A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector x Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

Vol 1

Summary: Marc finally calls you after two months, only to drag you into another adventure among Cairo's sands

Warnings: none, just Steven in an attempt to be funny

Word count: circa 6900

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader, Steven Grant & Reader

Authors: Fenrir & Cass

A/N:  we have a non-linear story here that will kinda initally not follow the plot of the show until we deem otherwise - due to this fact we inform that Marc does not have a romantic connection to Layla. Also, red italics indicate Khonshu, green italics indicate Steven speaking within Marc’s mind

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

He was reluctant to call you, but he wanted to hear your voice again.

Marc wasn't sure how you would react to his call since it had been almost two months since your adventure. Since then, he hasn't contacted you; first, he didn't know what to tell you or how to act after your affair, and second because he didn't want to cause any more problems for you.

With his flipphone pressed to his ear, he waited for you to answer the call.

Currently, you were hanging from a harness that prevented you from falling to your death. While it wasn't comfortable, it hugged you well enough so you felt safe.

Apparently, one of your friends found a temple hidden deep in the caves, so you had to check it out.

As you focused on the descent, you twitched, scared by the sudden sound of your phone.

After pulling the rope to stop it, you reached into your pocket to look at the screen. Marc's name appeared on the screen. "Well well well! Look who has finally called me! How are you, handsome? Are you stepping on someone's toes once again or did you miss me?"

As he said, "Hi, Y/N," Marc was hesitant at first. "I missed you long enough, so I decided to take the first step since you didn't seem to be reaching out. Are you in Cairo?"

You casually swung your legs, saying, "Um... Nope. I'm currently hanging pretty high up in a cave. I think there are some hard rocks under me. It doesn't seem that dark there. Why? Do you need help robbing another tomb or even the pyramid itself?"

"If you're able to meet me next week at the same bar in Cairo, I'll tell you everything."

You huffed and then looked down. While discovering some ancient temple hidden in a deep cave would be fun, seeking an adventure in Cairo with MARC would be even more enjoyable and warmer. "Oh, sweetie! If you ask me nicely, I can get there as soon as possible."

Laughing softly, he cleared his throat. "Y/N, I'd like to meet up next week at our bar. In addition, I missed your scent."

"Oh, my, oh my, this sounds like a nice invite, and I'm pleased to hear we have our own bar. It's settled then! We'll meet up in OUR bar next week. I can't wait to see you."

"Thank you and please be careful in the cave. I'd rather have you whole, not just a piece."

Marc smirked proudly at his reflection in the mirror after he hung up. "Good job, man."

"Shall I remind you that Layla is also interested in you?" Steven asked mentally, but Marc just shrugged.

Placed the phone back in your pocket, you giggled and pulled at the rope. "Ey! I need to get up now! Get me up!"

There was no time to waste so you simply dumped your current working partner. 

Before you grabbed your backpack and left, you instructed the team what to do, so you weren't such a bad friend.

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

It was wonderful to return to Cairo.

You decided to rest since you still had a few days before meeting with Marc.

After preparing your stuff, you spent most of the night in bed reading and smoking.

You were eager to see Marc again on the day of the meeting.

You kept playing with your scarf around your neck as you walked to the bar. Suddenly, excitement turned into stress.

He had already smoked a few cigarettes, which turned out to be a bad idea - his stomach was twitching and he was feeling a little nauseous.

Order yourself some whiskey, it'll help, Khonshu advised, but Marc almost immediately regretted listening to God again. Still, he downed two more glasses and waited impatiently for you to arrive.

After taking a deep breath, you nodded to yourself and decided to walk in.

Finally, you spotted his messy hair after looking around.

Seeing as he sat with his back to you, you took advantage of the opportunity. Your palms covered his eyes as you sneaked up behind him. "Guess who?”

He placed his hands on top of yours. "I guess she's a young, beautiful woman who likes to sneak on older men."

Your hands slipped off his eyes so you could fully wrap them around his neck. You nodded, nuzzling his cheek. "You're right, sweetie. Glad to see you again." After kissing his cheek, you took a seat in the chair next to him.

"Long time no see." He smiled brightly at you and reached out to caress your cheek with his palm. "Can girls get even prettier?" he asked.

Chuckling, you leaned into his touch, rolling your eyes a little. You're still a sweet talker, huh?"

As he gently touched the lower side of your cheek, almost on the jawline, feeling a scar under his fingers, he said, "Yes. You like adventures, and you also got a souvenir. What happened?"

You suddenly turned red, not expecting him to find that scar. You shrugged nervously. "Nothing too serious, little fight."

He warned softly, "Don't hide things from me. I know I've pulled you away from your second expedition, but I finally had the manuscripts translated. It's about the Anubis statue we discovered. There's a hidden tomb. His tomb. Near Giza."

Laughing, you moved your chair a little closer to him, clearly interested. "What's the plan? Are we going to get shot or is this a clean job?"

Marc replied, moving both hands through his locks to take them back, "I'm afraid option number one is preferable."

Groaning, you rested your forehead against his shoulder. Having a calm trip with him would be nice, but apparently, he enjoyed trouble more than you did. "You're a troublemaker, huh? Then why are you here?"

"Artifact. It's supposed to be hidden in the tomb."

"Cool, cool and what will you do with it? Would you consider yourself a private collector? Or do you sell those things?

"Let's say I'm a collector. Once you come to my house you'll be able to see my collection."

"That would be nice since I invited you last time," you patted his shoulder. It already sounded interesting. "So, you know how I am doing. How about you? What were you up to when I was gone? How's Steven?"

"We're looking for someone who has been successful at translation apparently. Steven? Steven is doing well. He has been in charge for the last two weeks since we returned to London. He works at the museum there."

You nodded, "So you collect stuff and he works in the museum?". "I hope he took good care of you then."

"Bravo. You're lying to the girl you like. Are you insane or does that idiot have too much influence over you, Spector?" Khonshu's tone showed his disappointment.

Marc smiled at you, grabbing your palm and saying, "Well, it's more complicated than that. He did take care of him. Or rather, I did."

"Well, I am glad to hear it. I just hope he wasn't too mad at me for waking up in my bed. To be honest, I was worried he would have a heart attack." You gently squeezed his plan. "I'm glad you called."

He pointed to his chest and smiled a little. "Don't worry about heart attacks of any kind. This heart is strong enough to survive," he said. "I missed you terribly."

I missed you a lot and I was also worried, but since you didn't call, I figured I wasn't needed at the moment." You shrugged. "I left my job to help you as soon as possible."

Then Marc leaned forward and stole a kiss from you while looking deeply into your eyes.

As you returned the kiss, you squeezed his hand even harder without realizing it.

As he pulled away, you sighed deeply. "I think this was the part I missed the most."

Marc was about to confess his feelings for you and admit that he had a crush on you when his hand aimed him a hard slap, hard enough to leave a mark on his cheek. "Crap!" Marc exclaimed.

Steven reminded him, "Layla, she also likes you, Marc, so hold your horses."

As you looked around, you made sure no one was watching. It wasn't like you knew him very well, but you never expected something like this. "Is there a problem?" You asked, raising your eyebrows.

Marc hissed a little angrily, mumbling something under his breath. "No."

"I have a feeling you're lying to me, but I'll pretend I do." You kissed the cheek he had just been slapped on. "Maybe we should start planning our next expedition?"

"I'll take you to my place. It's not a flat but a hotel room, but I think you won't mind, will you?"

"I don't mind at all, Marc. Lead the way, we have big plans to accomplish." You said, shivering with excitement.

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

He stayed in a hotel with a view of the desert. In spite of the fact that it was the middle of the night, you could hear the beetles singing in the distance.

The room had a large bed, a small bathroom, and a balcony.

"Well, Well, Well. I see you like a large bed." As you removed your shoes and jacket, you couldn't help but tease him a bit more. You immediately stepped out onto the balcony.

Upon reaching the balcony, Marc wrapped his arm instinctively around your waist, his face leaned down as he nuzzled into your nape.

"I see you really missed me." Your hands clasped around his waist as you whimpered.

He nuzzled your neck and nodded. "So much. You can't imagine how much."

"It would be nice if you could call me earlier," you smiled and stroked his hair. "But I am here right now."

"I didn't want to put you in another bind."

You turned your head to look at him, giggling. "You didn't so I did it myself. I wouldn't mind some trouble with you, Marc."

While brushing his bearded face against your skin, he shifted a strand of your hair from your neck so he could kiss you there, focusing on his pulsepoint.

"Marc..." You whispered, trying not to moan for him.

Your jawline was kissed as he tightened the hug he was giving you.

"You're such a tease." You growled before making him kiss you.

He couldn't stop himself from feeling hotter and hotter with every second of the kiss. As he pressed your back more against the balcony railing, his strong palms gripped your hips.

You let out a hum, sitting comfortably on the railing. You wrapped your arms around his neck for safety.

You were held down by his arm, which was wrapped around your waist. Marc moved his kisses to the side of your neck again when the kiss was broken, almost moaning. "I love the scent of you."

When he kissed you, you giggled, running your hand through his hair. As you moved your soft hands under his shirt, you were able to touch him. "I would like to find out how soft this big bed is, handsome."

He kissed you once again, making sure you wrapped your legs tightly around his hips before picking you up; one hand under your ass, the other resting on your back as he carried you back to the room and placed you gently on the bed.

As you wrapped your legs around his waist, you joked, "So comfy, I wonder if it's durable."

He pinned you down easily, stealing another kiss from you while his hands slipped under your shirt; he groaned at the softness of your skin under his fingertips.

You moaned into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his touch. You definitely waited too long for that. You were stupid not to have called him earlier, even if it was just to say hello. "Marc... I missed you so much." You whispered against his lips.

Marc kept on kissing you, slipping his tongue past your lips from time to time; his one hand slipped into your hair and he tugged on it gently to expose your neck where he sucked on your pulse point, leaving a visible hickey.

"Fuck!" You shouted for him loudly, not caring whether anyone heard you.

You strode his cheeks when he pulled away and smiled. “As much as I would love to be fucked in the mattress, I just want to be held. Can we... Just cuddle?"

Marc looked down at you, his eyes glistening with lust, but he nodded and rolled to his back, right next to you. “Surely.”

You placed a kiss on his cheek and moved to his neck before looking at him as you hummed. You nuzzled him before whispering into his ear, "Don't worry. I can't wait to feel that cock stretch my cunt."

His voice was barely audible as he spoke, "I regret not calling you sooner. What a fool I've been."

You giggled, blushing. "I wanted to call, but I didn't want to look desperate. Then I waited for your call."

"Kind of the same applies to me," he told you, playing with a strand of loose hair.

This made you laugh. "Apparently we are smart enough to find and raid a tomb but we aren't the best when it came to relationships of any kind."

Marc closed his eyes and agreed. He felt safe and secure in your presence as if all of his demons would have vanished in a flash.

Your head rested on his shoulder as you kissed his cheek. "Marc, where have you been these two months?"

"I had to return to London for a few weeks... Why are you asking?"

You traced a random pattern on his chest with your hand. "I just wondered where you were every evening."

"It looked like my doll was jealous as she thought she might have held some other woman in my arms," Marc teased.

Trying to conceal your blush, you nuzzled his neck. "This, too..."

"Is that so, my cute doll?" He caught your chin in two of his fingers and forced you to look him in the eyes.

Trying to not look him in the eyes, you nodded. "Yes..."

"Look at that, my little doll has grown jealous of me."

Growling, you looked him right in the eyes and nodded. "Yes. Yes, I was worried and jealous that you were busy with other ladies while I waited like an idiot."

"Just so you know, there was no other woman held in these arms. No other lips were kissed, no other curves were caressed by these hands."

You looked at him surprised but smiled and hugged him tightly. "The same is here. I traveled a little, yet I couldn't bring myself to touch, kiss, or sleep with another man. I was just thinking about you and your touch."

Marc closed his eyes, smiling a bit to himself. "I think I have a massive crush on you but on the other hand I'm a tad scared of what you'll think about me when you know the entire truth."

"I am also smitten with you," You said quietly. What is the whole truth then?"

Marc sat up and gently pushed you off his chest.

You sat up as well after he did. "Marc, I am fine. Nothing has changed. I met Steven, and I don't think less of you."

He swallowed a breath as his voice hung. "Steven isn't everything," he said.

"You can't get rid of me that easily, whatever it is," you assured him, rubbing his back.

"Several years ago, I nearly committed suicide in front of Khonshu's statue... Khonshu is the Egyptian God of the Moon. He offered me another chance to live as his avatar. My story sounds ridiculous but it's true," Marc explained slowly, trying to avoid your gaze.

As you stared at him, you asked, "I know who Khonshu is, but I have never heard of such a thing. Aren't gods just stories people made up to have something to believe in and explain things they cannot?"

Khonshu appeared next to the bed, looking pity on you. In a deep tone, he roared, "Girl has no idea what she's talking about. I am the true justice for the wrongdoers!"

Marc exhaled a sigh. "He just stated that he is the true justice."

With an eyebrow raised, you looked around before looking back at him. "He is here? Now?"

Marc pointed at the place where Khonshu stood. "Yes, he is over there."

"Marc. I don't see anything," You sighed. "So, you said you are his avatar. What does that mean?"

"Well, it's complicated. Avatars are supposed to be gods' guides on Earth and carry out their wishes without drawing attention to themselves."

"Are you his puppet then?"

"What a splendid summary she provided us with, worm," Khonshu let out a soft chuckle.

Marc rolled his eyes and flopped back on the bed. "Sort of."

"He isn't hurting you, right?" You asked, moving closer to him. "That's why you are looking for the tombs? Is Khonshu the reason?"

Not necessarily tombs, but those who commit crimes. Stealing ancient artifacts is part of that. It may sound bizarre, but Harrow got his hands on something very valuable. I am now tracking him and his men down to plan a final attack."

"I hope your god-friend won't snatch my head off," you said as you moved behind him to place his head on your lap. "Let me verify if I understand correctly - you are a vigilante in the hands of an Egyptian God of the Moon, beating up bad guys?

Marc laughed softly with his eyes closed. "No matter how ridiculous it sounds, it is what it is."

You ran your fingers through his hair gently. "Indeed, this sounds ridiculous, but we live in a world where there are real superheroes."

"Don't think I'm as fancy as Iron Man or Captain America." Marc chuckled.

Khonshu poked Marc with his cane. "Thanks to me, you are far better than them."

"Oh, c'mon! Don't kill my hopes for a billionaire or a handsome World War II soldier!” You joked and laughed, ruffling his hair. “Sincerely, I admit that this is quite a lot to take in, but I don't think any less of you. You seem to strive to do good things. That's important. Can I help somehow?”

"Oh, yes, she can. In case you get killed, I'll know where to get a new avatar from," Khonshu said before vanishing.

"Oh my God, he's a pain in the ass, I swear," Marc whined and rolled his head more to look into your eyes. "No idea how you could help, but it would be useful if you keep yourself outta any unnecessary trouble."

"Staying away from unnecessary issues will be hard when you're by my side, so I won't follow," you said, rolling your eyes as you kissed his forehead. "I'll do my best to help."

"Aren't you afraid? Scared? Anything?"

As you shook your head, you bounced a little in your seat. I'm not. It sounds nuts but at the same time, it sounds so exciting! Egyptian gods are actually real, and they use ordinary people as their avatars to be somehow present among us."

Marc cocked his brows as he studied your face. "You seem fascinated. I'm glad you aren't taking me, or should I say us, for some weirdo."

"Because it is fascinating! We've been taught our whole lives there is one God and to believe all old beliefs are just stories, but here you are telling me all of that," You said, looking right at him. "How can I not be thrilled?"

Marc rubbed your cheek with his hand, replying, "You're so cute. Little and brave, not scared of anything."

"Should I be offended that you call me 'little'?" You nuzzled his hand. "I am glad you crushed my scooter. I had a chance to meet you."

He smiled. "But look at you, you're little. That's the fact. Little and cute."

Growling playfully, you kissed his forehead again. "You don't sleep much, do you?"

"It's hard, you know? Because I can't be sure I'll wake up in my own body."

Nodding you moved away and started to remove your clothes until you sat just in your underwear. "Don't look at me like this. I won't sleep in my clothes."

He rolled to his side and rested head on his hand propped on the elbow. "Look at that. You're so fucking sexy."

"I know and thank you, but now jump out of the clutches. Time for some sleep. I will guard you.'' 

Marc removed his shirt and pants, staying in fitted, black boxers. He laid by your side, outstretching his arm for you.

You nuzzled to him, pulling the thin cover over both of you. "Comfy?”

"Yes." He replied softly, closing his eyes.

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

You were never a fan of getting up in the morning. Even at home, you loved to sleep, but the warm sun and noises outside didn't help you sleep.

Your body stretched as you let out a little sigh and opened your eyes. 

The only thing you hoped for was that this Morning with Marc would be different from the first.

His breath was slow and steady as he slept on his belly, face nuzzled to the pillow.

There was no doubt that this was a much more pleasant sight. It looked as though he had gotten some sleep. Following a few minutes of watching him, you moved closer and kissed him on the head.

As Marc turned slightly to the side, his body twitched a little and a soft groan escaped his lips.

"Morning," you whispered, smiling softly. "Slept well?"

"Hey, gorgeous. Yeah, but I wouldn't mind a few more minutes. My head is killing me."

Nodding, you kissed his forehead. "Sure, take your time. I will go to my place and grab some stuff. We still need to find that tomb."

He nodded his head, not bothering himself to open his eyes.

You covered him, and got ready to get your stuff.

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

The process of gathering things back at home was exciting. You couldn't believe that Marc was back in your life. The things he told you last night sounded stupid but somehow you believed all of this and wanted to help as much as possible.

After collecting your stuff and gear, you headed back to Marc's hotel.

On your way there you visited the local market to find your friend and possibly get some info.

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

Your research with Marc was great fun; it got more and more exciting every time you two got closer to anything.

Eventually, the two of you found the tomb's possible location. The only thing left was to go there and check it out.

Before you secured the rope, Marc reminded you to be careful.

As you asked, "Are you worried, sweetie?" with a cheeky smile, you jumped down the opening, leaving Marc on top.

"Yes." Marc soon joined you down, using the very same rope you used.

As you untied the rope and turned on the flashlight, you concluded, "Well, that was fun." Glancing around, you felt the excitement building. "Do you see this, Marc?!”

Hieroglyphs covered every wall. You had no idea what they were saying, but the simple sight of them made you jump.

There were boot prints in the sand under your feet, leading further into the darkness of the tomb. "I see that, too." He pointed to the sand under your feet.

"And I was hoping for a quiet adventure with you, but troubles seem to love to follow you... Or be somewhere before you," you sighed and looked at him. "We should be careful."

The man followed the footprints on the sand, ordering you to turn out the flashlight.

It would be easier if there was an open space like last time," you whispered, staying close to Marc. "Do we have any plan?”

"Yes. If it gets heated on, you stay behind and don't try to play a hero."

"You think I will just leave you if it gets heated? You crazy?" You frowned. "Maybe we can sneak past them?"

"Stay here." He ordered, the tone of his voice changed.

The only thing Marc had to protect himself was his hands as he stepped into yet another huge chamber. In trying to circle the group of men who were setting up equipment there, he stepped on an old vase that cracked, attracting everyone's attention. "Fuck." Marc cursed. 

Moments later, his skin turned as pale as his eyes and he knew he was clocking out.

You hid in your hiding place. Again. Just like last time, you simply observed and sneered when he cracked the vase, but things quickly got interesting.

Marc told you to stay, and despite knowing he would be mad, you slipped into the chamber anyway to do at least a little bit of good.

Marc's appearance changed; soon, a ceremonial suit of white armor given by Khonshu to his avatar appeared on Marc and he immediately attacked enemies.

You probably would have just watched him since everything became so interesting. However, to be a bit more useful you got rid of a few baddies, aiming more at their legs to lower your kill count.

Marc, holding a curved dagger in the shape of a moon and removing his hood, glared back at you when the terrain was cleared of goons.

As you waved from behind your cover, you smiled awkwardly. "Sweetie, you're looking great! You're a badass even, I would say."

Marc, despite knowing Khonshu won't approve, made a little turn to show you his entire outfit, spreading the cape a little. "Say hi to the Moon Knight."

After looking around one more time, you left your cover and approached the man.

"I am just speechless." You couldn't help but gently touch the golden moon on his chest. Your touch was so soft that you were basically doing it with your fingertips only. Your palm moved to touch the 'fabric' on his arm as you asked, "So, what exactly is that? Some kind of magical power? An ancient robe? An armor?"

"It's the ceremonial suit of armor, Khonshu granted it to me."

As you grabbed his hand to take a closer look, you said, "This is really beautiful. You look scary, but not for me. They feel like bandages, but they are not!"

Marc looked down at you as soon as the hood and mask that covered his face disappeared. "You're fangirling."

You squeaked, piling into your place. "Can you blame me? Look at what you're wearing and WHO gave you this! A ceremonial suit of armor from the ancient Egyptian God of the Moon! And I see no scratch on you... Is... Is it healing you?!"

"That's one of its advantages." He nodded and stepped aside, looking carefully around before crouching down and picking up the golden scarab. "The Scarab of Ammit will show us the way to Ammit's tomb."

Suddenly, Marc's outfit changed into a plain, white business man attire. Steven waved at you cheerfully, saying, "Oh! Where am I? Oh! Y/N! Hiya!" You could hear a thick, British accent of Steven's.

As you looked at him, you gasped and jumped again in your place.

The first thing you did upon greeting Steven was to look at his suit, touching the collar of the jacket. "I can't believe it! This suits different people. For Marc, it's a full armor, and for us, it's a suit. You look great, Steven."

He tried to show off his biceps. "Innit? Classy, fancy yet sharp, and dangerous! Just like me!"

As sharp as a pocket knife, eh?" You laughed. "It's just amazing how well it adapts to each of you. Khonshu, if you're here, I just wanted to let you know that you are a fucking genius with that thing."

"Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a v!" He sang in a happy tone, rocking his hips from left to right. "Of course it's sharp!"

Khonshu appeared right next to you and poked you a little with his cane. "Of course I am. You see, idiots? She knows how to be polite and grateful."

You laughed softly and stumbled a bit. As you suspected, it was caused by Khonshu. "Okay! Let's get back to reality. Steven?"

When you called him, Steven was making sure his suit was not stained with blood. "Yeah?"

Marc and I came to this tomb to find the thing you're holding. Marc told me it's the Scarab of Ammit, a look at what was happening here before you joined," you clapped your hands, shrugging, before pointing to the way you two came. "We should go."

"I sense a better way. Come!" Steven grabbed you by hand and pulled you further behind him into the tomb. 

You were shocked and let him lead you, curious as to what he sensed.

Soon, the two of you headed through long, narrow corridors, until you reached a wall. "Khonshu, do your magic trick!" Steven asked.

The God appeared behind you, poked his staff on the wall and it opened, revealing a narrow passage leading outside, into the desert.

Your mouth was wide open as you watched the stone blocks move. As you spent more and more time with them, things got crazier and crazier. "That's Harry Potter level shit."

"I like Harry Potter. And Avatar. Good films." Steven replied and extended his gloved hand to you. "Shall we?"

After accepting his hand, you followed him outside the tomb.

Steven's heart skipped a beat and he screamed internally when you grabbed him by the hand. Even though he wasn't happy with you stealing Marc from Layla, he realised how much he liked you.

Taking a glance at Steven with a smile, you were glad he didn't act hostile towards you. The fact that Marc liked you didn't mean Steven would be nice to you, but thank God he was.

"I think we should leave before someone finds us here. We can talk more about stuff back at the hotel. You can drive, right?"

 

“Ah, Marc, you've got this." A blink of an eye later, the white suit had disappeared and Marc stood in front of you in his regular clothing. "He doesn't have a driver's licence." He explained shortly.

"Ah, I like that suit." You whined, hugging Marc tightly while pretending to be disappointed.

 

"Come on."

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

Spector took you back to the hotel he rented the room in.

Your first move upon entering was to take the Scarab from Marc and sit at the closest table to take a closer look at the item. "So what does it do? Is it some kind of odd device that opens something? It calls for all the aliens that built the pyramids?”

Marc poked your ribs with a chuckle. "No, silly. I told you it was like a compass."

"Can I have a question?”

As he flipped over on the bed, he nodded. "I think that yes, you can have one."

"Khonshu is a god and he sees lots of things. I can't understand why you scurry about looking for magical compasses, manuscripts, and bad guys when he should just point and say 'go there, worm!', right?" You exclaimed, pretending to be Khonshu.

Marc propped himself up on elbows with a mischievous grin. "He doesn't know everything, and without his avatar, he wouldn't be able to find and defeat Ammit."

Khonshu appeared from nowhere on the balcony. "She should be more authentic if she wants to imitate me. Pathetic."

Getting into fangirl mode again, you jumped off the table and hopped onto Marc's bed. "What about other gods? Are they here as well? Do they have people as their avatars? Do they walk among us?

 

He responded as if it was the most obvious thing, "Yes, they do."

You chuckled softly, pushing his shoulder gently. "Don't say it like it's an obvious thing. I didn't believe in any of them until yesterday." You explained. "Have you met them? What are they like? Whom have you met?"

"Shhh. Easy. Except for Khonshu, I haven't met any of them, so far."

As you smiled, you looked down at the scarab that remained in your hand. "You found what you were looking for again. Do you think you will disappear again for another two or three months?"

 

"I'm heading to England." Marc stated.

You shrugged as you asked, "Can I like... Go with you? I have friends there. Someone will no doubt let me sleep on their couch."

 

"You won't stay with any of your friends, I guarantee."

"I don't want Steven to be bothered. It's fine." You assured him.

 

"You'll stay with us in his apartment."

"Do you think he would be OK with this? Or did you decide for him? I don't want him to wake up thinking I broke into his apartment."

 

"I will talk to him, or you can do so, if you wish."

Khonshu commented, "Don't worry, the idiot will be happy to talk to someone who's not just a reflection in his bathroom mirror."

"Just to be sure, I'd like to speak with him personally."

 

As Marc flopped on the bed, he took in a glance at the mirror hanging above it on the ceiling and soon surrendered his body to Steven. Heavy British accent followed, "Hiya, Y/N."

"Hi again, Steven." You greeted him with a kind smile. "I heard you and Marc were going back to London. If I may be honest, I don't want to be away from him. Could I perhaps rent a couch at your flat?"

"If you promise not to drive me bonkers, I think it'll be a very interesting experience, won't it?"

You assured him, "I am the finest roommate you will ever have. I will show you my maps and journals and I can cook. I hope you like old books a lot."

He looked at you and asked, "Do you like Egypt and Egyptian beliefs? I have a lot of stuff on the flat, it's a total mess... It's not against you staying there, but I'll need to make a few changes. Oh, I'll introduce you to Gus, he'll be delighted."

"There are many beliefs I admire, but Egyptian beliefs are my favourites! I can help you clean up a bit before I move in." You nodded. "I'll also pay for myself, don't worry about that."

Steven replied with a hint of hesitation within his tone, "It's not about cleaning really. I have something in there that many people would consider a red flag." The man explained.

"Steven, what did you mean by that? Now I'm curious." Turning to him, you placed your head on your hand.

"This is too much explaining. Soon you'll see for yourself." 

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

There was no plan to sell your flat or anything like that, so all you brought to England were a few boxes filled with the most important things and clothes.

You nodded and looked around, carrying them inside. The flat was not much bigger than yours but was charming nonetheless. "How nice!" 

Steven, who entered directly behind you, shook his head briefly for no. "It's messy, it's old... Ahm, don't go to the bedroom, I mean, it's over there," he pointed in the proper direction, "But don't go there yet, there is sand around the bed."

"Steven, I've seen worse places, trust me." You said, nodding. "It's your flat, so your rules apply. I'm not going there."

After lowering his head, Steven rushed to the said area of his apartment. 

Khonshu appeared right next to you, poking you with his cane. "And you are going to live here? In this mess? You couldn't possibly get any lower, Y/N."

You shrugged, sitting down. "Oh well, I really slept in the worst places. If it means...” Only then you realised who you were talking to - it was Khonshu himself. After letting out a scream, you fell off the couch and onto the floor. "I... I can see you! Why am I seeing you?!" 

Khonshu poked your shoulder with the tip of his slightly curved bill as he lowered his body. "I'm fed up with hiding from your gaze. I want you to admire my grandeur."

You frowned, looking right at him. "I honestly expected you to look differently." Getting up you took a closer look. "So you are real indeed! Oh my! I can't believe it. YOU ARE REAL! You are so tall!"

"He is!" Steven screamed from the bedroom.

Khonshu poked your belly a few times. "You can bathe yourself in my glory, little human."

You rubbed your stomach as you said, "I have more questions that need to be soaked in your glory. Why did you pick Marc? What gods also walk among us? Why do you look like this and why are you rude to boys when you clearly need both of them?"

"There are all kinds of the other gods among you. I saw his mental issues as something easily exploited, plus his skills as a mercenary overlapped with the role of my avatar. This is just the way I look and I'm not rude, just being honest."

"I don't like the mental issues answer. Can I touch you? Or are you look like a ghost? What with the staff? Can I hold it?” You asked, circling him curiously.

Khonshu turned his head in an attempt to spot Steven. "Marc, I need your help, she's tiring me already." After looking back at you, he nodded. "You can touch. But you can't hold my staff."

You immediately decided to try and touch him, gasping excitedly once you realized he felt just like Marc's ceremonial robes. "Fuck! So cool!”

Steven returned. "I'm afraid Marc is temporarily unavailable. Y/N, what are you doing to the pigeon?"

"I AM TOUCHING AN ACTUAL GOD!” Squeaking loudly, you jumped in your place.

Steven blinked. "You're a real fangirl but if I were you, I wouldn't touch him. You never know where he was lurking."

Khonshu turned his skully head to the man. "One more word, worm, I swear."

"Steven, please be nice to Khonshu." You asked. "What did you mean by Marc being temporarily unavailable?"

"I can't summon him back."

"Well, then I think I need to wait." 

A One-time Job - Vol 2 || Marc Spector X Reader || Steven Grant & Reader

The rest of the day went quiet. 

It took you a long time to unpack all your belongings. 

The evening came, and you sat on a couch, drawing in one of your journals while Steven slept in his bed.

His body jerked suddenly and the man sat up.

Looking over your shoulder you waved at him. "Evening! Feeling better after the nap?"

Marc rubbed his temples, saying, "My head hurts like hell, I feel a little hangover..."

After getting up from the couch, you looked at him worriedly as you carefully walked up to the bed. "It's the second time it happens, and I witness it, love. Can I help you somehow?”

"Can you get me a glass of water, please?"

To fulfill the wish, you simply turned around and walked to the kitchen. You then went back to him and got on the bed, trying to avoid the sand. "Here."

Taking the glass, Marc downed the contents immediately, wiping his lips with the top of his hand as he did so. "Thanks. So, how do you like Steven's place?"

By placing yourself on his lap, you massaged his scalp with your hands while moving them along his temples. "It's nice. Really nice. I met Khonshu. I was just worried about you, love."

He closed his eyes, enjoying the touch of your fingers; it soothed his anxiety.

"Do you feel better? Because I need to talk to you, Marc."

"It's me, sweetie."

"As Steven slept and you were gone, I sat on the couch and was thinking a lot about you, Steven, and Khonshu." Your hands rested on his shoulders.

As he set the glass aside, his palms were placed on your hips. "Any conclusions?"

You nodded, getting more comfortable on his lap. "It's exciting, but also a little scary. Those are things that no ordinary person has to deal with every day," you remarked. "Get what I mean?" 

As he looked at you bluntly, he shook his head no.

I'm trying to say that," your arms wrapped around his neck, "I love you and I'm worried about you. If you like it or not, you will have to deal with one stubborn, reckless treasure hunter. Not because of what you do but because I see something special in you as a person."

There was nothing left for him to do but kiss your lips deeply; it was more than he expected from you, and his heart was filled with joy. "I love you too, my little treasure hunter. For the better and for the worst."

"For the better and for the worst." You agreed, nodding your head eagerly. "I am not gonna leave, no matter how dirty stuff will get. I am ready to help."

He took one of your hands and brought it to his lips to plant a tiny kiss on its top. "The real adventure starts now."

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7 years ago

A good deed - Peter Parker drabble

Summary: Peter was set for a meeting with Tony. But something dragged him out of his way there..

A/N: Hi. I’ve made this drabble for @thepaperpanda writing challenge. It’s my first attempt since long time, so sorry for any mistakes!

Words: 615

Peter was walking down the alley in the Central Park being happy like never before.

He had to meet with his mentor, Mr Stark, for their weekly training.

Peter was prepared. Ok, last time be failed a bit by screwing up on the entire line. But it was not his fault! It was Tony who gave him wrong building plans. Or maybe he read them wrong? Nevermind!

It wasn’t important at the moment.

Peter continued his walk whistling happily. It was until he spotted some movement in a nearby bushes.

He stopped and first looked around. But he saw no one suspicious. Frowning, Peter headed straight into bushes direction. He got even more confused when he heard some strange noises.

Peter got at the spot and crouched. His spider-sense was tingling at the base of his skull, alerting him to possible danger.

With little hesitation and caution, Peter reached and moved several branches to the side.

What a relief he experienced when he saw, that a small puppy was stuck between the bushes.

“Oh, hi there, pup!” A bright smile crawled onto Peter’s lips.

He slipped hands between the branches and aa carefully as it was possible pulled few of them up.

“Come here, buddy,” Peter took the puppy in his hands and pulled little dog out of its ‘trap’.

Spidey put puppy on the grass and looked over it.

But puppy galloped right through the next bushes right into the arenaceous alley. Then without a backward glance dog ran off to sniff all the trees and lampposts along the way.

“Hey! Little one!” Peter ran after the puppy and on the last moment he caught dog and pulled it up. “Hey! No! First we gotta find your owner, mate. I see you have a collar, lemme check…”

Puppy barked happily waving its tail and bit Parker’s hand.

“Hey!” Peter laughed softly checking the charm at the collar. “So your name is Jack and you live kinda near from here..” Peter muttered. “I’ll bring you home, Jack. But don’t bite me, you little fugitive,” he laughed sortly while puppy was waving its tail still trying to bite Peter’s fingers with its little sharp fangs.

On his way at the address from puppy’s collar, Peter got a text from Tony.

[TONY: Where R U Peter?]

Parker sighed and sat at the nearest bench. He texted back.

[Gonna be late, gotta do something first. Wait 4 me.]

Peter got up and with a puppy under his arm, he headed to one of the skyscrapers.

Puppy was still trying to get out of Peter’s grasp squeaking quietly.

“Hush, Jack, no one is hurting you, mate,” Peter rubbed dog’s back. It helped because puppy licked top of Parker’s palm barking happily again.

When Peter arrived on the 9th floor, he walked to the flat number 890 and he knocked few times.

Door has been opened by a little girl in a pink dress.

“Hello?” she whispered quietly.

“Hi!” Peter sent her a smile. “I think this little gentleman belongs to you.”

Parker pulled puppy from under his jacket and handled it to the girl.

Her chin trembled and she sobbed loudly. Few tears fell down on her dress.

“Me and my mummy were looking for Jack! He got lost few hours ago! Oh, Jack!” She grabbed puppy and hugged him tight to her little chest. “Thank you, Sir! Thank you for your help! Mummy! Mummy! Jack’s back!”

Girl ran inside the flat leaving door open. When she and her mother came back, there was no one in front of the door.

Peter was walking down the street whistling happily and smiling. At least he made a little good deed.


Tags
7 years ago
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You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want your annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while launching a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out.

Your last "wish" was a week ago and the chain reaction is still going on.

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Treasured.

Treasured.

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Niwatober Day 3 (which Is Day 1) - I Know A Spot

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sometimes my cats set aside their differences so they can be on my bed at the same time lol

2 years ago

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

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1 year ago
Tried To Do A Rim Light Type Thing :]

Tried to do a rim light type thing :]

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norwegian-dreams - Norwegian Dreams
Norwegian Dreams

Hi. I'm Rajia, I'm 22 & I love a lot of things. Fan of: Marvel, MHA, KNY, HAIKYUU, CONJURING

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