastered to his forehead. His fingers wrapped in a tight fist over his hard cock. It’s true that you’ve not ever seen Marc less than fully clothed, but you’ve seen Steven without a thread on his body, and your brain is more than happy to fill in the blanks.

Heat curls into your stomach and settles there. Your chest feels tight, as though the thought of Marc in the shower is squeezing the breath out of you. Your vivid imagination clings onto the image, no matter how hard you try to think of something else. Your brain is too enamoured with it and refuses to let it go.

All you see as you close your eyes are his perfect cheekbones flushed a rosy crimson as he shudders in pleasure.

"Well if you don't want me to tell her, you’d best stop playing hide and seek then," Steven continues, clearly exasperated, "You’re being ridiculous, you bloody plonker."

Despite the fact that he's still technically whispering, he's so agitated that he might as well be shouting and the volume would be comparable. Steven never could keep a lid on his emotions. You can just picture the animated expression on his face.

“She wants you too, you know.” It’s quieter, comes after a second or two pause, as if Steven’s deliberately tamping down how loud he was.

More silence follows.

You wait for several torturously slow seconds, but there’s still nothing from behind the door. Is it because Marc has been replying to Steven, you wonder. And if he has, what has he been saying? Is he angry? Brushing Steven off? Or is it like it was on the phone last night—silent because he’s not replying back at all.

Why is that somehow the worst scenario?

You don’t hear anything else. Perhaps this is how it’s going to end today as well. Another stalemate. Stuck in a loop, like Gus II’s endless pilgrimage back and forth across the tank, forever spinning in this box that you have gotten yourselves into, with no way out.

How long can the three of you keep doing this for?

“Did you know… she had a sex dream about us?" Steven says.

A cold shock grips the entirety of your spine, and you jolt like someone threw a bucket of ice water over your head.

"That’s right, about both of us, together—said she couldn't choose."

Oh god. God! What on earth is Steven saying? Has he lost his fucking marbles? He can’t tell Marc that!

Embarrassment burns with a fury in your cheeks. You bite down on your tongue, trying to keep yourself still, fighting every nerve in your body that wants to ram down the door.

“Actually, I quite think you do need to be hearing this, mate. If you would just–” Steven breaks off, then tries again, raising his voice like he’s trying to talk over and overpower someone else in volume.

“If you would just come back and talk to us about it, I'm sure she would… Marc. Take your hands off your ears, Marc. If you would just listen for one bloody second. Can you please just– Oh, right, that’s really mature!”

“Oh, that is bloody well it!” Steven shouts, and harsh fluorescent light floods your vision, momentarily blinding you, as the bathroom door is flung open.

You stumble forward, nearly falling through the doorway. The only things that stops you from going arse-over-tits are Steven's solid frame and the fact that you faceplant square into the middle of his chest.

His hands go to your shoulders, helping to steady you, and it only takes a second to regain your footing. And then you find yourself staring up at your fuming boyfriend.

Steven’s cheeks are flushed, chest heaving, and his beautiful messy curls are bouncing wildly on top of his head. He must’ve been well and truly hacked off at Marc, but at the sight of you the anger melts off of him.

"Oh,” he says, blinking down at you in surprise, “hello, love. You’re back?”

Turning back to the bathroom, Steven narrows his eyes pointedly at the mirror, then turns off the light and slides the door shut firmly behind him.

"How... uhm… how much of that did you overhear?"

"Quite a bit," you admit, not bothering to beat around the bush. "I'm guessing Marc’s still refusing to come home then?"

Steven gives an exasperated shake of his head.

"He's being stubborn, as always."

You nod, but there’s a bitter clump stuck in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. Steven must notice your struggle, because his hands trail down the length of your arms until he finds yours and weaves your fingers together, squeezing lightly.

"Don't worry, love. He'll come around eventually, yeah? He just needs time."

Steven likes to say the two of you have all the time in the world, but you're beginning to wonder if even that would be enough.

The flickering light from the telly is swathing the bed and surrounding surfaces of Steven’s bookshelves in blues and whites. You’re staring blindly at the ocean scenery playing out before you, without really hearing any of the narration as Attenborough drones on about whale wildlife.

You feel listless. You try to tell yourself that it’s just been a long day at work. Between Poppy stealing your lunch, (which she denies) and that three hour Teams call that nearly ended your will to live, it’s no wonder you’re ready for this day to end.

But it’s more than that.

‘It’s better for both of you that I’m not around’.

Marc had sounded so tired in the loo this morning, like he’s exhausted to the depths of his soul, and you hate that for him. Guilt swirls in your stomach, simmering until it curdles into irritation and then anger.

You’re furious at the whole situation.

You hate how angry and defeated he sounded. Can't stand the thought that he's doing something that hurts him to keep you and Steven “happy.” But most of all you hate that he’s alone again. By himself, trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders like the victim of some tragic Greek myth, condemned to a solitary existence by the gods for all of eternity.

But your anger isn’t helping you right now, and it certainly doesn’t help Marc.

In fact, nothing you’ve been doing has helped him, has it? All your efforts to get him to come back: spam texting him, poisoning him with your toxic coffee, confessing your feelings… The only thing any of it has achieved is to make him feel cornered and miserable.

It needs to stop.

You need to stop.

“You all right, love?” Steven’s voice near your ear pulls you out of your spiralling thoughts.

“Hmm?”

Steven frowns at you from where he sits beside you on the sofa.

“You seem… distracted. Is there something on your mind, love?”

“Yes, sorry, I think I’m just–” you trail off mid-sentence, the screen catching your eye when you lift your head. The credits are rolling and must have been for quite some time without you even noticing.

“Let’s go to bed, love. Call it an early night, yeah?” he asks with a gentle smile on his lips.

Curling up in bed with Steven sounds perfect to you in this moment and you nod at him.

It’s all he needs to start moving, Steven stooping to gather up the blanket that’s pooled by your feet and reaches over your lap for the remote to turn off the telly. The room dims without the brightness of the screen, and Steven takes your hand, pulling you to your feet. He watches your progress surreptitiously, keeping his hand steady over yours like he’s a guide dog worried you’re going to trip over your own feet.

He doesn’t let go until you’re safely sat down on your side of the bed, and even then he stays standing there with an uncertain look on his face, one hand hovering in mid-air, the other hanging by his side, fingers fidgeting.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Steven finally asks, the words bursting out of him as if he’s unable to hold them in any longer. “What happened today, that is. About Marc, and what you overheard.”

“Marc…,” you begin, and his name barely even leaves your lips before Steven is already nodding enthusiastically for you to continue. “He sounded really quite tired today, didn’t he? It must be hard for him to keep this up. I don’t know why he thinks he has to keep hiding like this.”

Steven’s chewing on his bottom lip, and there it is again, the feeling that Steven knows so much more than he’s been telling you. You can practically see the weight of the phrase ‘I can’t tell you right now’ perched heavily on his features.

You look down at your lap, fingers twisting into the blanket. But maybe, it isn’t hard to guess what it is neither of them are telling you. It’s Occam’s razor isn’t it? All things being equal, the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. And maybe the simple explanation here is that Marc just… doesn’t want to see you. Whatever the reasons, he’s made that much abundantly clear, and you’ve gone and ignored all signs and pushed forward regardless. You told the man you loved him, and he didn’t say anything back.

“I think that what I said on the phone–me telling him I love him—has probably only made things worse.”

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you raise your eyes towards Steven again.

“I just want him to know it’s okay if he doesn’t feel the same about me. It’s all right if he doesn’t want this or– Or me. He doesn’t have to hide to avoid rejecting me or to spare my feelings. I don’t want him to be alone because of that. Can you… can you tell him that?”

Steven's eyes widens, and he shakes his head vigorously.

“No. No, no, no, love. That is not what's happening here. That's not– The problem is– Marc is just–" He stumbles over his words a bit before spitting out tartly, "Just a right twit, is what he is."

You can’t help the grunt-like snort that escapes, and the levity feels good. It’s nice to be able to laugh with Steven, even as glum as you are over the situation that you’re all stuck in.

Your laugh must’ve pleased him, because he smiles back at you, eyes crinkling adorably. His shoulders relax too, and his hands stop their nervous fidgeting.

Climbing knee-first onto the bed, Steven sits in front of you. His hand comes to yours, and he settles both your hands on top of your lap.

“Marc isn’t hiding away because he doesn’t feel the same about you.”

Your face must show your scepticism, because Steven squeezes your fingers between his reassuringly as he continues.

“Same body and all that, remember? I’m aware enough nowadays that I can usually feel what he feels when I’m not the one fronting.”

"What does he feel?" You blurt out. It's a question that has been haunting you since your impromptu phone call confession. Longer even.

Steven hesitates, clearly torn, and it’s enough to make you realise what you've just asked of him. How unfair of a question it is.

"Sorry.” You grimace, your shoulders sagging. "I know you don't feel comfortable sharing things about Marc without him here. And I understand. It's okay. Really it is. It's..."

It's only right, isn't it? Of course it’s not for Steven to out Marc’s private matters. And what can be more personal than one’s inner thoughts and feelings?

"Oh, love," Steven says, voice impossibly gentle, “You're right that it's not my place to tell you.”

You nod, looking down at your lap, feeling like your whole chest has deflated. You know it's the right thing for him to do. You’re glad for it even—that he's looking out for Marc when Marc's not here to look out for himself—but you can’t help but feel disappointed all the same.

“Buuuut…” he continues, and your head whips up, searching his face with a tiny sprinkle of hope that perhaps there's still something Steven can share with you.

“You heard what I said to him in there, right?” Steven prompts, and you nod. His fingers brush over yours, giving you the time to process.

You try to remember everything you overheard, any other hints you’ve gleaned. How Marc always drinks your “awful” coffee. That he’d clutched onto his jacket after you’ve worn it. The shower. Your fingertips tingle all over again as the image of him in the shower tries to resurface in your mind.

“Surely it’s obvious by now how Marc feels about you, isn’t it?”

Steven looks so certain—like he can’t even begin to fathom why there would be any doubt about this—and you desperately want him to be right. Desperately want to think that Marc might care for you in return.

He says it like all of the pieces of the puzzle are plainly there for you to see. And they should be, you suppose. Marc has shown you so many different sides of himself, and the conversation you overheard revealed more. The problem is that no matter how hard you try to mash the pieces together to make them fit… They don’t.

What Steven’s implying makes sense, and yet here the two of you are, alone. And Marc is still refusing to join you.

Despite everything, the picture before you is still somehow… incomplete. You can’t help but feel that there’s at least one more vital piece of information that you’re still somehow missing.

“So why is he still hiding, then?”

And there’s something there, in Steven’s reaction when you ask him. A quick, blink-and-you’d-miss-it flicker towards the direction of the fish tank. The only reflective surface, lit up as it is in the darkness of the room.

“Steven?” you prompt loudly, fully intent on interrupting whatever tirade Marc is shouting at Steven. You lean forward, squeezing his hand for attention. “What is Marc saying to you? Why won’t he come back?”

Steven’s head whips back in your direction. His mouth is works, but no words come out, and he’s hesitating like he’s trying to decide how much he should tell you.

“There are things that we—that Marc hasn't told you,” Steven finally says, eyes flicking to the fishtank again, then back to yours, holding your gaze earnestly. “Things that you ought to hear about from him. He doesn’t think he deserves– Well. He thinks that once you know about everything, you’ll walk away from us both. So he’s staying away. I guess in some way, he thinks he’s protecting me again. Buying me some time before it ends."

“That’s ridiculous!” you shout before you can stop yourself. “He can’t possibly know how I’ll react until he’s told me!”

Your ears burn and you wouldn’t be surprised if there was steam coming out. Why can’t Marc just sit you down and tell you these things instead of making assumptions about what he thinks you would want? What he thinks would be best for you? It’s Steven and the goldfish all over again.

“And, Steven,”—you look him right in the eye, because you don’t want there to be any doubt about this next part—”I love you. There is nothing Marc could tell me that would make me want to leave you, all right.”

Steven smiles, and even in the dark it’s warm enough to light up the whole room.

"Yes, love, I know.” His smile turns wry, “Like I said… a right twit."

It’s dark.

Quiet.

The world isn’t awake yet, and you’re not sure if you are either. You can’t even hear the London traffic outside. There’s too little light in here, and you can’t make out anything except vague shapes in the inviting darkness. You close your eyes again, ready to drift back to sleep.

Fabric rustles nearby, a soft white noise like the raising of sails. It reminds you of visiting the beach as a child and putting your ear to the opening of a seashell. Everything sounds like it’s underwater.

The surface under you moves, rolling slightly, and then settles again, and it feels like you are out at sea on a small boat. Behind your eyelids, all you see is purple skies dusted with sugared stars.

Someone is here on the boat with you, warm and sturdy against your side. For a moment or two, drunk on sleep as you are, you don’t quite know where you are or who the person is. All you know is that you feel happy and safe with them.

The boat rocks again, the surface under you shifting, and the warmth moves away. You want it back. Before you can reach out, the soft weight covering you shifts like a wave, dragging against your hip as it rises up over your torso before settling again, tucked snugly under your chin.

There are quiet, almost careful footsteps on wooden planks. Then the clink of metal like chains being dragged across the floor.

It’s all so familiar somehow.

Didn't there used to be a time when you'd often find yourself like this? Drowsy and half-conscious, pulled towards awareness by the quiet sounds of someone moving next to you, but too far under to fully wake?

When did it stop?

Oh. Right. When Marc disappeared.

This must be a dream then. Your brain processing and recycling old memories. Why else would you be out on the open sea?

The noises stop.

You can feel the moment drift, pulled away by the currents, but you’re not ready to wake up yet. There’s a long silence, where the dream threatens to slip beneath the inky depth of a wave.

Squeezing your eyes firmly shut, you try to let yourself float gently on the current, hoping you can relax and prolong this dream.

The surface you’re resting on dips, and something settles onto your shoulder. A solid, comforting weight. You know this feeling. It’s Marc’s hand, and it inspires the same feeling of safety it did last time, the last time you and Marc were together in person, after you'd cried yourself into exhaustion and he'd agreed to let you fall asleep in his bed.

It feels nice. More than nice. It feels right.

You nuzzle your cheek into billowing warmth surrounding you that feels like a soft pillow and smells of fresh laundry detergent and coffee. You inhale deeply, sighing contently at the scent, trying to enjoy it while it lasts.

You don’t want to give this up.

The weight lifts from your shoulder, and you almost rise up in protest, but something sweeps softly across your forehead. Those gentle fingertips, brush the hair from your eyes before coming to linger on your cheek.

It's a bit funny, isn’t it? A bit cruel even, of your subconscious to conjure up a scenario where Marc’s touching your cheek tenderly like this. After all, isn’t this what you’d thought he might do that night? What you’d wanted him to do, even if you hadn’t known it then? To cup your cheek in his strong, warm hand; to hold you like you're precious to him, beloved, the same way that Steven does?

Marc’s hand moves away again, replaced by the gentle brush of soft lips and bristly stubble against your temple. It’s a barely-there touch, so light and fleeting that you might have imagined it, yet everything inside you aches like a tender bruise. Your skin tingles with an echo of lingering warmth.

You don’t dare to move; barely dare to breathe for fear that you’ll wake yourself up. Your chest constricts with a bittersweet longing that feels large enough to bury you whole.

"I love you too," his quiet voice says, filling the silence.

Warmth blossoms in your stomach, pouring and pouring through you until you feel filled to the brim with happiness. You think you would be content to stay here, in this safe, quiet space, just basking in his loving presence forever.

For long moments, you do, sinking into the feeling of being loved by this grumpy, stubborn, confusingly gentle man.

Then you hear the heavy sigh.

"That's why I can't come back," he says, voice quiet, resigned, “I need you to be safe. And happy. I’ll make sure of that.”

The sea rises as his weight lifts away from you. The whole of the boat shifts unsteadily beneath you, tilting with the tumultuous waves. Set adrift by the unexpected and unwelcome turn the dream has taken, you’re convinced that the boat is going to tip over and capsize. That you’ll slip into the cracks between the planks of the deck and fall into the abyss, never to be seen again.

You reach out to grab the railing, trying to steady yourself. But where you expected a wooden ledge, hard and wet from seawater, your fingers grasp onto something soft and warm instead. It gives way easily under the grip of your hands, like cotton. Like sheets.

Still you hold on tightly, bracing yourself for the inevitable descent, and then…

Nothing.

Nothing happens. You’re still on steady ground. Still surrounded in the stillness of the dark night. The only sound is that of soft footsteps moving away and then the unmistakable click of the front door.

Wait, what kind of dream is this?

Your eyes fly open, and you’re greeted to the sight of the wooden planks, mostly lost in shadow. The bottom of the deck? Are you in the ship’s hold?

No, it’s the lowered ceiling over Steven's bed. You’re in his flat.

There’s an ache in your shoulder from having rested on it too long, and you force yourself upright. Your eyelids feel crusty and dry, as though a desert has sprung up behind them overnight. They sting as you blink, wanting to seal closed again.

Are you awake now? Or is this just another part of a dream? Ten seconds from now, will you find yourself back down on the mattress, forcing yourself to open your eyes all over again?

It’s dark in here, but that tells you nothing. In wintertime, dark can mean 5pm or 7am or anything in between. Turning to the side of the bed, you pat at the nightstand until you find your watch and raise it to your face, squinting in the darkness to make out the dials.

Eight-thirty? That can’t be right. You and Steven fell asleep well past eight last night, and it’s too dark outside to already be eight in the morning. You reach over to the small lamp, holding the face of it up to the dim light. The arms counting the seconds is taking much longer than a second to hobble forwards. It’s desperately trying to tick along but it’s not doing a great job at keeping time accurately.

You really need to fix the bloody thing. Or better yet, get a new one. Everything about it is falling apart. Still you fasten it to your wrist by habit before you move to get out of bed.

With a heavy sigh, you dip one foot onto the floor, and hiss out an involuntary breath at the chill of it. Your shoulders clutch at the quilt tugging it closer around your shoulder.

Wait, this is…

Real.

The biting cold is definitely real. Not a dream; not your imagination. As fantastical as your dreams can sometimes be, your subconscious wouldn't have the attention to detail to replicate the energy bill crisis.

Turning your head, your eyes drift to Steven’s side of the bed where he fell asleep curled up next to you. Except, he’s not there anymore.

You reach out your hand, resting it on the spot of the mattress where he would have been lying.

Still warm and toasty.

He must’ve gotten up mere moments ago. The door to the loo is open and dark, so Steven’s not in there. He’s not anywhere, and Steven wouldn’t have left the flat without telling you. Must’ve been Marc then, gone wandering off into the night again.

Your neck prickles.

And all of a sudden you’re wide awake, realisation slamming into you like a runaway lorry.

Oh bloody hell, that wasn’t a dream. It was real.

Marc was really here.

He really–

Oh god!

Shoving the comforter away, you leap to your feet. The cold draft in the room punches the air out of your lungs, but you ignore it and focus on trying to find your clothes and dress as quickly as possible. In your haste, you ricochet off one of the bookcases and have to clumsily pat things back into place to avoid an avalanche of Steven’s mess, picking the first pair of boots that is within reach and your coat. Then you’re out of the front door with a loud slam behind you.

~ Continue ~

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

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #marvel mcu #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knigh fanfiction #jake lockley #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #cici writes

806 notes · View notes

lolahasmoxie · 4 months

Text

Snowed In (J.T.)

It's finally "winter" in Arizona. I also took an edible and feel very much in need of cuddles. Enjoy, my loves!

"Yeah, no, mate. Don't sweat; we'll see you once this snow clears up." Alright, cheers then."

You watch from the sofa as Jamie ends his call with Isaac. There was supposed to be a party at Ola's, but a winter snowstorm was keeping most of London indoors tonight.

"You are so lucky that wasn't a Facetime call," you reply with a chuckle.

"What? I was looking forward to seeing the lads."

"Oh yeah, you look real torn up about it." Jaime was dressed in his slouchiest pajama pants, hair free of any type of product, and he had on a pair of eye gel patches stolen from you

"I am upset about the snow, but I can't help it if I'd rather hang out here with you."

"You are so whipped," you coo as Jaime approaches you. "What would the boys say if they could see you now?"

Jaime plopped on the sofa and laid his body over yours. This was Jamie's favorite position to cuddle, lying prone on you while you played with his hair. When he laid his head on your chest, you couldn't help but chuckle.

"They would all be fucking jealous that I have the prettiest girl in London, and I get to call her mine."

You smile at Jamie's words and quietly reach for the quilt on the back of his couch, covering the two of you as you decide on a movie to watch.

Jamie wrapped an arm around you, the sound of your heart in his ear helping to ground him. He had wondered many times in his youth if he would ever have this. If he would ever be good enough for someone to stick around. To love him as he truly was. Then you showed up at AFC Richmond, and he was done for.

"You're not falling asleep on me already, are you?"

Your voice is soft, only slightly teasing. He can't help but grin as he holds you tighter.

"Nah, I'm good. Why don't we catch up on our show, yeah?"

---------------------------------------------

When Isaac texts you an hour later to see how you and Jamie are holding up, you respond with a picture.

Jamie passed out cold on top of you, your hand in his hair and a coy smile on your face.

It's xeroxed and plastered EVERYWHERE at Richmond the following Monday.

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n

119 notes · View notes

madlumqx · 2 years

Text

that's unexpected. | n. kento

synopsis | nanami kento was the most secretive person in your office, to find out one of his biggest secrets was something you never expected.

warnings | non-sorcerer!au, office!au, age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, nanami is in his late 20’s to early 30’s), nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni!), bit of a slow burn, fem/afab!reader, camboy!nanami, dom!nanami, masturbation (f/m), using of pet names (angel, darling, & the likes), sir kink, fingering, oral (f receiving), overstimulation (f), dacryphilia, dirty talking, size kink, hand kink, degradation, praise kink, and unprotected sex (don’t do this irl for the love of god)

a/n | alright, who’s ready for this to go down? haha camboy!nanami will forever live in my head. also !! a big shout out and thanks to @l0serloki & @bunnyyamor for helping me gain confidence in writing this because i would have NEVER even thought abt posting it T___T credits to the original artist of the nanami fanart i have used in the banner.

word count: 5.4k (haha whoops got carried away)

nanami kento was the most secretive person in your office. no one really bothers him aside from gojo satoru from the finance department of the company that you work in.

the man was a total mystery for everyone since he tends to be more reserved than most. despite this however, he was a total heartthrob for everyone; tall, muscular, polite, and drop-dead gorgeous? yeah there’s no doubt that people would line up for his attention.

you, on the other hand, strayed away from him. not because you wanted to be different, you were just too intimidated by his presence. he was your senior in the company by eight years and the last thing you want is for anyone to have your head for being the new girl in the office trying to score with the hottest guy.

the work you do was draining enough already.

it was another day at work and you were just about to lose it. your team’s manager tasked you to photocopy a bunch of files needed for an emergency meeting to be held in the afternoon but the xerox machine decided to be a little bitch and jam mid-printing. the missed calls from your boss only adding pressure as your shaky hands try your best to fix the contraption.

“need help?” a voice mumbled from behind you, causing you to jump just a bit and turn to the source.

your eyes widened a bit to see nanami staring down at you with the same unreadable expression he sports every day. “o-oh! mr. nanami, i’m okay! just… having paper jam problems, is all.” you sputter out, mentally cursing yourself for being so obvious about your nerves with him.

he silently shrugs you off and shakes his head, a hand reaching over to place on your shoulders so he can go to the machine and pull out the jammed paper with ease. “you can call me kento, you know.” he mumbles softly. “you’ve been in the office for over a year now but i can’t recall having a conversation with you.”

he catches you off-guard at that statement, making you choke on air. luckily, the last paper you were photocopying was done and you grabbed it along with other copies stacked, “our… schedules never really collided! we can have a conversation soon, mr. na- kento!” you bid him a swift goodbye, bowing as you hurry off.

you were internally panicking, practically fighting with yourself as you walk away, pondering if it was better to just accept the earful from your manager with one missing copy just so the incident with kento never happened. him, on the other hand despite his emotionless exterior, was bewildered at how much you tried to avoid him.

and even if it wasn’t like him to pry into others but you caught his attention.

—

“satoru, do you know (y/n)?” nanami asks the white-haired man as they both exit the building. his run-up with you still unable to leave his mind. the nervous image of yours planted into his brain.

gojo looks at him in disbelief that he would finally ask about someone around the office. “you mean (y/n) (l/n)? yeah i know her! she’s really sweet and friendly, actually.” he answers truthfully, looking back at the time you and him were seatmates at a seminar for the whole company and how you catered his talkative ass the whole time and managed to still pay attention to the speaker in front. “she brings me the cookies she bakes from time to time. why’d you ask? have the hots for her?”

the blonde stares at the latter with unamusement. “just talked to her earlier, i don’t know but she seemed to avoid me. we’ve been working under the same department in administration but i’ve barely heard her voice.” he admits, actually curious why you’re so avoidant of him when you manage to befriend satoru.

unable to help his laugh, gojo pats his friend’s back and shrugs. “maybe it’s more of a you thing rather than her, (y/n)’s friendly.” he says and picks up his pace. “here’s my stop, have fun wondering why she avoids you, nanamin!”

—

you were drained, all you wanted to do was sprawl on your bed and wonder why you put up with the job that you’re in.

removing the tortuous heels you’ve been wanting to take off, you take a deep sigh of relief as your feet hit the solid floor. dragging your body towards your room and sprawling out on the comfort of your bed. you almost moaned at the contact of your aching back against the foam of your bed.

managing to slip off most of your clothes, you were left in just your button up and underwear; the only thing on your mind on right now to further release tension made you open your phone and searched for a website where you can get off to camboys, scrolling through different ones until you come across one that looks a tad bit too familiar.

sitting up a bit, you stare at the muscular body and the all too familiar voice and slacks that slapped your senses back into place. despite his face being hidden behind a mask, you knew it was nanami! the very person you actively tried to avoid was live… stroking himself for the whole of the internet to see.

your sensible side was begging for you to stop and scroll away, but you were a human with needs too. you could feel yourself slowly drip in arousal as you watch him hungrily paired with the guttural groans he slips off from time to time. it was definitely him.

“mhm, that’s right baby, stroke yourself for daddy.” the words he spoke hitting directly in between your legs. feeling his dominance, you just opted to follow and let your neediness take over.

sliding your hand south slowly, you moaned quietly at the slightest friction of your fingers as you slowly rubbed your clit. nanami’s voice was all that you could hear, matching his pace as your eyes focus on his digits, it seemed so big, so perfect to fill you up. you’ve noticed how big his hands were when he helped you just today, but never has a dirty thought crossed your mind until now.

unable to focus with just one hand, you let go of your phone and continue your ministrations, just hearing your co-worker’s breathy moans and small words of praise was enough to send you over the edge. “nngh, k-kento..” you needily say to no one, dipping your middle and ring finger inside, quietly whining as it fills you up; soon feeling the knot in your stomach slowly starting to tighten.

“mhm, gonna cum soon, baby? that’s my good doll, c’mon, make a mess.” nanami’s voice fills up the room, making you quietly cry out of pleasure as his voice sends you into oblivion.

your eyes looked back at the screen of your phone and you watched as nanami came himself, thick ropes of white coating the tip of his cock and stomach, it was a sight to behold. a godly sight, if anyone was to ask you. but not even the nbi can ever get that information out of you.

you had just fucked yourself to your co-worker’s camboy service; how were you supposed to face him at work tomorrow then?

—

you tried to be stealthy around the office, thankful that your work cubicle was on the literal opposite side of nanami’s, it was easy for you to avoid him and risk blowing your cover about knowing his secret. he was a well-respected man who has serviced the company longer than you and the last thing you want was the gossip to spread like wildfire amongst the hungry-for-him people that surrounded him daily.

the plan you had was simple, stay by your side and avoid him at all costs! it sounded easy in your head, even packing your own lunch this time so the only real opportunity for the two of you to clash was if you had to take a trip to the bathroom.

everything was going smooth until your lunch break, however.

you were confident! with just a few hours left of the work day, your plan would be deemed successful, until gojo satoru came waltzing over with nanami in tow. “oh (y/n)!” the boisterous man had greeted you with a wide grin. “why eat here? someone bothering ya?” he questions, raising an eyebrow at you and your food.

the man behind you, honestly. you thought to yourself but you could never say that out loud.

opting to avoid looking at his companion, you turn to gojo and smile at him. “toru! well, i just wanted to eat here. kind of a break from the noise, you know.” you say, internally cringing at how shit your excuse was. in attempt to save yourself, you also motion your computer which was displaying a plethora of files opened. “and i just want to revise on the letters and memorandums that the boss assigned to me, just want to keep things spick and span before i have to pass them by the end of the week.”

satoru suddenly lights up even more, glancing at nanami who just stared you down. clearing his throat, he pulled the blonde forward and patted his back. “nanamin, right here, would love to help! right?” he says, leaving the two of you in shock.

you immediately shake your head as the words gojo spoke finally sink in. “oh! there’s no need! i can manage and i’m pretty sure mr. nanami’s busy too.” you bow a few times as you decline, heart racing as you hope kento would do the same and wack some sense into his friend’s head but instead you were met with him shaking his head.

“it’s okay, (y/n). i have nothing to do anyways, i finished my work for the day already.” he says, grabbing the vacant chair next to you and places himself beside you, motioning you to continue on with your lunch as he takes your work laptop away so he can revise on the current one you’re doing.

you stare at gojo incredulously, unable to formulate words as the blue-eyed man shrugs and silently walk away, leaving you and nanami alone.

cue the awkward silence.

it was unbearable; knowing that if one of your female officemates saw you two together would cause gossip and the weight of being aware of his side job after office hours pestered your thoughts and inner demons to your limits. but considering you had no more say on the matter, you just let him work on what you were doing previously and eat your sandwich in ignorant bliss.

that’s until your eyes landed on the two fingers on the touchpad of your laptop scrolling through the file. the memories and thoughts that took over you last night were back, causing you to choke on your food, making nanami stop and look at you with concern.

“are you okay, (y/n)?” kento asks, placing your laptop back on the table as he pats your back and offers you the water bottle on your desk. his brows were furrowed with concern as you take the bottle and chug down the water, making you a deep gasp for air right after.

taking a few seconds to calm down, you nod. “mhm, just the food going down the wrong pipe.” you manage to crack to lighten the mood between the two of you. if he was doing this much to actually talk to you after yesterday’s photocopy small talk, you probably should make a conscious effort to talk to him too.

“kento? i… i apologize for like… you know avoiding you all the time.” you start off, voice quiet but you can feel the blonde’s intense stare on you. choosing you pick at your fingers rather than look up and meet his gaze. “i’m just intimidated by you, most of the time.” you continue to explain, having the courage to look up and see the corner of his lips upturned to the smallest smile.

“it’s okay, (y/n). i’m just glad it isn’t because of my appearance or something. really thought i did something for you to avoid me as much as you did yesterday.” he admits, placing the laptop back down and flexes his fingers, causing you to spare a quick glance at them again before placing your attention back on him. maybe striking up a conversation with him wasn’t a bad thing at all.

but unfortunately for you, however, nanami kento’s a very observant man and your glance onto his hands didn’t go unnoticed.

—

it was the end of another workday and you were more than glad to go back home and just pass out, but the morbid curiosity of checking to see if nanami was live plagued your mind. it was a bit later in the night as you had to go out and run a few errands of grocery shopping before heading home so the chances seemed lower.

after arriving home and washing up, you were back on your bed, thumb hovering over the browser of your phone to search up if he was active. you shouldn’t, (y/n)! he’s your officemate for fuck’s sake. but you did so well already with hiding it from him today, one more time wouldn’t hurt, right?

the next thing you knew, you were back on the website, heart racing to see if he was active— he definitely was. it seemed to be the start of the stream but he wasn’t wearing his usual slacks anymore, it was gray sweatpants that outlined his dick perfectly and hung low on his hips, exposing his defined abs and v-line.

but what actually caught your attention, was the silver rings that decorated his fingers. combined with the evident veins on his hands and arms, this was like a treat that fed your core. you couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel to have the cold metal kiss your skin as he touches you.

it was all too much, but you couldn’t help but greedily want more, want more of him.

—

a few work days go by and nanami seemed to be drawn to your presence, finding himself gravitating towards you as you treated him the same as you would with any person; unbeknownst to him about your knowledge on the things he does by the time office hours are done.

it’s a beneficial friendship for the both of you; he gets to be left alone by the people who usually pester him to eat with during lunch (with the exception of satoru) and you get to fulfill your dirtiest fantasies by watching him get off whenever you catch him live on stream.

—

it was finally saturday, almost two weeks since you first found out about kento’s secret. you felt proud of yourself for managing to keep it inside for you for this long (with the denying thought that you wanted to gatekeep this information to yourself for as long as you can)

you were making your way home when all of a sudden the rain started pouring, it was harsh and you were drenched in no time. having no other choice, you were forced to find shelter underneath one of the buildings, cursing yourself for not bringing the umbrella you had chosen to leave inside your house when you decided to go out for a walk.

“(y/n)?” someone calls out, and you turn over to see nanami dressed in just sweatpants and a fleece jacket that fit him snug. “what’re you doing here?” he asks, eyeing your figure.

you shot him a sheepish smile, “i wanted to go out and walk for a bit since i’ve been asleep all afternoon. might not be the brightest idea of mine to not bring an umbrella.” you explained, trying your best to keep yourself warm by hugging your arms to yourself.

nanami contemplated letting you into his home; not that he didn’t want you there, he just had business to attend to later into the evening. seeing your freezing frame, however, made him think otherwise. “how about you say here for a bit? i don’t think the rain would let up anytime soon.” he offers, motioning his head to the doors of the apartment complex.

you wanted to decline, you really did. but considering whether you should wait this is one out and probably face hypothermia, maybe accepting his offer was the wisest choice to make.

so you relent, nodding quietly as you walk closer to kento, following him inside the building and into the elevator. “have you invited anyone else from the office over here?” you asked him, genuinely curious to see if he has brought anyone else over.

to your surprise, he shook his head. “just you, (y/n). and satoru, but he’s an unstoppable force of a migraine so i have no other choice.” he says, sighing at the mention of his best friend's persistent and unannounced visits.

it somehow excited you, going inside his apartment and seeing where he would do his business, and it didn’t help that he admitted to not having anyone from the office over aside from gojo; it was like the cards of fate were on your side— even if the odds and chances of him ever opening up the topic were slim to none.

if there was a 0.1% chance it would happen, you would jump on it.

the elevator ride was silent, the awkwardness weighing on your head as you shift from one foot to another as your eyes steadied on both of your reflection against the doors of the lift. it wasn’t helping that you were still cold from being drenched in the rain. “this is us, (y/n).” nanami mumbles quietly as the doors open to his floor, motioning you to get out first.

“i’m not intruding by suddenly coming over, right?” you ask, nipping on your lower lip as you watch the muscles under his shirt flex as reaches for his keys.

he glances back at you before finding the key, shaking his head. “relax, (y/n). i invited you to come over. would’ve declined if i felt you were.” he truthfully says, opening the door and steps to the side, tilting his head to the side and wait for you to enter.

mumbling a soft thanks as you pass by him, you eye the apartment. it wasn’t /that/ fancy but you can definitely see that he was rich. anyone can also tell he liked reading from the multitude of books displayed on the shelf beside the tv. it was definitely an apartment of someone around his age.

“you can wash up in the bathroom, i’ll grab you some spare clothes in my room.” he speaks up, pointing to the door by the end of the hallway. “i’ll just knock when i have them ready.” he finishes, walking briskly into his bedroom.

you head off into the bathroom and wash up, stripping from your clothes to go into the shower and wash off the sticky feeling from being in the rain, sighing in satisfaction as the warmth of the water soothes down your shaking body.

right as you were done, you heard the knocking from the bathroom door. “(y/n)? here’s the clothes.” he calls out. wrapping yourself with the towel, you open up slightly to see him with his arm extended but his face was facing away. “just… find me in the living room after.” he mumbles and walks away as soon as he feels you grab the set of clothing.

briefly slipping into the boxers and the shirt he gave, you walked out and headed for the living room where you saw him sat by the couch, legs sprawled just enough for the dirty thoughts to come right back. his lap seemed so inviting but you had to keep yourself at bay. you were a sudden guest after all.

“would you like some coffee? tea?” nanami says, eyes shamelessly checking you out in his clothes; the way it looked on you causing his dick to stir in his jeans. he felt ridiculous, being turned on by the way you look in his clothes. then again, you didn’t seem to mind his blatant way of eyeing you up and down. nanami is a wise man, he knew and felt if the tension was thick and that was clearly evident with you.

nodding, you sat down by his side; the distance just enough for the two of you not to touch. “if it wouldn’t be such a bother, some coffee would be perfect.” you answer, smiling at him shyly as you get comfortable in the cushions.

feeling his weight lift off from the couch, he looks down at you with his same old stoic expression. “again, you’re my guest so it’s natural for me to try and be a good host. i’ll get us a cup of coffee.” he says, patting your head gently before disappearing into the kitchen.

and you were left alone. alone in nanami kento’s house.

if you were to tell yourself two weeks ago that you were in this current predicament, she would have never believed you. but here you are, eyes wondering around to observe the little trinkets, decor, and overall ambiance of the older man’s place. the curiosity of wanting to know where he films his live but you wanted to respect him and not blow your cover about being aware inside of his own home.

“i’ll find out soon enough, nanami…” you mumble softly as you stretch, unaware that the very owner of the name you just mentioned was just a few feet behind you.

“find you about what?” nanami’s voice startles you, sitting up straight as you turn your body to look at him with eyes as wide as saucers. c’mon get it together, (y/n)! you look like a deer caught in headlights! you cuss to yourself, unable to form any excuse for a few minutes.

kento looked unamused, raising an eyebrow to your direction as he places the two mugs of coffee down on the table. “asked you a question, (y/n). what are you going to find out?” he asks one more time, authority dripping in his tone which sends shivers down your spine. his dominant aura seeping out of him so naturally as he towers over you.

looks like you have no other choice than to come clean.

taking a deep sigh, you start to avoid his gaze, fingers toying with the edge of his shirt. “i… i know, kento.” you admit, voice shy and meek as your heart thrashes around in your chest at the reaction he could have. “i was curious about where you… do things.”

the moment the words left your lips, nanami knew exactly what you meant and honestly, he wasn’t even mad. you treated him the same despite bearing the heavy secret of his work outside of the office hours. you didn’t even gossip around the department about it! you were such a good girl for him that it honestly turned him on more so than feeling invaded.

“and you’ve kept it all this time?” his voice comes out lower than before, stepping closer as one of his digits hook around your chin to lift your face, making you have eye-contact with him. “why’d be so secretive about it, sweet thing?”

sweet thing. motherfucker knows he has you hooked around his finger and you couldn’t help but feel a tad bit frustrated at yourself for being so weak. “because… it felt nice to be the only one to know.” you say, nipping at your bottom lip as your vulnerability slowly shows in front of him.

his free hand snakes around your waist to pull you in, tilting his head lightly as his dark orb stares into yours. “such a good girl for me, yeah? keepin’ my secret and all” he says lowly, leaning in just enough for his lips to ghost the skin of your cheek, breath fanning over your ears. “should i reward you for being a good girl then?”

he hit the spot. he knew exactly what you wanted and you weren’t even ashamed about your body language, hands now gripping the side of his shirt tightly to keep him close to you. “y-yes sir, want you so bad.” you mumble quietly.

that’s everything that nanami needed to hear.

his lips were on yours in a flash, moving in such a slow and intimate way you can’t help but whine just the tiniest bit into the kiss. it drew a low groan from his end, sounding almost primal as he pulled you in tighter, feeling his hardening dick stir against your lower belly. his hands were already underneath your shirt, palming your breasts and pinching your pebbled nipples.

“gonna take you to the room, darlin’” he mumbles, stripping away your shirt before lifting you up with ease as he navigates through his apartment with such expertise. his lips never leave your skin, planting open-kisses to your neck, leaving little nibbles here and there that would probably leave light marks for you to see after all of this.

once reaching his room, you gently tosses you down on his bed, “take a look ‘round and see if this satisfies your curiosity.” he says, motioning to the familiar set up you took in as his background whenever he streams. “could easily open up that camera and fuck you for the whole internet to see, would you like that?” kento asks you, pointing to the camera that was directed at his bed. “as much as i would want that, wanna keep you as mine for tonight.”

the pure filth that was leaving his lips caused your brain to malfunction, unable to form any words from being so overwhelmed already, he shakes his head. “already a dumb baby? how will i fuck you stupid then, little slut?” he tsks, going down on his knees and tugs you to the end of the bed.

easily slipping off the boxers you were wearing, he groans at the sight of your sopping cunt. “such’a good fuckin’ girl for me.” he groans lightly, his big hand gripping at your thigh as his tongue took a teasing kitten lick at your folds, humming at how sweet you tasted for him. “so wet and i haven’t even done anything yet?”

“m-mhm, s’all for you, sir.” you respond, looking down to meet his gaze, your hand slowly reaching over to grip at his hair which earns another groan from him.

“gonna make sure you only know my name by the end of the night.” was the last thing he said before latching onto your clit, tongue swirling around your clit. his free hand ghosting against your hole, middle and ring finger gathering enough of your arousal before dipping in, filling you quite well.

your hips buck up as you feel his fingers enter, “t-too big, nami…” you sputter out, already losing it at the idea of his dick fucking you senseless later on.

kento was about to lose it; he was a man of self-control but something about the way you react has him wanting to see more of you, to gauge more reactions from the touches he gives you. nanami wanted it all.

“gonna have to prep you, sweet thing. needa make sure you’re ready for daddy.” he answers, fingers doing quick work of finding that one spot that made sure to have you writhing underneath him. seeing how your face contorted into one of pure bliss, he knew he had it.

with his tongue doing laps around your clit and his fingers fucking you so well, you could feel the tightness forming at the pit of your stomach. “g-gonna cum, nami…” you manage to say, your moans filling up his room as you struggle to control your movement against him.

you hear him hum, his ministrations never stopping until you feel yourself come undone, nanami’s fingers ride out your high before pulling away once you settle down. you’ve never cum that hard before and you want more.

whining lightly at the sudden loss of his fingers inside you, your eyes watch eagerly as he licks his fingers clean, his stare at you filled with lust. “w-want you in me, sir.” you beg, hand reaching up to palm him through his sweats, earning another groan from him. “please… need you so bad.”

and who was kento to decline? making quick work of his swears, your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, freed from the constraints of his pants with his tip smeared with his precum.

sitting yourself up, he stops you and shakes his head. “gonna pleasure you first baby, can do that some other time.” he says, positioning himself on top of you. the tip of his dick ghosting against your hole.

“don’t… don’t think it would fit.” you mumble softly, already whining at the feeling of his tip teasing you. “gonna have to make it fit then, princess.” he says, slowly sinking into you.

the both of you groan in satisfaction; the feeling of your tight walls wrap around him so well and the burn of his length enter you already causing so much euphoria

once he bottoms out, he stays just for you to adjust to his size. once you nod, he rocks his hips into a steady rhythm, his groaning music to your ears. “s-so fuckin’ tight baby. gonna make me cum so soon.” he grunts, voice a bit gruff as you let out another whine.

“go faster, nami, please. want it rough.” you beg, throwing your head back at how he fills you up so well, just wanting to feel every bit of him. “you sure, baby?” he asks, lifts his head to look at you, adoring your already fucked out expression.

“mhm, use me, please.” you beg.

with your verbal permission, nanami relents. his thrusts were sharp yet hit the exact same spot every time. with his free arm snaking down, his thumb does quick work to rub circles around your clit, overstimulating you even more.

his lips bite into your skin, leaving nasty lovebites as your fingertips drag along his skin, leaving red marks along his back. it was mixed with your light and airy moans, his low grunts and occasional curses and praises about how well you were taking him; t’was pure filth with the sound of skin slapping resonating in the room.

“k-kento, sir, i’m- i’m close!” you squeal, hips bucking up uncontrollably as tears form in your eyes; overwhelmed with pleasure from his fingers and cock.

kento’s drunk on the feeling of your pussy squeezing him right with your legs wrapped around your waist, he couldn’t get enough. “gonna cum in you, yeah? gonna make sure your pussy’s dripping with my cum.” he gruntles, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he starts to chase his own high. “look so fuckin’ pretty with those tears runnin’ down your face, angel.”

his words of praises sent you over the edge, nodding desperately as your grip around him tightens. you feel yourself cum for the second time tonight and nanami rides out your high, his own coming soon after, filling you up.

he thrusts in you one more time, causing you to react and shake your head, “t-too much, nami.” which he understands and slowly pulls out, watching as thick white beads drip from your cunt mixed with your own arousal.

kento leans in and presses a kiss to your lips, “gonna be back in a bit, sweet girl.” he mumbles and leaves, reappearing with a towel and a glass of water in his hands soon after. “here.” he says, giving you the glass and stars to clean you up gently, his hands light and makes sure to leave nothing.

putting the glass of water on the bedside table, you hold his wrist and tug on it. “please don’t leave, nami. just want you here.” you mumble, patting the space next to you.

the blonde obliges and lays down beside you, easily pulling you into his embrace and tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “gonna be here by your side for as long as y’ want me to, sweet thing.” he says, shutting his eyes to relax himself.

“next time we do this, we’re fucking for everyone to see.”

peepeepoopoo camboy!nanami says to reblog, pretty please !! >__<

#haha i hate that i was shadowbanned #i hope this shows up now #please #i just want to write #jujutsu kaisen nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento smut #nanami kento x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen nanami smut

904 notes · View notes

ijustwanttoreadfanfiction · 1 year

Text

Working Lunch

Jim Hopper x AFAB! Reader

Plot? What Plot? It's straight up Hopper porn. It's not alluded to in this story but Reader is younger than Hopper like late 20's to his mid 40's as I'll probably string this, the Dirty Dancing story and others to come into a linked series of oneshots.

Warnings: Smut with a capital S, explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral sex (F receiving), p in v sex, creampie, rough sex, rough Hopper, size kink - we live for Dad bod! Hopper, semi-public sex? Light choking? Do better warnings shithead.

It’s a slow day at the diner, mostly due to the beautiful day outside, sun blazing in through the windows, making the vinyl booths almost too hot to the touch. You let out a huff, it’s bad enough that you’re missing the sunshine, but you’re also missing Hopper. The two of you have been super busy with work, helping Jane study, trying to fix up the cabin, most evenings you’re both so tired you crawl into bed with only a small kiss or two before succumbing to exhaustion. You thrive on affection, something that Jim was usually only too eager to give, so you’re feeling significantly touch-starved and needy.

You wonder what Jim is doing right now, it’s almost lunchtime, you knew from Flo that’s he’s barely been stopping to eat and when he does it’s usually from the station’s giant tray of donuts. A devious little idea starts to form in your mind, you could take Jim some lunch and maybe, just maybe get some attention whilst you’re there.

“Hey Donna, would you be ok for half an hour if I take some lunch over for Hop?” You ask your colleague, who is currently overfilling the sugar dispensers in a daze.

“Oh, sure sweetie take the time you need, it’s not exactly Grand Central.” She smiles, gesturing to the empty tables as you quickly make up a BLT, shoving it into a paper bag.

“Call me at the station, if it picks up.” You say, pressing a grateful kiss to her cheek.

The midday sun hits you in a stifling wave, heat gathering about your ankles from the burning sidewalk, you’re glad to be wearing your light pink work dress as you skip across the street towards the station.

It’s barely cooler in the building, despite the numerous fans humming and grating on every available surface, Flo has her nose pressed into a gossip magazine when you clear your throat.

“Hey there hunny, you here to see the Chief?” She smiles indulgently at you.

“Just thought I’d bring him some proper lunch for once.” You say shaking the bag.

“You’re too good to him, you know that?” Flo reminds you affectionately.

“I know.” You laugh, heading down the corridor, waving at Powell in greeting from where he’s stood by the xerox machine.

The door to Jim’s office is shut, no doubt to keep Callahan from bothering him incessantly, you knock smartly on the wood, buzzing with excitement to see the man on the other side.

“Yeah?” Jim grunts and you roll your eyes at his manners opening the door, he’s pouring over some paperwork, head in his hands not having bothered to look up, the air stale with cigarette smoke and coffee.

“Special delivery for Jim Hopper.” You chime, shutting the door with your butt.

His head shoots up straight away, the deep frown of concentration on his face morphing into a beaming grin that makes your heart swell and sputter.

“Well this is a surprise.” Jim says happily, pushing his chair out, moving quickly around the desk. His large hands envelop your waist pulling you close, you wouldn’t be surprised if the heat from his palms burn a hole through your dress.

“It’s lunchtime, can’t have the big, strong, Chief of Police going hungry.” You smile, holding the paper bag aloft.

“You’re too good to me.” He murmurs, giving you a quick peck on the lips.

“You know it’s funny, Flo said exactly the same thing.” You tease, chasing his lips for a kiss of your own.

“She did huh?” Jim asks, eyebrow cocked, hands drifting down past your waist to cup your ass. “Well I can’t have my best girl going around thinking she’s underappreciated can I?” He teases, bringing you flush to his body, kissing you hard.

Your head is spinning as his tongue licks into your mouth, threading your fingers through his hair, moaning softly as he manhandles you, lifting you to sit on the edge of this desk. Jim hitches your dress up, hands disappearing under the fabric to rub along your thighs, his lips quirk up in a cocky smile when he coaxes another soft moan from your throat.

“So eager baby girl.” He croons, sinking to his knees in front of you, finger hooking at the waistband of your panties dragging them down slowly revealing your wet core. “Jesus baby, I’ve barely touched you and you’re already dripping for me.” Jim groans, placing heated kisses to your inner thighs, up and up, until his nose nudges at your sensitive clit, tongue swiping through your creamy slick before pushing in.

“Jim!” You gasp, head thrown back, fingers tugging at his short hair.

He growls against your cunt, hands grabbing at your ass, dragging you forward so his tongue fucks you deeper. You bite your lip to keep from crying out, aware that the majority of the Hawkins’ Police force is just on the other side of the door, but it’s hard to concentrate when Jim is lapping at your pussy in such a sinful way. Two thick fingers replace his tongue, stretching and scissoring, making you ready for his cock, the tip of his tongue now firmly focused on your sensitive clit, circling insistently.

Your body seizes, shivers wracking up through your spine as your orgasm pulses from your belly down to your curled toes and back again.

Jim is on his feet, frantically unbuckling his belt, unleashing his thick, girthy cock from the straining confines of his uniform, the tip ruddy and leaking heavily with pre-cum. You can only reach for him, with hooded eyes, head tucked into his neck as he leans over you.

“Fuck.” Jim grunts, lining himself up with your weeping slit, pussy stretching with a delicious burn as he works his way in. You already feel impossibly full, whimpering with each thrust, the edge of the desk digging into your back, your nails biting into Jim’s shoulders.

“You feel so fucking good baby.” He groans, hauling you up to his chest, capturing your lips in a messy kiss.

“Hop, fuck, want you to bend me over your desk.” You whine, licking the sweat from his exposed throat.

“Oh fuck, you’ll be the death of me.” He says in awed disbelief, pulling out, flipping you over and slamming back in, in one fluid motion, flicking your dress up over your ass so he can see his cock piston in and out. His large hand strikes the back of your thigh, leaving a welting red mark that makes you squeak, the sting only sending you closer and closer to your climax again. Papers, pens and clutter falling to the floor with the force of Hopper’s movements, fucking into you without hesitation, drunk on the tight, wet heat of your pulsing cunt.

“Jim, baby, I’m so close.” You whimper, tucking a hand between your legs to rub at your clit, feeling his heavy balls slap against you.

“Oh Jesus.” He huffs, his grip on your hips sure to leave bruises, there’s a knock at the door but Jim doesn’t stop if anything he drills into you harder than ever. “Go away - I’m busy!” He yells, breathing heavily.

“Yeah - Chief I have a question abou-”

“Callahan - if you don’t step away from my fucking door right now - I will fire your sorry ass!” Jim shouts and you have to stifle a giggle, which cuts off abruptly into a strangled moan as Jim presses against throat, hauling your back to his chest. “Something funny baby girl?” He growls in your ear, biting down on the sensitive lobe.

“Jim -” You whine brokenly, he bats your hand away from your clit, circling with his rough thick fingers.

“That’s it doll, come on my cock, lemme feel you squeeze me.” He encourages, voice rough and low.

The tight band in your stomach snaps, wave after wave of burning pleasure coursing through you, making your legs shake.

“God fucking dammit!” Hopper chokes, snapping his hips in staggered thrusts, his cum filling you to the very brim, leaning heavily against your back, trying to put his weight onto the desk, panting from exertion.

“Jim -?” You murmur weakly.

“Yeah baby?” He asks breathlessly, rubbing soothing circles over your back.

“We squished your sandwich.”

310 notes · View notes