#Marc Spector x female reader

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

What You Like

Marc Spector x F!Reader x Steven Grant • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Marc gets in his head about being with you, Steven talks him through it.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: There was a post about Marc talking Steven through his first time with reader, which I adored and couldn't stop thinking about. And then my brain went... but what if... the other way around? (I'm so sure I reblogged the post, or maybe it's in my queue, but I cannot for the life of me find it. Please if you know the one I'm talking about, let me know! I really would like to link it here. Also I'm so sorry I forgot who wrote it as well.)

Warnings: oral, fingering, so much swearing, some self loathing from Marc, I have used 'mate' far too much, as well as 'yeah?', kind of Marc being sort of into Steven talking to him, typos, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2213

“She doesn’t like it so much like that, if you tilt your head to the side a little and-”

Marc snaps his eyes open and glares at Steven in the far-off mirror. “Fuck off.” He thinks hard, and Steven doesn’t have to hear him to read his expression.

“I’m just trying to help, mate.” He holds up his hands like all he had done is hold the door open for him or something. 

Marc glares harder, about to flip him off when you pull back from the kiss. 

“You okay?” 

Marc swallows, “Sorry, I, erm…” He hadn’t realised you’d noticed his distraction.

You smile at him and stroke his cheek. "You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you shift a little on the bed, giving him a fraction more space.

“No, no, that wasn’t…” he gives you a small smile in return and leans forward again to kiss you. “Steven, I need you to be quiet now, okay?” 

“I was just-”

“Steven.”

He tuts. “Okay, okay, I promise.” 

Marc inches a little closer, recovering the space you’d previously offered up. His thigh nudges against yours and you let out a little moan into his mouth as he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip. 

He didn’t know why he felt so nervous, anxiety like eels swimming in his belly, you were Steven’s girlfriend (and technically, his now? Or was that too forward?) you’d been in this bed, with this body before. And strictly speaking, Marc had looked in on you and Steven a few times in more… intimate moments. Accidentally, of course. 

This should be fine. Practically second nature. 

He tries to clear his head, to be more in the moment, and runs his hands down your back as he presses closer, leaning into you slightly to urge you to lay back onto the mattress. 

You move with him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him against you. Parting your legs slightly so that he can situate himself between them. 

He nips lightly at your lip, licking softly but confidently into your mouth as he just grinds his hardening cock against your core. Oh, and your barely muffled moan is delicious, the way you dig your fingers into his shoulders makes his head spin, if-

“Oh, that’s a good move. She definitely likes that.” 

“Steven! For fuck’s sake! I trusted you to be quiet!” 

“Sorry!”

Marc tries not to let the interruption show, but he jumps a little when Steven speaks and it’s impossible for you to have missed it. A small thorn of anxiety settles in his chest, piercing between his ribs. 

“Kiss her neck, she really likes that.” 

“Steven-”

“I’m just giving helpful tips!” He can feel more than see Steven shrug his shoulders. “You’re the one without any game.”

“Without any game? I’ve got more game than you.” 

Steven sorts. “Unlikely. When’s the last time you got laid? God only knows. I, however, had sex this morning.” 

“Steven.” 

“Just saying.” 

“Yeah, well, I'm gonna be having sex in a minute, so shut up.”

There was a moment of blissful silence and Marc let out a breath of relief. 

You hooked your legs over his hips, urging him closer and bucking up so that you could grind against him. The heavy drag of his jeans sending sparks of pleasure along your spine. 

He slips his left hand down, sneaking the tips of his warm fingers under your top and stroking at the soft skin of your side. 

“She’s ticklish there.” 

“Steven-”

You can’t help but giggle a little, squirming away from his touch and breaking the kiss. “Sorry,” you bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“You’re ticklish.” Marc finishes and you nod smiling. 

“Sorry.” You mouth again. 

Marc shakes his head and smiles as he leans back down. “It’s fine, don’t worry.” He moves his hand away from your side. 

He’s barely pressed his lips against you for a second before Steven speaks again. “Told you.”

Marc inwardly grunts, rolling his eyes as he kisses along your jaw to your neck. He nips lightly at your skin, before sucking gently.

“Bit lower mate, that’s the spot.”

Marc scowled but followed the instruction, hatching onto the spot Steven suggested and you moan loudly, arching your back off the mattress. 

“See, she really likes that. Now if you just move your hand down and-”

Marc clenches his jaw instinctively, letting his frustration bubble over. Unfortunately, your neck is still between his teeth when they snap shut. 

You let out a little gasp of pain and Marc nearly blacks out from panic, instinctively moving to jerk backwards and away from you. But your arms tighten on his shoulders, your thighs clenching around his hips. 

You whimper and buck against him instantly. “Marc, fuck, please do that again.” 

He relaxes, tension easing out of his limbs as he growls faintly and does as you ask. 

“It’s okay mate, really. She’s not made of glass.” 

“Steven. I’m fucking gonna-”

“Hey,” Steven protested, “look, I don’t mind when you’re watching us go at it all the time, yeah?” 

Marc flushed. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do. And don’t think you’re being sneaky about it either. I can tell.” 

“I don’t mean to, it’s just…”

“Just what mate?” 

“It just… happens.” 

“Yeah, right.” 

Marc stays quiet, knowing that whatever he says won’t make him look good. He tries to ignore Steven, to just focus on you. To grind against you just right. But he could feel Steven hovering just in the background. 

You run your hands through Marc’s hair, pulling highly as you writhe under him and he can’t help but risk a sneaky look up at you, at how your eyebrows are pinched together, eyes closed in pleasure and…

Was it real? Or was it just for show? Did you always look like that when Steven…? He thinks back trying to recall the memories of watching in as much detail as possible. 

“Marc.” Steven’s voice is soft. 

But he doesn’t answer.

“Stop getting in your head about it, yeah? She’s here with you. She likes you. She wouldn’t pretend to be into something she doesn’t, ‘kay?” 

Marc swallows, trying to take Steven’s words on board and calm his quickly spiralling thoughts. 

But it doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right, it’s all stiff and unsettled. Like his joints are just a fraction out of place. 

You can tell. He’s so sure that you can tell. Even if you are moaning and writhing against him, you must know. Must sense it. How out of alignment he is. How much of a failure. 

“Steven?"

There’s a fraction of a pause before he answers. “Hmm?” 

“What does she like?”

He can feel Steven’s frown. 

“What does she like? What should I do? You were full of tips a second ago, don’t lea-”

“Move your hand down,” his voice is a little softer than before. Compassionate. And Marc knows his emotions have bled through. “Slower.” 

Marc slowly runs his hand down your body, careful not to tickle your side, stopping just short of the top button of your trousers. 

“Kiss lower on her neck, just above her collarbone... that’s it.”

Marc feels a little warm at the praise, giddy even. 

“And just start to undo her trousers, yeah?”

He flicks the top button open and you whine, bucking up against him. You urge his face up with your hands so you can kiss his lips and slide your tongue into his mouth. A deep shiver runs along Marc’s spine, forcing his hips to buck mindlessly. 

You pull back for a second, just to lift your top up and over your head before dropping it to the side and his breath catches in his throat. 

“Trousers.” 

Marc all but jumps despite the soft tone of Steven’s voice and he quickly snaps his eyes away from your skin to focus on undoing your pants.

You grin at his eagerness and help him by wiggling out of your trousers and kicking them off your feet. You kiss Marc’s neck, your hands moving desperately to his jeans. 

“Touch her.”

Marc lets out a little moan as you suck on his pulse point. “Wha-”

Marc’s left hand moves under Steven’s control, slipping his fingers under the elastic of your panties and pressing two thick fingers inside of your heat. 

You gasp in surprise, your thighs twitching at the sudden intrusion, shifting wider to allow him easier access. 

Steven strokes two fingers languidly against your walls for a second, enjoying the little tremors and flutters before placing his thumb on your clit. “Can you feel that?” 

Marc nods inwardly, “fuck.”

“See how wet she is?” 

“So fucking wet.” 

Steven smiles, continuing the long, slow strokes for a second before retreating back and leaving their hand once more completely under Marc’s control. He falters for half a second before he quickly resumes the tortuous pace set up by Steven. 

You gasp and whine, flinging your head back against the pillow as you arch up your hips towards him, trying to buck and urge him to move faster. 

“Go nice and slow… yeah… like that…” Steven whispers in his ear and there’s something strangely comforting about it, something exciting at having him there, right with him. 

Marc bites his bottom lips between his teeth, watching your face with rapt attention. 

“Nice slow circles and nice slow strokes.” 

“Slow circles.” He mutters under his breath, almost inaudible. He glides his fingers back and forth, barely leaving you before pushing back in, revelling in the sound of your wetness. 

You buck and whine, grabbing hold of his forearm like you were hanging onto a lifesaver. “Marc- ah, please!” Your words are cut off by desperate half choked sobs. 

He continues to circle your clit gently, barely allowing any pressure so that you can only just feel the slightly calloused glide of his thumb. Your thighs started to shake, your movements becoming sloppy. 

“Take her panties off completely, yeah? She’s gonna cum in a second, you’re gonna want to see.” 

Marc obeyed without thinking, using his free hand to pull them down and groaning softly when you lifted your hips as best you could to help him. 

Fuck you looked so pretty laid out all before him- before them. 

You moaned particularly needily, already looking fucked out of your head and Marc hissed, unable to stop himself as he hurriedly leant down and flicked his tongue along your clit. 

Your little high-pitched cry made him go light-headed. 

“Fuck, god yeah, give it to her.” Steven’s arousal bled into his own, making him dizzyingly high. “God, make her cum, make her cum in our mouth Marc, please.” 

“Marc, oh god, please!” You whine at almost the same moment, your and Steven’s voice blending together in a harmony that made Marc’s dick throb. 

He sucked your clit into his mouth for a moment before running board, flat licks over it, continuing his fingers slow pump as he brought you maddeningly close to the edge. 

Steven moaned loudly, “fuck Marc, please, please, need to taste her cum. Then we can fuck her together, yeah? She feels so good, she makes the best little noises,” he groaned again, “she tastes so sweet doesn’t she?” 

“So sweet,” Marc mumbled against your pussy as he kept moving, kept sucking and licking and practically humping the mattress with his eyes pinched tight in pleasure. 

“Marc,” you whimper and pull on his hair with your free hand, urging him on, “you’re so good at this, so good, ‘m gonna cum-”

“Fuck, Marc, yes.” 

He couldn’t help himself, simply couldn’t. Found himself opening his mouth and letting the words spill out before he had even registered them. “Steven’s here too.” 

“Oh shit!” You gasp, your voice raising in pitch as your orgasm crashes into you, seizing your limbs in pleasure and whiting out your vision, before leaving you boneless and breathless. 

Marc stops moving slowly, trying to prolong your bliss for as long as possible. He bites his lip nervously as he sits up, your release and his spit covering the lower half of his face. Fuck, why had he said that, why had he gone and fucked this all up-

You smile up at him, still trailing your fingers through his thick curls. “Steven’s here too?” 

He nods as heat rises to his face. He stares down at your knee. 

“Look at her, mate.” 

He doesn’t move until you gently tilt his chin up with your hand. 

Your soft smile makes his heart ache. 

“I’m sorry…” he whispers. “Is that… okay? That he’s here?” 

You nod, your grin widening as you sit up and kiss him. It’s messy and deep, and Marc just melts into it. He whines against your lips as you wrap your arms around him, stroking your tongue with his own as you lick into his mouth. 

“Now, how about,” you say between kisses, your fingers tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt. “I get you out of these clothes and suck both of your dick.” You pause and pull a silly face at the odd-sounding, but technically correct singular use. 

Marc giggles and nuzzles into your neck. 

“Say yes mate!” 

“Yes please.” He mumbles as he sucks a love bite into your skin. 

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh @mbakubabe @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial @lonelyisamyw-0love @melodygatesauthor @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @queerponcho

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[fandoms-writings]

Hey babes!!! For your milestone party could I get Marc Spector with "Is that my shirt?" and "Let me hear you make that sound again" please? I ❤ U

Pairing: Marc Spector x fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.1K

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, SMUT, p in v sex, unprotected sex, kitchen counter sex, slight sir kink if you squint, he calls reader 'bunny'

A/N: this took me so much longer than i intended and i'm sorry for that ;-; but holy shit i turned myself on writing this one I hope you enjoy it! <3

Masterpost || Event Post

"Is that my shirt?" Marc's voice sounded from behind you just before his arms wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. 

"And if it is?" You asked, bringing up your freshly made coffee to your lips, taking a sip. 

"Mm," He hummed before placing his lips on the crook of your neck, "I like it on you." 

"Yeah?" You asked, turning your head to try and get a look at him. 

He nodded into your neck before lightly biting the skin there, "Yeah, especially when I know you aren't wearing anything underneath." His hand pushed up the edge of the shirt from your hips, gripping the flesh of your ass. 

"Oh?" You set your mug down and pushed it away from the edge of the counter, "What if I did that on purpose?" You slightly pushed back into him, feeling how hard he was already getting. 

"I might have to do something about it then," His fingers brushed forward, reaching down to the apex of your thighs, ghosting over your clit before going further, sweeping through your folds. He chuckled at the wetness he found waiting there for him. "Wet already, hm?"  

You couldn't help the small whine that slipped through your lips as he buried two of his fingers in your heat while trailing wet kisses over the back of your neck. His fingers curled, dragging against that perfect spot and you gasped, grabbing hold of his wrist. 

"There it is," He smirked into your shoulder, curling his fingers again and again until you couldn't take it anymore. 

"Please Marc," You looked over your shoulder, finding his lust blown gaze locked onto yours. 

"Please what?" He asked, holding his lips just a breath away from yours, "Tell me what you want, bunny. Use your words." 

You swallowed the butterflies down, your lips brushing against his as you whispered to him, "I want you." 

“How do you want me?” He asked, his fingers working your cunt, preparing it for him. You hated how shy you sometimes got, how he knew it and would make you say it anyways, even when he knew exactly what you wanted. 

You gripped the edge of the counter and pushed into him, swirling your hips against the hard tent in his sweats. “Wan’ you to fuck me, Marc,” you whined, “right here.” 

He smirked at you, pushing the heel of his palm into your clit before pulling his fingers free. 

“Open,” he ordered, watching as your jaw dropped for his fingers to rest on your tongue, your lips wrapping around them and sucking them clean. “Can you bend over for me bunny? Reach for the other side of the counter.” 

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself to pull the shirt off but his hands stopped you. 

“Leave it on.” His hand lightly pushed at the center of your back as you bent over, trailing down your spine before gripping pulling your ass cheek to the side so he could see how you were dripping for him. 

“Spread your knees for me bun,” he nudged your knees with one of his own, watching your legs move and reveal more of yourself to him. 

“Mm,” he groaned, pushing a thumb at your hole and smirking at the whine you let out. “Such a pretty pussy dripping for me, and she’s all mine. Isn’t she?” 

You nodded, reaching for the other edge of the counter, “Yes, all yours.” You muttered. 

“That’s right,” he thumbed at your hole again, earning another whine from you and he cooed. “You sound desperate, bunny.”

“Stop teasing,” you whined, the warmth pooling in your core growing by the second, “please.” 

“Since you asked so nicely,” his thumb left your slit and his hand slid up under the shirt along your spine. His other pushed his sweats out of the way and lined the head of his cock at your entrance. 

You tried to push back onto him but his hand on your back held you in place against the counter, the coldness of the granite seeping through the fabric of the shirt. He slid the head of his cock through your folds, brushing against your clit before lining himself up again. 

“You ready bun?” He asked, his voice hoarse as if he was holding himself back from taking you the way he wanted. But that’s exactly what you wanted him to do. 

And you knew how to get it. 

“Yes sir,” you moaned out, “want you to — oh fuck — “ he cut you off as he slammed into you, sliding into you with ease but hissing at the sensation. 

“Oh god you’re so warm,” he moaned with his head thrown back. His hand on your back turned and gripped the back of the shirt, pulling it tight against your breasts as he rocked into you. 

The chill of the counter brushed against your nipples through the fabric, sending shocks through your nerves and pulling out the lewdest sounds from your mouth. His other hand gripped your hip, slamming you back against him. 

He angled his hips up, hitting your cervix and making you gasp and moan at the same time. You could feel the smirk in his voice as he ordered,  "Oh," He stopped, releasing the shirt and moving his hand down to your thigh, ordering you to lift it. He guided your knee to the counter, opening you even more to him, allowing him to get even deeper. 

"Now," He gripped your hips in a way that told you you were going to have marks later, but you didn't mind at all, "Let me hear you make that sound again."

He set a bruising pace, his cock hitting that spot over and over and over again. The sound of skin slapping and the lewd sound of your pussy sucking him back in every time he pulled out filled the kitchen. 

It didn't take long for the band in your belly to tighten, his relentless pounding driving you oh so close to the edge. "Marc -- fuck -- please!" You were practically sobbing now, needing him to say the words to push you over the edge. 

"C'mon bunny," he grunted, one of his hands leaving your hips to rub tight circles of your bundle of nerves, "Make a mess on my cock, go on." 

The band snapped and you came with a cry, your walls clenching around him bringing him to his peak as he buried himself as deep as he could into you and you felt his spend coat your walls. 

"Oh fuck," He moaned, leaning forward and slamming his hand down on the counter next to you, catching himself. He kissed across your shoulders, gently coaxing your leg down from the counter and kneading your hips as you laid on the counter. 

"Maybe I should wear your clothes more often," You giggled, smirking at him over your shoulder. 

He eyed you, his pupils still lust blown and he smirked. "You should," He pulled you up and spun you around, "but now I want it off and we're heading to the bed." 

Divider credit to @novanitee <3

[bit-dodgy-innit]

The More The Merrier - Part One

Set in The Shape of Youniverse

Summary: Doctor Strange’s wedding gift allows you and your husband to fulfill your wildest fantasies 

Pairing: Marc x afab!reader, Steven x afab!reader and Jake x afab!reader, Reader is married to the system 

Word Count: 3.3k 

Rating: Mature (for now!)

CW/TW: Mentions of pregnancy, reader experiences anxiety and mild body insecurity, Marc is ~protective~ and not afraid to threaten violence to protect his fam, discussions of group sex, making out  

A/N: Okay y’all! Everyone loved Group Effort so I thought there was no better way to celebrate 1000 followers than to write a follow up! I am currently burnt to a crisp creatively, HOWEVER I figure if I post what I have so far this lovely community’s support and reactions may just invigorate me to get the rest of this naughtiness out! 

Translations at the end of the fic as usual!

You thought you were dreaming. You must have been, because why else would Doctor Strange be in your living room talking to your husband? The sound of voices had awoken you, and when you saw that Marc’s side of the bed was empty, you followed the hushed but heated voices to their source. 

You could hear Marc insisting lowly, “I told you I can’t…”

“And I told you his new avatar is miss–”

“Honey?” You interrupted, your voice raspy from sleep, “What’s going on?”

You’d rubbed just enough sleep from your eyes to be able to take in the sight before you. Marc, in his pajamas, mid-argument with Doctor Strange, red cape and all. 

You blinked furiously. Up until that very moment, all of Marc’s stories about being the white knight dude–Moon Knight, he told you he’d been called, were just that. Stories. You liked it that way. That way, there was plausible deniability. Seeing him talking to an Avenger in your flat made things startlingly real. 

“Go back to bed sweetheart,” your husband urged you, trying and failing to keep his mounting frustration from bleeding into his tone. 

Like hell you were going back to sleep. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Marc answered immediately. His pointed look to the Avenger meant that Strange wasn’t going to divulge anything either. 

“Sorry to wake you, Mrs. Spector,” the sorcerer offered instead. 

“I’m not going anywhere until one of you tells me why he’s here in the middle of the night,” you informed both men plainly. It was perplexing to think that the men in charge of your planet’s safety, like Doctor Strange and your husband, were such shit liars.

“It’s Khonshu--” Strange began. 

“He’s retired,” you interjected. Your husband resuming his superhero activities, especially when you’d just found out you were pregnant a few weeks ago, was your worst nightmare. 

“I know,” he assured you, “I had a question for Marc, that’s all.” 

“And I told him that I can’t be involved with any of this shit, in any capacity,” your husband fumed, “Twice now.” 

“Well excuse me,” the sorcerer snarked, “and here I thought you’d become a consultant.” 

You couldn't stifle the giggle that Strange’s comment brought forth. Marc bristled, “Please sweetie, will you wait for me in the bedroom? I’ll show Stephen out.” 

Hearing that your husband was on a first-name basis with an Avenger made your head swim. You nodded, but didn’t completely comply, going only so far as the hallway so you could eavesdrop on them unseen.

“Did I just get you into trouble?” Strange inquired. 

“Yes,” your husband confirmed. “Out of everything wrong with me, her only hang-ups are my ex-wife and the avatar shit, so summon one of those portal things before I have to kick you out myself.” 

“Wow, okay, so Steven’s the one with the manners then,” he noted wryly. 

Marc sighed so deeply you could hear it from across the flat. “How many times do I have to say–”

“Congratulations by the way.” 

Your heart dropped. Did he know? He couldn’t know. You were nowhere near showing, how on earth could he know? Doctor Strange flew and did magic and traversed the multiverse, but there was no way he could tell that you were pregnant, was there?

“I’ll tear you limb from limb and rent your stupid cloak out for birthday parties,” Marc threatened in a snarl, “I didn’t want anyone knowing that we're together, let alone that we’re expecting. If that information leaves your lips, so help me–”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Strange promised him, “though it explains why I can’t convince you.” 

“Use that forgetting spell on yourself,” your husband ordered. 

“I’ll do you one better,” the sorcerer offered, “I’ll put you two under the protection of the London Sanctum. It’ll keep her safe while we sort all of this out…though it’d go a lot quicker if you–”

“Want me to re-introduce you to Jake?” Marc growled. 

Now it was Strange’s turn to sigh. “You realize you don’t have the suit anymore, right?”

“Nunca lo necesité,” the man in question interceded, “Disfrutaría el desafío.”

“You really love her, don’t you?” the Avenger observed. 

“She’s the reason I left Khonshu,” Marc confessed. After observing him so tight-lipped and protective about your relationship to Strange just now, your husband’s candor shocked you. 

“I’d say you traded up,” the sorcerer remarked archly. 

 Marc stood firm. “Yeah, and I’m not looking to downgrade anytime soon.”

“Can’t blame you. Well Marc, it’s always a…time.”

The faint hum of what you assumed was the magic he conjured for the portals Strange used alerted you to scamper back to the bed and dive under the covers, so that when Marc returned you could convincingly feign sleep. Moments later, you felt the mattress dip under his weight and his arms wrap around your waist from behind. 

“Are you mad at me?” came his timid question, murmured into your hair.  

You didn’t open your eyes. “That you told Doctor Strange to fuck off for the sake of our marriage? For our family? No, hun.” 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized anyway, “I hate how that this part of my past won’t let me go.” 

“This wasn’t your fault and you didn't get involved,” you pointed out, implicitly urging him to let it go. “Can we go back to sleep? Need to rest up for my inevitable morning vomit sesh.” 

Marc held your tighter and pressed a kiss to a notch of your spine. “‘Course baby.”

You weren’t exactly proud of how quick you were to brush the encounter off, but being a newlywed and a surprise pregnancy meant you had enough on your plate. There wasn’t any mental or emotional space to entertain the thought of your ex-avatar husband having to risk his life to ensure your, your unborn baby, and Earth’s safety, because if you did, the Hulk would look like a teddy bear in comparison to the state it’d send you in.  

Luckily, Marc was even better at sweeping uncomfortable moments under the rug than you were. You didn’t give the late-night meeting with Doctor Strange a second thought until a few weeks later when you glimpsed a headline about another global calamity averted emblazoned across a fellow Tube passenger’s copy of The Guardian. Your first trimester made you incredibly motion sick, so you had to look away and deep breathe at once, since the last thing anyone wanted on their morning commute was a woman spewing all over the car. 

Work served as the perfect distraction, until you received a particularly cryptic and distressing text from your husband mid-afternoon.

From: Hubby 

Can you come home please? 

From me:

Now? Are you alright?!

From Hubby: 

Yes, I’m fine. Just need you to come home right away. 

You huffed. That answered absolutely nothing and only made you more anxious. The periods at the ends of his sentences were a dead giveaway as to which alter you were texting with, so you pressed: 

From me:

What’s wrong Marc? 

From Hubby:

Everything’s fine, I promise. 

From me: 

Are you sick? 

The three dots appeared that he was typing, but you’d already sprung from your desk chair at that point. You hurried over to a superior’s office to let them know you were leaving early, claiming a spousal emergency, and you didn’t even wait for a proper response from your boss before you returned to your office, collected your things, and dashed for the door. 

From me: 

Just told Graham I’m heading home. I’ll be there soon!! Do I need to call 999? Harry? Dr. Moorhead???? 

Marc never asked for help. He'd rather eat all ten toes. It was a point of contention in your relationship, something you were working through, so the fact he’d texted you in the middle of the afternoon asking you to come home freaked you the fuck out. You’d just gotten into a taxi - it’d be faster than the Tube this time of day - when he finally responded. 

From Hubby:

No. See you soon. 

You slammed your fist, still wrapped around the rectangle of your phone, down against the upholstered seat in the cab. If Marc was alive when you got home, you were going to kill him. 

After one of the most fraught cab rides of your life, you breathlessly burst through the door of your flat. “MARC?! Jake?! Steven?! You okay?” 

Your husband sat on the couch, appearing to be perfectly well. “Hi baby.” 

You rushed to him, instantly putting the back of your hand to his forehead to check his temperature. “What’s wrong? God, would it kill you to tell me what’s going on? I nearly gave myself an ulcer on the way here.” 

Marc caught your hand and brought your palm to his lips, murmuring “I’m sorry” into the skin there.

“Is someone going to tell me what the fuck is happening here?” you demanded. 

“It’s okay, everything’s okay baby,” he tried to soothe you. 

“Then why did you send me those vague bloody texts telling me to come home ASAP?” 

A sound from the bedroom momentarily distracted you before Marc captured your other hand in his grasp and gently tugged you to take a seat next to him. He continued to apologize, “I’m sorry, so sorry baby. We didn’t know how else to do it, plus we wanted it to be a surprise.”

You regarded him warily. “For what to be a surprise?” 

“Remember when Stephen – well, Doctor Strange came here?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“Well, he um…he knew you were pregnant–I didn’t tell him, he just…I don’t know he mystically sensed it or something–and he felt bad about implicating you in our business. I ended up helping him–nothing really, just told him some stuff he wanted to know about my time as Khonshu’s avatar, and he wanted to thank me–well us, I guess? He said to consider it a belated wedding or early–”

“Ay…I think I’ve missed a birthday with how long you’re taking!” 

This was it. Forget your husband’s mental health struggles, you’d officially had a psychotic break. Because Jake had interrupted your conversation by walking into the room. In a separate body. 

“Fucking hell!! You couldn’t wait thirty more seconds?!” Marc snapped at him. 

Thank goodness you were already sitting down. The room swam. Your husband – wait, husbands?-- kept bickering with each other while you stared at them, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed. 

“No voy a perder otro segundo teniendo que escucharte un parloteo. No tenemos todo el día aquí.”

“What the fuck is going on?” you asked yourself in an awestruck whisper. 

“Honey?” Marc turned to you, “you’re okay.”

“Todo esta bien,” Jake added, rushing to your other side. 

You were grateful that there were two of them, otherwise you would’ve collapsed. The thought made you laugh. Wow, you’d lost your mind with a stunning efficiency it seemed. 

“Sweetheart, can you hear me?” Marc’s eyes searched yours, desperate for you to focus. 

“Uh huh.” 

“What este pendejo was trying to say,” Jake interjected, “is that el doctor did a spell where we all get our own body for twenty-four hours.” 

“He can do that?” It was a stupid question, given that you were surrounded by two of your husbands, but your brain was all but fried. 

“See! This is why I wanted to do it like this! We needed to ease her in!!” Marc lamented. 

“Where’s Steven?” you asked. He had to be here somewhere too, right? 

“You can come out now!” Marc hollered toward the kitchen, and lo and behold, the last third of your husband shuffled into view, complete with his individual body as well.  

“Why am I always the only one who follows the plan?” Steven complained, then after taking one look at your ashen face, joined his counterparts tending to you. “Oh darling, are you alright? Sorry, I know this all must come as a terrible shock. You want me to put the kettle on? Make you a cuppa?”

“The only thing that could help me right now is a stiff drink, which I obviously can’t have because of…” you trailed off and gestured to your midsection. 

“Right, sorry. Marc and I wanted to do this differently, but leave it to Jake to muck things up, as per usual,” he groused. 

“Oye, vete a la mierda pequeño–”

Marc tried to stop them. “Shut up, both of you, this isn’t hel–”

“Oh my God is this what the inside of your head is like?” you wondered aloud, unable to squash a delirious chuckle. 

“Yes,” Steven confirmed, trying to maintain composure, “a small sampling of it, I’m afraid.” 

Your chuckling escalated to full-on unhinged laughter. What else were you to do when each of your husbands were given their own body and argued in front of you?

“Am I high? Or at the very least awake?” 

“No and yes,” Marc replied. 

“So this is why I had to come home early,” you surmised. 

“Sí, we only have twenty-four hours, and we weren’t going to waste anymore on waiting when we could–”

“We could what?” 

“Well, with the baby coming, naturally our sex life is going to take a hit,” Marc said, “so, this seemed like a perfect, one-in-a-lifetime opportunity to um…fulfill some fantasies.”

“You faked an emergency and made me ditch work so we could all have group sex?” 

Steven groaned, “It sounds so tawdry when you put it like that.” 

Marc buried his head in his hands, but Jake puffed up his chest. “Por qué no? Vas a trabajar cada día, ¡pero tal vez nunca volvamos a estar así!”

“No one is touching me…” you protested, heaving a labored breath as overwhelmed tears brimmed in your eyes. “No one is touching me until you all apologize! Properly! You scared the shit out of me just now! You can’t…you can't keep me in the dark like that…I can’t take the stress between your past and the baby and work…it’s too much! So guess what? The last thing I want to do right now is have sex!” 

Three flummoxed faces of concern stared back at you as they each realized they’d severely miscalculated the reveal. Apparently you looked so pathetic it dispelled any of their urges to argue about it, the reminder that you were pregnant seemingly enough to shut them up and send them straight to contrition. Plus, they were probably still hopeful they could get some action later if they apologized right away. 

“I’m sorry baby,” Marc began, pulling you to his chest, “We wanted this to be fun, but…”

“Somos estúpidos,” Jake finished for him, “Even with separate bodies, we all think with the head between our legs.”   

Steven spoke next, “Take all the time you need, my love. We don’t even have to…do anything naughty. We just want to be with you like…as…as us.” 

“Uh, no. We have to fuck,” Jake disagreed. 

Before you could snipe back at Jake, you remembered something Marc had told you about the last time they were separated. Their entire journey through the Duat, Jake had been trapped in a sarcophagus. Despite being married to them, you couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like to share your body, your life, with two other people the way they did. 

So of course having a body of your own, especially if there was a clock on it, would be a momentous occasion, and it warmed your heart in a funny, roundabout way that Jake wanted to share this precious time with you as intimately as possible. 

Therefore, you found yourself cackling at his remark. The three of them watched you dumbstruck. 

“I think we broke her,” Marc muttered under his breath. 

When you finally regained your breath and a modicum of your senses back, you proposed, “How about this…we make an early dinner to fuel up for um…the night ahead, shall we say? It’ll give me some time to adjust. Deal?”

It took about an hour, but you did calibrate to having multiple husbands in your flat. Jake and Marc were parked on the couch flipping between games on the telly and arguing over scores, players, and stats while Steven and you camped in the kitchen. 

Steven had volunteered to make dinner, and you instantly offered to assist him, figuring that keeping your hands busy would help quiet your racing mind. The pair of you chopped vegetables and, in everyone but Steven’s case, chicken, to make a soup that would be hearty enough to sustain any physical exertion later but light enough so as not to hinder it. 

“This is bizarre, innit?” Steven asked while he stirred the broth. 

“Bizarre doesn't even begin to cover it,” you confessed. “I mean, I know crazy superhero magic shit like this happens, but never to me.”

“When Marc first told me he served Khonshu, I thought it was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard.” 

You laughed at Steven’s frankness. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” he echoed, his face splitting into a beatific grin. The two of you leaned across the stove to kiss each other. Neither of you hurried to break it. In fact, Steven slipped his tongue between the seam of your lips, while you turned to wrap your arms around him properly. 

You nearly forgot the other two men were there until you were both startled apart by Jake whistling and crowing, “Ey! Save it for later!” 

“Entonces vas a ayudarnos con la comida?” you shot back at him without any real heat.  

Several moments transpired while you ate in which you lapsed into an astonished silence. Though you were no stranger to your husband being co-conscious, there was something even more wondrous about all three of them having to interrupt each other to speak, though despite their separate bodies, each man tended to talk over the other still. 

Marc and Jake were put on cleanup duty, and Steven captured you in his arms once again. He dotted kisses from your clavicle, up the length of your neck, culminating at the extra sensitive spot behind your right ear. “How do you want to do this?” 

You mewled at the pressure of his lips on your skin. “Mmmm, I wanna take a shower and primp a bit. Marc had a point earlier, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity, might as well make the most of it, right?” 

“Whatever you want,” he rumbled into your ear. You could feel Steven’s cock stir as he pressed himself into you. 

A devilish smirk danced across your lips. “Wanna look extra fuckable for all of you.” 

“Bloody hell, babe,” Steven’s hips stuttered against your leg. He leaned in to kiss you more, but you dodged him, instead scampering away toward the bathroom and throwing a cheeky look over your shoulder. 

Beyond the fact that you knew that Jake would want to fuck you in the ass and you needed to prepare accordingly, it occurred to you that your insistence on getting dolled up was just as much for your benefit as it was for your partners. You were about to be more vulnerable than you’d ever been in a sexual situation, and though it was with the people you loved and trusted most in the world, sometimes confidence was best found from the outside-in. So you shaved your legs, styled your hair, made up your face, and slipped into the lingerie that you’d grabbed from your dresser before you retreated into the en-suite. 

You examined the finished product of your efforts in the mirror. Your bump wasn’t quite a bump yet at just over twelve weeks, you just looked perennially bloated. You tried to smooth the frown from your face, reminding yourself that you weren’t fat, but instead growing a little life inside of you, the culmination of you and your husband’s love. Nevertheless, you adjusted the straps of the microscopic thong you’d squeezed yourself into to try and create a more flattering shape. After fluffing your hair one more time, you decided you were as ready as you’d ever be.

READ PART TWO 

A/N: Eh? We like? Y’all are always so encouraging but if you feel compelled to leave any feedback I could really use it this time around!!! 

Translations:

Nunca lo necesité - I never needed it

Disfrutaría el desafío - I will enjoy the challenge

No voy a perder otro segundo teniendo que escucharte un parloteo. No tenemos todo el día aquí - I'm not going to waste another second having to listen to you babble. We don't have all day here

Todo esta bien - Everything is ok

Este pendejo - This asshole

Oye, vete a la mierda pequeño - Hey, look here you little shit

Por qué no? Vas a trabajar cada día, ¡pero tal vez nunca volvamos a estar así! - Why not? You go to work every day, but we may never be like this again!

Somos estupidos - We’re stupid

Entonces vas a ayudarnos con la comida - Then are you going to help us with the food?

Taglist:

@twwcs​, @rmoonstoner​, @hot-mess-express1​, @murdickdocked, @toracainz​, @saahmi, @unspokenmoon​, @winterbiipp​, @avatarofseshat​ @ilikeoldermenhelp, @losers-club6​, @harrys-tittie​, @ninebluehearts​, @lucianadraven32​, @dawnsutopia​, @strawberry1042-blog @nikitawolfxo​, @weirdo125 @damnzelsoul​ @missmarmaladeth​ @welcometostayingawake​ @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction​, @thatgirlshady​

[starryevermore]

I have a request! How would y/n react to the moon boys coming in their pants before they can have sex? All I can think about is a flustered Steven and that he’d have tears in his eyes due to embarrassment.

made a right mess ✧ steven grant, marc spector, & jake lockley

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: I have a request! How would y/n react to the moon boys coming in their pants before they can have sex? All I can think about is a flustered Steven and that he’d have tears in his eyes due to embarrassment. - @spider-starry

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader x marc spector x jake lockley 

word count: 1,032

warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, implied smut, little bit of bondage, not proofread

Teasing your sweet, sweet Steven was your favorite pastime. It was so easy to get him worked up. Poor fella was so touch-starved that the first time the two of you had sex together, he came the second that you put your hands on him. Though his stamina did improve, if you pushed his buttons just right, he would come undone in the palm of your hands. And, oh, you relished in it. 

His sweet, breathy moans. The way he’d bury his face in the crook of your neck. How he’d beg and plead and whine. Fuck, it was enough to make you come undone, if you were being honest. Your favorite, though, was well—

“Oh no,” Steven would mumble, looking at the mess he’d made.

You wouldn’t say anything at first. Too surprised at what happened. You’d intended to tease him, you meant for him make such a beautiful mess. But he hadn’t done something like this before, not even when he was inexperienced. 

“‘m sorry,” he’d say. When you’d look up at him, you’d see the tears in his eyes, the flush in his cheeks. “I-I—”

“Shh,” you’d finally say. You reached up, running your thumb across his cheek, swiping away the tears. “Love it when you make a mess, Steven. Love seeing how worked up you get for me.”

He leaned in, hiding his face, like he was still ashamed of what he did. “Mean it?”

You kissed the top of his head, reaching up and smoothing out his messy curls. “Course I do, Steven. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.” You gave his hair a gentle tug, urging him to look back at you. When his head raised, you nuzzled your nose against his. “You’re my sweet, sweet Steven. It’s my job to take care of you, yeah? And if that means you make a right mess, then I’ve done my job well, hm?”

Steven nodded, his eyes fluttered shut. “Can we…Can you do it again?”

You smiled, pressed a kiss to his lips. “Since you asked so sweetly, your wish is my command.”

It was shocking how easy it was to get Marc worked up. Like Steven, he wasn’t touched very often. Granted, Marc chose not to be touched—always keeping folks at arms length. That is, until he met you. It was a slow build up, him getting comfortable around you. He used to shy away from your touches. Regarded you with that guarded look. You were Steven’s girl, after all. He didn’t think you had any love reserved for him. 

But now, as you straddled his lap, grinding down on his clothed cock, his fingers digging into your hips, head thrown back as he moaned loud enough for the entire building to hear, you knew that he knew you loved him fully, wholly, and truthfully. 

“Mine,” you whispered in his ear, nibbling on his earlobe. “You’re all mine, aren’t you? All mine to use?”

“Yours,” he echoed, head dipping forward. His teeth scraped at the exposed skin of your neck. You grinded down harder. “Just want you, baby. Just wanna make you happy.”

“You do,” you said. You held onto his shoulders to give you a better angle. “You make me the happiest woman in the world—”

“Fuck—” Marc sniffed. He buried his face further in your neck. You paused your movements, pulling back to get a better look at him. “I-I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh, baby, it’s okay,” you cooed, cupping his face in your hands. “It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

Your neck became wet with his tears. Oh, Marc. Life had been too cruel to him. You lifted a hand, scratching at his scalp. He let out a choked sob, then mumbled, “I didn’t mean to ruin this.”

“You didn’t ruin anything, baby,” you said. “You’re safe. No one’s mad at you. Okay? I’m not mad at you. I just want you to be comfortable. If you wanna take a break, if you don’t wanna continue, that’s okay. We can pop in a movie, order some greasy takeout—do anything you want.”

Marc was quiet for a moment, then mumbled, “I think I wanna take a break. Just a couple minutes.”

“You can take as long as you need, baby.”

Jake would be annoyed. He didn’t like being teased. No, no, he was the one who was supposed to be the one doing the teasing. He was the one supposed to be making you fall apart. He was the one who was supposed to be making a mess of you. But when you manage to flip the script? Manage to convince him to let you tie him up? Settle on his lap, teasing him like it’s your goddamn job? Fuck. Yeah. Yeah, he’s annoyed. 

So when he cums in his fucking underwear like some teenage boy about to have sex for the first time? He’s damn near pissed. And worse, you start giggling at him. Giggling! Fucking giggling!

“It’s not that funny,” he grunted, pulling at his restraints, trying to get out. “Wait til I get outta here and show you just how funny it is.”

“Awe, baby, it’s okay,” you coo, leaning down, nuzzling your nose against his. You let out another giggle. “Everybody makes a mess sometimes.”

“I hate you,” he grumbled. 

“Mm, I don’t know about that. Don’t think you’d cum in your pants if you hated me all that much, don’t you?”

Finally, Jake managed to break free from his restraints. Before you could even think to react, he grabbed you by the hips and flipped you onto your back. You let out a gasp. He held your wrists together in one hand, the other slipping down beneath your waistband, teasing at your clit. You moaned, arching your back against him. But, oh, he was not there to see you enjoy yourself. 

“Jake!” you gasped when he pulled away, just as the coil in your stomach began to tighten. 

“Nuh uh, honey. None of that,” he cooed. “I gotta show you what happens when you tease me, yeah? Gotta show you it ain’t very nice of you to do that.”

And, oh, did he keep that promise. 

[davosmymaster]

The Saddest Part of Me

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, no smut (yet) but mentions of sex/sexual themes, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, mention of past abusive/violent relationship, canon-typical violence, breaking-up, Jake is the fist of Khonshu, Marc and Steven don’t have the suit anymore, post-MoonKnight, my non-native English is a warning itself, no beta

PAIRINGS - Jake Lockley x fem!reader ; Marc Spector x fem!reader ; Steven Grant x fem!reader

WORD COUNT - 4.6k

SUMMARY - Tired of Jake’s missions turning deadly, Steven and Marc ask you for help. It backfires.

A/N - This started as first person pov, dont know exactly why but i liked it and went with it. Then it changed after one of the pauses and I was too tired to change it (also i like it as it is) so I didn’t. Don’t read if you are easily triggered. Credits to whoever made the gif. Part two will be up when it’s up.

THE SADDEST PART OF ME

 Toni Morrison once wrote that "love is never any better than the lover". And as if that wasn't a horrible enough claim on its own, she followed with "wicked people love wickedly, violent people love violently, weak people love weakly, stupid people love stupidly."

 I found myself called to those lines and, trapped by the words of a book that had me crying for most of it, I discovered I was more moved by that sentence than I had been for the rest of the novel. Trapped as I was, my mind rushed to find meaning beyond the words. I remembered past flings and failed relationships, abusive exes, and even friendships that hadn't worked. Finally, at last, my eye caught the shape of one of my boyfriends watching a cricket game on tv; as if I hadn't been aware that he was there, as if it was the first time I saw him. Truly, saw him.

 Steven noticed, of course he did. He was always hyperaware of his surroundings and, unlike Marc, he didn't know how to be subtle about it. He leaned back on the sofa, almost melting against it, and looked in my direction with the most relaxed expression he had in weeks. There was one cute smile on his lips; eyes gleaming with comfort after a long week of work. He was finally spending time with his girlfriend, and the time felt valuable for both of us even if each was doing our own thing.

 He must have seen something on my face, something buried and hurt perhaps, something I'm still not very sure of what it was; but something regardless, because his eyes switched off their glow as if someone had thrown a handful of sand over them. His smile trembled slightly, without him ever finding out, as if his body was understanding something he was not. A presage.

 "You feeling alright, love?" he asked.

 Even though I heard him loud and clear, felt his worry as my own in the way he looked at me; my brain did not seem to register. My mind was long gone, far away from there. I was looking at Steven but I had no problem with him. I was looking at his body. No, I was not, either. I was looking at the shell that contained the three men I was in love with. And I just happened to be looking at Steven because he was there —the wrong place at the wrong time— but who I was really looking for in those eyes, the person that deserved to be there at that moment, it wasn't Steven. It wasn't Marc, either.

 It was Jake.

 We'd just had the most terrible month in our relationship. Even though I'd like to say it only concerned Jake and I, it truly did not. Marc and Steven had their role in the problem too, even if it was well-intentioned in the end. Our argument seemed to be over, at least for now. But neither of us had apologized nor had we found a peaceful way out of our trouble.

 No. Not at all.

 It was over because we had both decided we loved each other more than the problem hurt us. Now we were ignoring both the problem still unresolved and the gap his lies had created between us.

 Yes, Jake had lied to me. Repeteadly and over a long period of time. Problem was he didn't regret it at all. My mind had been trying not to think more about the matter, ignoring it, living happily in naivety. In my coping mechanism I was blind to the elephant in the room: Jake didn't regret his actions at all. He didn't regret killing those people and he sure as hell didn't regret lying to me about it.

 That meant only one thing: he would kill again. That is, if he hadn't already.

 As if he could read my mind Steven's frown deepened. He got closer, his hand closing the space that separated us. His thumb very slowly touched my cheek. It was so slow, so gentle, as if he was frightened himself of my stupor. Or even scared of me.

 The slowness did not restrain my soul from shooting back into my body. The jump it caused could only be described as the sensation of falling from an imaginary abyss just as you are about to fall asleep.

 It was right then when I realized Jake wasn't hidden there, in those eyes. It was just Steven. Only sweet and sincere Steven.

 "You alright?" he asked, a worried chuckle dancing on his lips. "I lost you for a moment there, uh. In the land of the dreaming?"

 I smiled, even if I couldn't quite remember how.

 "Yeah, yeah... Sorry I scared you," I said, but still took his hands and put them away from me. All I could think about was those hands unfortunately being a part of Jake. Those pretty hands that belonged to Steven and Marc too, but which had been smeared with thick blood clotting around the nails. All I could see was them holding the gun Jake had been so reluctant to throw away, the small pocket knife he always wore as a key chain.

 "Can I ask you something..." I said then, my words so fast my mind had barely registered them, my tone so devoid of life it sounded as if I was going to ask him to kill me. Maybe I was. "...Steven?"

 I pronounced his name trying to breathe a bit of life into the sentence, but I could already tell by the way his breathing was caught in his lungs that he did not believe my facade for one split second.

 He took my hand in his, the heat warming them but freezing my body at the same time. Those hands...

 "Of course! Of course you can. Bloody hell, why do you even ask it like that?"

 I smiled and, with my thumb, I massaged the deep frown between his eyebrows. He relaxed the muscles there, suddenly aware of his expression.

 Half of me did it for him, because I was starting to feel guilty for worrying him. Half of me did it because my hands felt trapped under his.

 Steven relaxed, smiling once again. Partially relieved.

 "Are Marc or Jake listening?"

 Steven seemed confused at the question at first. He fixed his eyes on my own, but at the same time very far away from there. Then he looked around: at the tv, at any nearby mirrors, even his mug and the tea in it.

 "No, they aren't," he said. "But I can look for them, wake them up, if you want me to."

 "No, no. I just wanted to talk to you for a second."

 Steven tilted his head to one side slightly, confused.

 "Oh, oh. Sure, love."

 That's when my turn of taking his hands in mine came. It was the only way in which I could feel safe in both my question and his answer, in the truth of them, actually. I had never once before questioned Steven. I had blind faith in him, I always had. But as I said, what should have stayed as a Jake and me problem, had somehow tainted Steven and Marc too. Up until this point I had firmly believed I distinguished every single one of them from the others, and treated them accordingly; but now my body was showing me that, in fact, a part of me saw all of them as the same man.

 "If Jake hurt anyone again, you would tell me right away. Right?"

 His eyes shot open. From where I was seating in front of him I could almost hear his heartbeats.

 "Of course! Of course I would. Marc would too. We did it before, right?"

 "Eventually, yeah. After hiding it for months," the tinge of disgust in my voice did not go unnoticed.

 His hands were now trembling.

 "We didn't know what to do! At first we didn't even notice it was something that would affect us. Then I told them. And neither of them listened. We did tell you about Khonshu and we thought it was... implied. But Jake never wanted to kill...!"

 "Okay, okay. Steven. Steven look at me," I said, as he kept talking and talking in a panicked state. "Look at me, okay? You said sorry. Marc, you and I talked about this. It's okay. You said sorry. You're forgiven."

 He stopped talking, pressed his cheek against my hand when I tried to comfort him. He nodded as if trying to absorb my words. But his pupils still jumped slightly, here and there. Restless, unsafe.

 "I would tell you," he finally said with a tiny voice. His eyes welled with tears. "I promise. I promise I would. Please don't go."

 He made me cry too. Almost jumping over him, I hugged him, pretty much estranged him with my arms. I clung to the sweater he was wearing as if holding on for dear life. Steven followed with no less force. He crushed me against his chest, breathing hard into my hair, silently crying. With hands wide open over my whole back, it felt as if he was both trying to memorize the feeling of me in his arms and, holding me in place so I wouldn't abandon him.

 "Why do I feel like you're gonna leave?" he whispered.

 Steven had very little power of the matter, and that fact terrified him beyond reason. He couldn't stop Jake from killing again. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing your disgusted, disappointed, crying face again. But if there was something he could not even think about, that was you breaking up with them, leaving them, hating them. He could not conceive the world without you being the first thing he saw in the morning. He could not go back to be and feel as lonely as he did before. He couldn't.

 Being in this impossible situation, anxiety rising up to the clouds, the only comforting thought he could get was that, if he behaved, if he was good, despite what Jake could do, if he was good and behaved like you wanted him to, then you wouldn't abandon him. You might abandon Jake for being a murderer, but if he proved himself... then you wouldnt —couldn't— leave him.

 In his mind, he is ten years old and doing the dishes at two in the morning so mom will kiss him goodnight.

 Stupid people love stupidly

 Regaining someone's trust is not an easy task, everyone says that, but no one talks about how complicated it is to regain intimacy with the other person.

 It's not about sexual intimacy. That's easy, perhaps too easy. And Jake makes it even easier; he knows what buttons to push, where and when to touch you so you're left wanting more, pursuing him yourself against your own judgement. It's the other intimacy that is difficult to get back, the type in which you start talking about life and don't finish until dawn. It's about the cuddles, the feeling of being comfortable around each other, planning stuff to do together because you don't want to —not even think about— doing it with anyone else. Before Marc and Steven told you what Jake had done, asking you to help him stop, it wasn't uncommon for you and Jake to dance around the kitchen while cooking; both slow and quick Latin songs playing through the speakers. He loved to dance bachata, you loved to see him happy.

 Now your home is silent, the closeness complicated. The kitchen doesn't smell like spices anymore, and even the flat seems to have become darker. Maybe London has become darker, maybe the entire world has shunned the sun.

 Jake promises one day that he will never do it again. He waits for you to be in bed and slides under the covers. For a long time, he says nothing; he's still hesitating. Jake isn't sure he can keep this promise he is about to make. After all, he doesn't kill people because he likes it; he does it because they are necessary.

 Eventually, when he feels your breathing evening out, he knows if he doesn't do it you will never trust him again. And so he does it; unsure and scared, but is anyone ever not unsure and scared? he asks himself.

 You hug him tight then. It's the closest he's felt to you in a month. He's missed you more than he dares to admit. So he buries his hands in you, in your hair, your back, your shoulders, the back of your thighs. He doesn't want to let go. All he wants is for time to stop. If he could choose where to live for the rest of his life, he would live in the exact spot between your jaw and neck that his nose is caressing just now. He would die there, too.

 You're the only good thing in his life. Everyone knows that.

 Suddenly a month has passed, a more than reasonable amount of time for you to start letting your guard down. Jake has been so patient and careful that you start to feel like a fool for creating this awkward space between the two of you; although the truth is, it's not your fault.

 There are only fifteen days to your anniversary, or at least the start of it, as each of the boys takes an entire day to celebrate it with you. That makes your anniversary a weekend-long thing. With your anniversary so close, you feel an overwhelming sensation of hopelessness. And in the midst of your nostalgia for what you were, and loathing what you've become, you ask Jake to forget anything ever happened. He complies.

 The following is your day off, but Jake has work in the evening. Still, that doesn't stop him from scheduling a date. He takes you out for brunch to the most beautiful restaurant you've ever seen. You are seated on the inner patio. There is a fountain there, and the decoration is Bukowski books on small shelves and flowering vines on the walls.

 You sit on a pallet drilled into the wall. It has beautiful rainbow-coloured cushions to sit on. Jake takes the chair in front of you, but he's too far away for your liking. Instead, you take his arm and ask him to sit a bit closer. Jake takes the seat next to you, not even his flat cap concealing the happiness glowing in his eyes. As he sits down, as if by a reflex, he puts one of his hands on your thigh. He caresses your knee for a few seconds before taking the menu and placing it in front of you to decide what you both will be having, together.

 Two hours later both of you are taking a walk in Hyde Park. It's January, but the sun is shining over your heads anyway. Jake has never been one to be affectionate in public, but now he has his arm around your shoulders as you walk. Your face hurts from laughing and smiling. This is exactly what you missed, just what you needed. It all gets worse when, just before you leave, a squirrel chases Jake across the parking lot.

 Jake drives you home, he drives slowly through London because he doesn't want to let you go. He doesn't want today to end. He stops the car at the beginning of the street because there's a street market today and he can't get through. He stops the car there, double-parked because it is impossible to park anywhere else in the city. He gets out of his limousine at the same time you do. With a quick, determined step he circles the limousine, and you wonder what the hell he's doing. Then, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. His lips brush yours, it's barely a caress until it's not. All you feel is him, his love, his warmth, the fabric of his driving gloves on your cheeks.

 "Thank you," he whispers.

 It feels like an I love you, so you take it that way.

 Unfortunately, the honeymoon phase lasted just one more day.

 He had no other choice, he wouldn't have ever risked another fight with you if he had the option not to. In fact, it was an accident. The fault wasn't entirely his. Yet Jake was so scared that you could see what he had done in his eyes, through his soul, that he drove to the other end of London and fell asleep in the back of the limo, on the plain floor.

 Steven had panicked so much that his consciousness disconnected. He was nowhere to be found. Marc, on the other hand, was going through all five stages of grief. He had gone from calling him every single insult in the English language to denying that Jake had done anything. By the time Jake decided to get back home, Marc was in full depression stage. Thinking of the worst.

 Even if he wanted to shut down the way his alters were doing, he couldn't. Jake cared for the others to an obsessive extent. All his life, he had taken the hard punches. He had killed so the others wouldn't have to, he had taken his mother's beatings with not a single tear shed, he took insults and humilliations; he took Elias' calls begging Marc to come back home when he ran away, he took the hardest parts of military training and most life-or-death situations that followed.

 He took Khonshu. He was still taking Khonshu.

 Marc and Steven had enough of the god, but someone had to do the work anyways. After all, the pigeon had only freed the other two. And if Moon Knight and Mr Knight wouldn't fight, then Jake Lockley would have to do. Someone had to protect the travellers of the night, that's what Khonshu had said when Jake asked him to free him as well.

 He was still debating what to do, whether to keep it from you or not, when Steven made the decision for him.

 "Jake," he spoke, appearing out of nowhere. "If you don't tell her yourself, I will."

 He grabbed the steering wheel tight. He saw red for a split second, then focused on the road ahead.

 "What?" he almost barked.

 "You heard me."

 "Si será hijueputa- Who do you think you are?"

 Steven said nothing else despite Jake's attempts to provoke him. His silence only made him even more nervous. He insulted him for twenty minutes, called him things he didn't really mean, until eventually, he stopped.

 "Okay, Steven, have it your way," he said. "Just give me some time to think how."

 "You have an hour."

 The image Jake formed on his mind was nowhere close to the moments following his confession. Yet it was somehow even worse. The smile from your face vanished quickly into a thin line, your eye became dull, absorbed by something far away from there. Whatever you were thinking, whatever images were playing inside your brain, he just hoped it wasn't him covered in blood.

 Your sight was lost somewhere on the small dots that covered the kitchen table, round wounds in the wood like gunshots. Your index flew to one of them, rubbing your fingertips against it for a few seconds, then giving up and lifting your head to look at him again. Crossing your arms over your chest as if you were cold.

 "What do you expect me to do now?" you asked. If death had a voice, Jake was certain it would sound like yours. "You promis-."

 "I know," he said. He inhaled oxygen, but seemed to exhale despair. He moved quickly from where he was standing at the other end of the table. With a squeak he took the chair right next to you and sat down. "I don't expect you to forgive me, but I had to-"

 "You had to." you spat. "Was someone pointing a gun to your head?"

 "Actually, yeah..." he responded, lips pressed as not to laugh. He forgot to mention he was also caught by the throat, until the other guy pulled the trigger and Jake moved his attacker's head in the trajectory of the bullet. "But I don't think that changes anything, does it?"

 He saw what he thought was doubt in your eyes. Although he could have easily have mistaken it for the misery drowning your pupils. Deep down —perhaps not so deep— Jake couldn't understand why you cared so much for these people. Sure, he didn't like to have other people's blood on his hands, but at the end of the day many of them deserved to be dead. Jake wasn't getting why there was so much fuss about the matter. All he cared about was you, though. And if you cared, that made the matter grow in importance. He didn't care about hurting his enemies the same way he didn't care if he found a wallet on the street and didn't return it; sure, it wasn't ideal, but it was their loss, not his.

 He took your hand the same way you had once done with Steven. He tried to comfort you somehow. Jake wasn't good with words. In fact, he didn't think he were any good with anything except his job, his work for Khonshu, and fucking your brains out. He had never had the need to protec anyone who didn't already live in his body; but he cared about you too much, and didn't want you to suffer.

 Then, you took your eyes out of his fingers warming your cold ones. With the same expression and voice but dry eyes, you spoke

 "I think we need to break up."

 Jake blinked a few times, nodded, too; but his mind had not caught up on the words. He looked at your eyes again, confused by your pitied expression.

 Then he chuckled, lips tightly closed.

 "What?"

 "I said..." a shaky breath came out of your mouth. "I said I... we need to break up."

 Jake felt his chest and throat close up, the bile still rising to his mouth somehow. He coughed once, when he felt the acid burning its path, then rose up from the chair, swallowed. When he got to the window, he realized he was shaking. A hand tugged from the roots of his hair.

 "¿Qué dijiste?" he asked, turning around to look at you. He looked at his reflexion in a mirror right next to his face, found his own face, not a trace of the others, but asked them anyway. "¿Qué dijo la pendejita esta?"

 Rage was quickly starting to burn up in his veins. Slowly, as not to scare him further, you walked closer.

 "I'm sorry, Jake," you told him, now your own eyes welling with tears. His arms wanted to take you, hold you, tell you everything is going to be fine; but you were only crying because you were hurting him. And you know it. And you know it. And he hates it.

 "Don't fucking-" he said, although he doesn't even know where the sentence is going. His body was not reacting to his command, not even breathing properly. He doesn't understand why his mouth tastes bitter, or why you're trying to hurt him saying that.

 He touched his face because there was something there bothering him. Dust, maybe a particle of something, an eyelash stuck in his eye, whatever. But when he touches it, his finger are wet.

 Oh, a tear.

 Before your body could make contact with his he held both your arms to stop you, his fingers curled around your forearms, your eyes filled with tears only half shed.

 "You can't," he said, then chuckled again like a madman. "You could never."

 He was so sure, too sure, there was not an ounce of doubt in his mind. He seemed so certain that his back straightened, his breathing evened out. He seemed calmed and it confused you. Were you driving him mad?

 "You can't," he repeated, halfway to a chuckle again. "You could never break up with the others, you love them way too much."

 His claim broke your own heart. The only reason Jake had for believing you would stay with him through thick and thin, was because he believed you wanted the others too much. The pieces of your heart crashed, splinters flew away, you could no longer feel it beating. You ached for him, but that didn't change anything.

 "Jake I'm not breaking up with the others," you said, and regretted there was not a kinder way of doing it. "I'm breaking up with you."

 He thought he heard a relieved breath then, and he lost it, completely lost it. It could have been the air coming in through the partially opened window, it could have been the tv still on, or even the kettle still complaining as the water cooled off. But he lost it all the same, not even knowing if the sound had come from Steven and Marc in the headspace or something entirely different. He took the mirror next to him and punched it, hard. The splinters covered his knuckles, blood rushed through the wounds to the to the rhythm of his heart.

 Violent people love violently.

 "Putos cabrones," he insulted them, but his tone was softer that he meant, breathy even.

 "Jake, baby... don't."

 He let you touch him this time. You kept still crying and he hated it. As his concern for you grew, so did his hatred. Your cold hands held both his cheeks, your lips pressed against his forehead just once. The blood staining his white shirt, his whole uniform. He had never gotten it ripped or even stained in a fight, and he was partially embarrassed that the first time he got it stained was because of his own blood, his own wounds.

 You kept saying things, words that he supposed should sound comforting. But he was not listening, not at all.

 "Why are you doing this to me?" he whispered, then his knees gave up under him. "I trusted you. I trusted you."

 "I can't." you told him, begging him to understand. "I had a relationship before, one where he would tell me he was going to change, promise me, and then go back to treating me the same, and I forgave him. And he would do the same thing to me again. And I forgave him. I can't go through that again, baby. Not again. Not with you."

 Jake wanted to scream. He wanted to ask you why you could be patient with others but had not the same patience for him. But he didn't. He stayed silent. He knew such a question would hurt you. Countless times had he hold you while you cried for your past, for how others had mistreated you. The thought that he had done the same was burying him alive. He wanted to melt, pass through the wooden planks on the floor, fall until he reached the barren land, then be swallowed by dirt itself; become nothing.

 He wiped the tears from his face, leaving a bloody trail wherever his fingers touched. You blinked in front of him a few times, shaky lips he wanted to kiss saying goodbye gave him, instead, a bit of hope.

 "Violence is easy, Jake, it's the easy path," you told him. "I can't- I won't be with another violent man. If you show me you can change, I promise you'll have me forever."

 He nodded. He had a mission now.

Tags:

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@bensolosbluesaber

@winter-captain-01

@dark-haired-and-mentally-ill

@mirrorballgarden

@zem0laufeys0n 

@murdickdocked

@ruhro7

@hb8301

@loonymagizoologist

@stuckybarton

@mendes-marvel

@spectrz

@loveofmoonandthunder

@azriel-the-shadowsinger

@devilish-mirage

@certifiedhunter

@excitedcurtain864

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@aleeb

@lilith-blackrose

[here-to-read-and-write]

Moon knight.

Steven x f!reader.

Eventually: Marc x f!reader, Jake x f!reader.

I don't own Moon knight charcaters, or the gif.

Third post in one day, this is amazing.

Wow, either way here you go my friend.

Ep 02:

time :24:17

_Hello (Y/N).

Steven smiled at your flowting form, that was sitting beside him, you were a ghost or that's what you told him you were, Unfortunatly, you can not tell him the whole truth.

In Steven's eyes you were something he possessed only him, his own angel guardien. Not the little American man inside of him, you were his friend that showed him the right path, and you never had been wrong. You always right!

You never lied to him, and you told him everything, well not everything, but enough for him to understand where he stood.

You had helped him when no one wanted to and you never thought of him as weird, you were his guarden angel. You even laughed at his stupid jokes.

You hated the nickname. He thought, you would rather be called a blood thirsty monster than an angel.

_What happened?

You raised an eyebrow, and he couldn't help but let out a small giggle, not from hapiness, but how silly this may be to you.

_Well…Well you see..I know you wouldn't beleive but..but there someone inside of me…He want to take my body..His name is Mark..He was the one that broke the toiletes…He want to take my body and kill people…and I was kidnapped when they thought I was him..You see..

Before he could continue, the door opened and he fallen head first.

_Steven!

You eyes widen as you flowted beside him. You tried to touch him, but when it pass through, you draw them back in disappointment.

_Listen Steven..

He turn you way, ignoring the man in front of him. Steven will always put you first no matter the situation, and he was ready to listen to whatever you say.

_Whatever this man says to you, don't beleive him. Did you hear?

Steven nodded rapiddly, like an obedient child.

_He is a liar, just like the skeleton bird over there.

He was glad the bird couldn't see you, or he would have done something to you, after all the insult you throw his way. Since he appeared in Steven's life one year after you did.

Looking at the bad guy in fornt of him, he thought as he tried to stop his tears "I'm counting on you (Y/N)".

He really is, you were his only chance to get out of this mess.

[ninebluehearts]

MY BRAINS GONE BLANK AAAAHHHH-

since im obsessed with dorm room mark (by @) maybe reader/OC going on a date being in a relationship and it becomes serious and it suddenly creeping up on marc how much he misses her aka marc being in loOvE. but he thinks he's not good enough for her bc it marc so self loathing :((

idk its 10pm i tried

I'M OBSESSED-

Summary: Marc is overwhelmingly in love with you. You're overwhelming in love, just not with Marc..

Warnings: Some serious sadness up ahead, my dudes.

A/n: First fic in awhile y'all! Hope you enjoy it!

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

Marc slumped against the frame of your bedroom door, watching as you swiped the wand of a red lip gloss across your lips for the second time, concealing the pink of your lips with the dark red liquid.

"You look like a hooker." Marc said, a smirk creeping onto his lips as you glared at him. "A lovely hooker, if it makes you feel any better."

"You're not funny." You said, shoving the wand back into it's respective tube and tossing it into your makeup bag, knowing you'd be back for it later into the night. "Does it really look bad?" You asked as you swiped your finger under your bottom lip to remove the excess gloss.

"Where are you going? I thought we were gonna watch Ferris Bueller's Day Off and eat the brownies I made?"

"Out." You zipped up your black, thigh high boots and threw your bag over your shoulder, brushing past Marc and heading to the bathroom.

Marc followed you, leaning against the closed door. "So, you're gonna ditch me for Marvin again?"

"You know that's not his name!" You stifled a laugh, not wanting to reward Marc's petty jokes. "It's Mark with a K and you know it." You said as you pulled open the bathroom door, tossing the hand towel at Marc.

"Yeah, Melvin. That's what I said." Truth be told, Marc felt guilty for loving the fact that they basically had the same name. It meant that late in the night, when you thought Marc was asleep across the dorm, and when you screamed Mark's name, Marc could pretend it was his own. It always felt so, so wrong. But also so, so right.

You rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around Marc's neck as you pulled him into a quick, tight hug. "If I'm up for it, we can do your thing when I get back, okay?"

Marc just nodded, trying to be discreet as he buried his face in your neck and took a deep breath, relishing in the scent of your perfume against your warm skin. It was truly intoxicating.

Before you pulled away, you leaned up and gave Marc a small peck on his cheek, leaving a red kiss mark on the skin. "Oh shit- sorry about that," You said with a laugh, hurrying towards the door. "I'll see you later."

Once the door was closed, Marc slowly reached up and gently touched his cheek, chills running down his spine as he replayed the moment over in his mind. "I love you." He whispered, knowing you would never love him the same way he loved you.

-

You never did come home. Marc knew this because he fell asleep on the couch waiting for you last night. He woke up with brownie crumbs on his shirt and the main menu for Farris Bueller's Day Off on the TV. "At least I had a good time last night." He mumbled to himself, taking a sip of his warm beer that had been left on the coffee table for the past six hours.

You know that's not true, mate.

The voice in the back of his mind said to him, though he continued to ignore it like he always did. He picked up the glass container that held what was left of his brownies and the warm beer and left them on the kitchen counter.

After that, Marc took a long, hot shower, waiting until the water turned to freezing to slowly scrub the smeared, red stain off of his cheek. A sense of defeat washed over him; defeat, guilt, and anger. You weren't his. You never would be. He had no right to feel this way. And the more he told himself that, the worse he felt.

When Marc left the bathroom to grab a shirt from his room, you were standing in the kitchen with Mark, both of you so engulfed in each other's kiss that neither of you noticed him standing there.

Marc walked back to his room and slammed the door, finally pulling you back to reality. "Marc?" You called out, dashing over to knock on his door. "Hey! I'm sorry I didn't make it home last night. We fell asleep watching a movie." But you were met with absolute silence. "Marc?" You knocked on the door again, but still received no answer.

You felt two arms wrap around you from behind, followed by Marks face pressing against your neck. "Hey, I've gotta go."

"Okay. I'll see you tonight?" You turned around to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into another lengthy kiss.

"Definitely." He breathlessly whispered against your lips. "Unless I pay a visit to you around lunch?" He said with a smirk, his hand slipping down your back to grab your ass.

"Mark!" You squealed with a laugh, reluctantly pushing him away.

"I'll text you." Mark gave you one last kiss, then went on his way.

You rolled your eyes, a stupid smile stuck on your lips. You knocked on Marc's door once again, jiggling the lock this time. "Let me in Marc! I've gotta talk to you!"

Silence.

"Fine, I'll talk through the door." You slipped down to the floor and sighed. "Ughh, I think I'm in love. I just had the best night of my life with Mark. He took me to that fancy restaurant that I've been dying to try, then we went to his friend's house to have a game night, then we went back to his place to watch When Harry Met Sally. Amazing, right?"

Silence.

You reached up and knocked on the door again. "Are you mad because I didn't eat your weed brownies Marc Spector? Because now is not the time to be petty, my love!" You called out with a small giggle.

Silence.

"Well, I hope you come out later, because I'm getting us drinks to celebrate tonight! But for now I gotta get to class." You stood up and brushed off your dress, then pressed your hand against Marc's door. "I love you Marc. God, you're like the brother I never had. You're my best friend." After a moment of waiting for an answer, you walked away, a small pit of disappointment twisted around in your stomach when you were once again met with silence.

Once Marc heard your bedroom door shut across the dorm, he finally allowed the broken sob he had been holding in to come out. And once it was out, there was no stopping the others that followed it out, each one racking his body harder than the last.

Marc Spector had fallen in love with you, and he couldn't see a way out.

Taglist: @hot-mess-express1

[late-to-the-party-81]

This evening has been so very nice

AN: Hello folks! After the chaos of Kinktober I’ve been taking a little break, but also working on this for the Thot Neighbourhood Discord Server Secret Santa.

I drew @yarnforbrains - I hope you enjoy this, my darling Dani. This is my first time writing for the Moon Knight boys, so I hope I did them justice.

My prompts were Winter Wonderland, Lyrics from 'Baby it's cold outside' and a picture from a German Christmas Market.

NB- I have no experience with people with DID, but did a load of reading from this website

Beta’d by @sidepartskinnyjeans, Spanish help from @aquariusbarnes

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Moodboard by me

Masterlist

Relationships: Steven Grant x plus sized Reader, Marc Spector x plus sized Reader and Jake Lockley x plus sized Reader

Word count: 4k

CW: Fluff, drinking, PDA, explicit sexual content (Oral - F receiving, Rough PinV sex, unprotected sex, cum eating), swearing.

You hurried through the dark streets, your scarf flapping around your neck and your bobble hat pulled down tight on your head. As much as you loved this time of year, sometimes the cold got too much, even for you. However, you could almost feel the Christmas cheer seeping into you as you neared your destination, and therefore your boyfriend. Or was it boyfriends? You’d admit you still had a lot to learn about dating multiple members of a DID system.

The lights ahead of you were bright and you couldn’t help but smile as you walked into the hubbub of the German Christmas themed farmer’s market. Alongside the usual stalls selling honey, vegetables and homemade items there were gaily decorated huts selling mulled wines and ciders, strong german beers, bratwurst and an array of sweet treats. Lights were strung everywhere, carols played over speakers and children squealed as they went round and round on the vintage style carousel. You felt as though you’d stepped into a winter wonderland.

You turned in a circle, taking it all in, but also trying to find your boyfriend in the crowd, a near impossible feat it seemed. Pulling out your phone, you checked your messages, but there wasn’t a new one indicating where you should meet. With a small huff, you decided he could come to you. However, just as you were about to press send on your message for him to meet you in front of the singing moose, a pair of hands covered your eyes from behind.

“Oi-oi, saveloy!”

You spun around with a squeal and threw your arms around his neck.

“Steven!”

You were happy to see the mild mannered alter. He was always so sweet to you. You pressed a kiss to his lips and smiled as a blush made its way up his neck and onto his cheeks. He got embarrassed easily with public displays of affection stronger than hand holding. It was cute.

“So you’re my date this evening then?”

“Yes. Well at the moment, anyhow. The lads and I had a chat and divvied up the night, so to speak…” He stopped speaking suddenly, looking at you earnestly, head tilted slightly to the side. “ I mean, if that’s okay with you?”

You beamed at him, cupping his face and rubbing your nose against his.

“It sounds great. Now, where are we off to first?” Steven twined your fingers together, kissed your knuckles and with a smile dragged you towards the carousel.The pair of you laughed and squealed just like the children from earlier as you bobbed up and down on your horses as the ride spun round and round.The cheerful organ music reminded you of the Christmas’ of your childhood, but the thing that made you giggle the most was Steven trying to get on and then off his horse, sliding on the smooth surface. He was adorably clumsy sometimes.

After the carousel you walked around the food stalls, your head leaning on Steven’s shoulder, inhaling the scent of his cologne. There was more laughter between you as you both chose foot long german sausages that hung out of the bun at each end, setting off immature fits of giggles from you both. It was impractical to eat them as you walked, so you managed to find a space in one of the market shelters, set up with trash cans and perching stools.

You both chatted about your days as you ate, taking it in turns to lean over and wipe mustard and ketchup off each other’s cheeks. When you sucked a bit of sauce off your thumb you saw a flash in his eye, which made you smile even more. While Steven looked quiet and demure from the outside, you knew how he could get if the mood took him. Although, that flash could easily have been either Marc or Jake coming briefly to the surface. 

Napkins and cardboard trays thrown in the trash, you grabbed Steven’s hand.

“Let’s look at the stalls. I saw some cute wooden ornaments, and some snow globes.”

“Whatever you want, babes. Your wish is my command.”  He made a dramatic bow in front of you, like a fairy tale prince, and you giggled once again. You didn’t know what you’d done to deserve such a handsome, sweet guy like Steven, but you thanked the universe daily.

After some retail therapy, where you’d managed to pick up a few gifts for family members, Steven steered you towards the sideshows.

“I’m sure you’ll have fun and excel at these, babes, but they’re not really my forte. Hate to love you and leave you.” He leant forward and pressed his lips to yours, in a soft and sweet kiss. 

When the pressure against your mouth hardened slightly, becoming less sweet and more spicy, you knew that Marc had made his appearance.

Stepping back, you looked up into his eyes. Marc was ‘harder’ around the edges than Steven. He stood straighter, with more confidence in both his body and expression. Reaching into the inner pocket of his coat, he pulled out a baseball cap and set it atop his head, before sliding his arms around your waist and smiling down at you.

“Hey, baby. Have fun with Steven?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m all shopped out and full of hotdog, but if you wanted to win me the giant teddy bear, I wouldn’t say no.”

“Consider it won, Angel.”

He led you over to one of the stalls, a shooting game with battered bb rifles chained to the counter. The targets, bobbing up and down, and moving side to side at the back, were elves peeking out of boxes and reindeer flying across the sky. There were even a pair of black boots moving up and down out of a fake chimney.

Handing over some cash to the stall owner, Marc picked up one of the rifles with cocky assurance, flashing you a grin, before tucking the stock up against his shoulder. He watched the motion of the targets for a few moments, getting a feel for the pattern and speed. With a squeeze of the trigger a spherical piece of metal flew across the space and landed with a ‘thunk’... three inches to the right of the target. You tried, and failed, to suppress a giggle as Marc scowled, looking over the rifle with a huff. Then, without a word, he raised it up again and let of a series of shots across the target area, the chimes of metal hitting metal ringing out one after the other, much to the frustration of the stall holder. You squealed and bounced on your toes as the massive polar bear wearing a santa hat was begrudgingly handed over. Leaning across the huge stuffy, you pressed kisses all over Marc’s cheeks and lips.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

His arms went around your waist and he spun you around until you were both dizzy and laughing, uncaring about the spectacle you were creating. Eventually Marc slowed you down and pulled you into a short, but deep, kiss that left you both breathless.

“Come on, Angel. Let’s check out the other games.”

The pair of you laughed as you played ‘hook a duck’, then skeeball and then failed abysmally at the ring toss.

“I’m sure it’s rigged,” Marc grumbled. You silently agreed with him. It was unlikely that your highly trained boyfriend couldn’t beat a fair version. “Let’s go sit and get a drink instead. I think there’s a mulled wine and cider shack around the corner.”

“There’s an idea I can get behind. Lead the way, my Prince of sideshows.” 

The temperature had dropped over the last hour and you could feel the cold burning at your nose and cheeks, so when the pair of you made your way into the brightly lit, wooden bar, you let out a sigh of relief. The small space was crowded with other market patrons and you were grateful for Marc’s presence, as you squeezed through the press of bodies, along with your bear and shopping bags, to get to a small table in the corner. 

“Sit tight, sweetheart and I’ll be back.” 

The smile he flashed you made your heart jump and your core pulse. As you watched him walk off to the bar, unashamedly watching his ass inside his slacks, an electronic squeal caught your attention. In the other corner of the bar was a small raised stage, with a couple of microphones, speakers and a large monitor; a karaoke set up. A pair of giggling blonde girls were making their way up onto the dais, talking to the man who appeared to be in charge. What occurred next was what could only be described as two cats screeching along to the backing track of Whitney Houston’s ‘I’m Every Woman’. Marc returned to your table part way through the rendition, placing the steaming glass mug in front of you, the red, fragrant liquid with bits of orange peel floating in it, sloshing gently.  You cupped it in your hands, warming them on it and inhaling the heady scent of red wine, spices and citrus.

Marc’s foot toyed with yours under the table, and despite the caterwauling you could feel the romance. You were so lucky that you’d been able form such strong relationships with both of Marc’s main alters. It made all your lives much easier, having those connections, with none of them feeling guilty if they appeared unplanned; you loved them all equally.

The atmosphere, and the second cup of wine, lulled you into relaxation and you knew you had a dopey, slightly buzzed look on your face. You pulled his hand across the table, turning it so it was palm up. With your index finger you started to trace patterns across his skin.

“Marc…” You let out a dramatic, needy whine. A wry smile spread on his face as he looked at you.

“Yes, Angel?”

“Come sing with me. I wanna do karaoke.  We’d be so much better than these guys.”

He rolled his eyes, but you knew he’d say yes. He always indulged you, and you weren’t above taking advantage of that once in a while.

His hand tightened on yours and pulled you to your feet. 

“Come on then - do you know which song you want to do?”

You nodded in reply, your lower lip pulled between your teeth, as you both made your way to the stage. As Marc sorted out the microphones you gave your song request to the DJ. With your performance confirmed you moved to stand next to Marc, taking one of the microphones from him and looping your free arm through his. The short piano intro played and you saw a smile of recognition on your boyfriend’s face, before you breathily sung your first line.

“I really can’t stay…”

Marc didn’t miss a beat before leaning towards you, crooning.

“But, Baby, it’s cold outside…”

“I’ve got to go away…”

“But, Baby it’s cold outside…”

His voice was deep and velvety, a soft caress across your soul. His eyes bored into yours, and you were helpless to look away as you sang to each other. You weren’t sure when it happened, but at some point during the song the playful lightness decreased and the banked heat between you began to rise. When your voices came together in a final, synchronous crescendo you didn’t know if your racing heartbeat was due to the unaccustomed effort of singing or because your mind was already imagining all the things that Marc would do to you when you got back to your apartment. You didn’t notice the applause and cheers from the audience in the wine shack, because all there was was Marc, the way his arm was around your waist, his eyes locked on yours, his breath warm on your lips…

The world lurched as he dipped you, pressing his mouth to yours and kissing you with unreserved passion. You returned the kiss, forgetting for a moment that you were in public, and not in either of your apartments. However, before you could embarrass yourself any further, Marc pulled back, his dark eyes filled with lust.  Whoops and hollers surrounded you, but you just blinked at him, slightly dazed.

“Let’s get outta here, Angel. I’ll just get your bags.” Marc dashed away to collect your things from the table, and you passed the microphones back to the grinning DJ, your face heated. You were glad for the warmth flooding your body as you stepped back out into the cold air, Marc holding your bags and with his body almost pressed up against your back. You quickly re-wrapped your scarf and jammed your hat on your head, before grabbing one of the bags from Marc so you could slip your hand in his. He grinned, a devilish smile lighting up his face before he practically dragged you out of the market and towards the main road.

With a shrill whistle, which pierced the night air like a stiletto knife, he’d hailed a cab and hustled you inside it. He rattled off your address to the cabby, and then he was kissing you again. The bags and the teddy were jammed against your legs, and your big coat, scarf and hat were getting in the way, but you didn’t care. You didn’t recall much of the ride, nor getting through your door, other than the rush to shed your outer clothes and kick off your shoes. You did register the moment your back bounced off the hallway wall as Marc steered you down it towards your bedroom, as you chuckled into his kiss and he growled back comically.

You both fell to the bed in a tangle, but working together to remove all and any clothes between you. You moaned as Marc’s lips fastened over one of your nipples, sucking the swollen flesh in to his mouth. At the same time one of his hands roamed over your soft body, stroking you and slowly making his way between your thighs.

Those deft fingers found their way without hesitation between your folds, spreading your wetness before teasing your clit into a firm peak. He teased it mercilessly, stroking and caressing it, giving it light pinches that made lightning dart across your vision, as his mouth swapped between your lush breasts, worshipping them.

“Marc!” You cried out his name as a plea, a plea for more. He lifted his head and you looked at him, glassy eyed, taking in the mess of his hair where you’d been gripping it without realising. He grinned once more, travelling down your body.

His lips kissed, sucked and nipped at your skin, leaving small marks in their wake. He saved the strongest bite for when he reached your hip. You’d realised early on in your relationship that it was one of Marc’s particular quirks; he loved the softness of your hips. How when he gripped them your flesh spilt between his fingers. How they held the evidence of his passion for you. He loved to decorate them with bite marks, finger marks, hickeys. When Stephen saw the mottled blemishes he’d stroke them gently and ask if you wanted him to apply ointment. When Jake saw them he’d just snort knowingly and grin. 

When your lover was level with the apex of your plump thighs, the hand that had been teasing you left you so he could push your legs further apart, hooking your knees over his shoulders.  Without preamble he fastened his lips to your core, drinking from it as though you alone could slake his thirst. He pulled moans and cries from your throat as you fisted the sheets, already hurtling towards your orgasm. His fingers joined his mouth and tongue, delving into your wet heat, stroking you, stretching you. Shivers raced over your heated skin, the way you were dragging air into your lungs leaving you dizzy. The force of Marc’s lovemaking never failed to leave you startled.

You came with a scream, open-mouthed and uninhibited, uncaring that Mrs Smith next door would probably shoot you daggers in the morning. Marc’s arm clamped across your abdomen, holding you to him as he continued to feast, drawing out every tremble, every whimper from your body, until you went loose and lax beneath him.

“Fuuuuuuck…”

You lay, dazed on the bed as Marc kissed his was back up you. You felt him smile against your skin until he was finally eye level with you again and you gave him a breathy smile before drawing him close and kissing him, deeply.

“I love you, Angel. I could spend all night dragging those noises from you and be satisfied. But a bit like the Ghost of Christmas Present, my time with you for the evening is almost over.”

In your lust addled state, you’d almost forgotten about Jake. You were torn. You didn’t want Marc to go, but it had been a while since you’d spent the night with the most reclusive off the alters, and had to admit the thought of it was exciting. Where Marc made love, Jake fucked. He fucked hard and feral. He left you aching after for days in the most delicious way.

Marc could obviously see the indecision in your expression. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m only a tiny bit jealous. I’m sure I’ll see you again tomorrow at some point, and I wouldn’t have missed out on our evening for anything.”

He kissed you again, his passion almost overwhelming. The hands around you tightened, the firm body rolling to be fully on top of you, leaving you in no doubt who was in charge. Jake had arrived.

You knew he was the most dangerous of your boys, birthed in the darkest moments of Marc’s army career; A way for his mind to cope with horrors he’d not only seen, but had to carry out.

As he raised his head you saw his hard eyes looking at you like a wolf looked at his prey. A shiver of anticipation racked your body.

“Buenas noches, mi cielo”

You dug your nails into his shoulder blades and nipped at his stubbled jaw.

“Hi, Jakey. Long time, no see.”

He shrugged a little, as if to say it was no big deal.

“No, don’t be like that.” You moved your hands to cup his face and force him to look at you. “You ever need me, I’m here. You matter as much as the others. I love you as much as the others. You don’t need to hide from me.”

“No me escondo, mujer.”

“Well then turn up more often for me then. Cos now you’re here…” your lips travelled up to his ear lobe and gave it a sharp tug with your teeth. “I need you to fuck me. Fuck me, Jake. Let’s fuck off Mrs Smith like we’ve never fucked her off before.”

His eyes narrowed, but before you had a chance to wonder what he was planning, you found yourself flipped onto your stomach, your hips yanked up, and a strong calloused hand on the back of your neck, pressing your cheek into the coverlet.

“¡Mantente abajo!”

“Not like I can go anywhere with you pinning me like… oh god!”  Your snarky retort was cut short as Jake pushed three of his fingers into you without warning.

“Marc got you so wet, mi amor.” 

Fuck, you loved his accent.

He pumped his wrist, and although you couldn’t see his face you could imagine him looking at your stuffed pussy, watching your juices, which you could hear squelching lewdly, spill out around his digits and run down your thighs. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he curled them, the most indelicate sound making its way past your lips.

“That’s it, cariño, be loud for me. Let the whole world know how good I am making you feel.”

He was merciless as he fingered you, seeming to revel in every salacious noise his movements pulled from your throat.

“Si, sing for me, pajarito. You sound beautiful.”

“Jake! Oh god! Fuck!”

Your legs shook as you came, and you were glad that you were mostly lying down, otherwise you would have collapsed. Your orgasm had barely finished when Jake pulled his fingers from you, with a wet, smacking sound. You heard him sucking on them, muttering under his breath, too low for you to really catch, and then he was pushing into you. Your eyes that had fluttered closed during your throws of ecstasy flew open, as he ploughed into you. One hand on your hip, the other still on the back of your neck, this was primal, feral fucking, and it was just what you wanted.

“Fuck, yes! Fuck me, Jake. Fuck me, hard!”

Jake shifted behind you, pressing his whole body against yours, his weight pushing down on your ass. Your legs slid out from under you and he followed you down, still pounding his cock into you, ferociously. 

“You want it hard? Then I’ll give you hard. You will feel me in tu coño for days.” 

He withdrew abruptly, but easily manhandled you over onto your back. He sunk back in, just as hurriedly, before hooking your legs over his muscular forearms and planting his hand on the mattress either side of your chest. Your legs were spread wide and your body folded in half as he rose up on his knees and started up his sweet torture. Each animalistic thrust pushed more noises and curses from you, rambling nonsensical sounds of lust and desire.

His thick cock was rubbing you just right on the inside, and the trimmed hair at the base of it rubbed over your engorged clit. You could feel yourself falling into that delicious spiral - the push and pull of sensation dragging you towards your inevitable, and explosive, end. 

“Mírame, amor.”

You hadn’t even realised your eyes were closed, but at his gruff command, you managed to open them slightly, taking in the fierce look on his face, the sweat peppering his brow, causing his hair to curl more.

“Cum, cariño. Let me feel you coming undone.”

He leant forward, capturing your lips again in an unforgiving kiss, a kiss that felt as though he was trying to pull your soul from you, and as he dragged that part of you from your body, he also dragged your orgasm from you. He let your lips go right at the moment that you screamed out your pleasure, with all the air in your lungs. Your vision went simultaneously black and white, your eyes unable to see anything but static as the waves of ecstasy dashed you on the rocks.

How long you lay there, dazed, you weren’t sure, but you came back to yourself to the feeling of Jake gently mouthing at your core. 

No, not Jake. It didn’t feel like him.

A change in your breathing must have given away your more alert state, because he raised his head, smiling softly. You reached out your hand to weave into his soft hair.

“Steven. When did you get here?”

“You know aftercare is my thing, babes. Now just lay back and let me clean you up, alright?”

You let yourself relax back into your messed up bed, enjoying the soft sensations as Stephen licked and stroked you. Your body juddered with a gentle, final orgasm, lulling you to the edge of sleep. A few dips of the mattress and two strong arms  pulled up the coverlet before wrapping around your body, a few gentle kisses pressed to the corner of your mouth.

“You staying?” you questioned, sleepily.

“Of course, babes. It’s cold outside.”

Taglist: @christywantspizza @jobean12-blog @tuiccim @bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky @maladaptivexxdaydreaming @krissy25 @bodeckersdiamonddoll @goldylions @ohsymphony @luxeavenger @wheezy-stucky @doasyoudesireandlive @talia-rumlow

[hederasgarden]

Please I’m begging you to write something more for reader x Marc Spector x Layla el faouly. I just loved your fic so much and polyamory is a topic that’s 0 discussed on this app specifically with these two love birds. I’m thinking of some angst tho like reader feeling like a burden for Layla and Marc because they had a life together before her and them just reassuring her and maybe some smut but romantic and soft. I love when Layla cares for reader so much, my bi heart melts every time ;( ❤️

I feel like no one really read my Layla x reader x Marc fic so it warms my heart to get this message!

Layla would be the best girlfriend in the world. I adore her. I wish we had more throuple fics with them and a reader.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

I Need to rearrange marcs guts.

Me too Anon, me too.

More Than Everything

Marc Spector x GN!AFAB!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• ko-fi •

Summary: Marc gets his guts rearranged.

Warnings: pegging, reader is wearing a strap that jizzes, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 663

Marc practically sobs as he buries his face into the mattress and clutches the pillow to his chest. He’s holding it so tightly his knuckles have paled. 

Every muscle is tense, every nerve on edge as his body sings with pleasure. 

He hiccups, trying to get his words out but his own moans cut him off. He didn’t think it would feel so good in this position, face down ass up with you pounding into him with the strap. 

Your thighs smack against the back of his, jolting him forward with every thrust as he drools onto the bedding. His knees tingling with carpet- well, bed sheet -burn that goes straight to his leaking cock. 

“B-baby,” he groans, his voice weak and horse from bliss. “S-so good,” he cries out again as you continuously hit that special spot inside, making him slowly fall apart at the seams. 

It’s like he’s drowning in pleasure, every cell thumping in time with his heartbeat. He can’t escape it, can’t stop it even if he tried. His body moves automatically, overriding any sentient thought as it chases his orgasm that threatens to be more than overwhelming. 

His cock throbs, bobbing and slapping up against his stomach with every sharp snap of your hips. Sensations rupture through it, shooting up from deep inside to his balls before running all along his length. It’s like you're everywhere, everything, in the air he breathes and getting him drunk on bliss. 

He’d happily stay like this forever, mind buzzing and too full of your strap to even think, unable to worry or panic or internalise anything. Only to take and take and take whatever you give him, to let you use him and take care of him and make him feel so, so good. 

Marc cries out loudly as you press against him, widening your stance but spreading your knees further and pushing his further apart in the process. 

“Okay?” You mutter, there’s a hint of exertion in your voice, sweat beading on your forehead. 

He nods rapidly, eyes squeezed shut as he squirms and sobs. “Please!”

You pick up your pace, smacking into him harder, just how he likes, how he craves. 

His whine is like music to your ears as he shakes. 

You press your hand flat to his lower back, pushing down, making him arch more, practically present himself to you and he screams as the tip of the strap strokes along his prostate, rubs deliciously against the bundle of nerves. 

“I’m,” he swallows, pants, his eyes rolling back, “I’m gonna come, please!”  

“You gonna come Marc? Can’t hold on any longer? Gonna make a mess because you like my cock that much?” 

He cries out, groaning deep and guttural as his balls draw up, tense and spasm as pleasure overrides every cell, every fibre. He comes hard, spilling all over the bed, his release splashing against his stomach from the force of it. 

He sobs, calling out your name, practically forgetting his own as he keeps shaking, keeps coming, clawing against the pillow as he tries to escape from the relentless pleasure. 

Marc breathes deeply, barely conscious after having his back blown out that hard. Tears squeeze out of the corner of his eyes, leaving snail trails along his skin.

You grab his hips, pulling out of him and push him over and onto his back. (Avoiding the wet patch that is slowly spreading.) 

You jerk the strap once, twice before you squeeze the tip, forcing the milky white lube held in the chamber out of the tip to spurt all over Marc’s balls and stomach. 

He groans, biting his lip, his eyes snapping open as he watches and shivers. “Fuccccck…” His breathing hitches, his eyes dark as you rub the lube into his skin. His tender muscles jump under your fingers and his cock twitches as you caress his balls. 

You smile at him. “Was it everything you wanted?” 

He nods, blissed out, “More than everything.” 

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho

@steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie

@silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom

@alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings  @spxctorsslxt

@novarosewood

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[heartthrobin]

press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n

an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers

summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.

Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.

He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?

In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.

Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.

Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.

He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.

Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.

Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.

The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"

Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.

By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.

There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.

Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.

Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.

It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.

"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"

Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.

The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.

Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.

"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.

He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."

"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.

"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."

Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."

Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.

He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.

It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--

"Steven don't even think about it--"

Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.

As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."

Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."

Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"

Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."

"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.

"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.

"Jesus, Steven."

Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.

"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"

An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."

"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.

"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.

"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.

"Who's birthday is it?"

Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"

"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.

"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.

Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"

Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"

You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"

Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.

You blushed a velvety red.

"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"

"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."

Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."

He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.

"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."

Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?

"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.

"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.

"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."

Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.

"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"

"Let her respond, Steven."

But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.

"So, uh, yeah."

"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"

Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."

You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"

"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."

You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."

"Thanks."

"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.

"Uh-- and you are?"

"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.

Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.

"It's ... it's a beautiful name."

You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."

His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."

Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.

"Good job, Stevie."

-

Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.

Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”

His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”

-

In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.

Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.

Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”

But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.

Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.

He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.

Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.

When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.

“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.

You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”

It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.

Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.

“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”

Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.

He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.

“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.

Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”

It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.

He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.

The day passed like most of them do.

The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.

Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.

Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.

He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.

A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--

"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."

The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.

Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.

"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"

"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."

He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”

Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.

“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”

Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.

“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”

“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.

The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.

“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”

With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."

"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"

"Of course."

Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.

When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.

"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.

The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.

Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.

With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.

"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"

The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.

Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.

“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.

“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”

Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”

“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”

“And you’re very beautiful.”

The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”

Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”

An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”

“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“

A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.

The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.

Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.

He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.

“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.

He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.

In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.

Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.

“Steven?”

The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.

He didn’t.

Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.

Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”

If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.

“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.

“When?”

Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”

Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“

He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.

“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.

He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.

They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.

B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.

“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”

-

taglist:

@pcrushinnerd @since-im-already-here @am-3-thyst @aug-ust69 @hangmanslover @suddenlysteven @nxonlights @lwjmoonchild7 @o-zenith-o @amasdaydream @may-tulip @skarrkiie @thought-u-said-dragon-queen @lxne20 @sangwoahsbat @orihimi-19 @purple-amaranthe @autismsupermusicalassassin @mt2sssss @angie2274 @dancing-pinky-flower @y2kbratzqouturr @brekkers-desigirl @its-me-ya-boi-lisa @softdvng0dness87 @venomous-ko @grilled-steak @emily-roberts @airzonaaa @yomoms-stuff @mess-of-fandom @winter-soul @insomniacrobyn

i couldn't tag some of you, just check that your settings allow for mentions :))

[starryevermore]

hide and seek ✧ steven grant & marc spector

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

request: I had a writing idea for steven/Marc. I more or less live in a fanfic fantasy most of the time and I been wondering. What if the reader had been dating steven, knows about his alters but haven't met them, and one night. You're sleeping at his place and you just see moonknight himself walk in the door before changing back to Marc. And not only is that the first meeting marc but the reader is terrified bc scary masked man is actually boyfriend? And I am at a loss of what would happen in the hours and days after seeing that. I found you on wattpad and love your work - valatheapprentice 

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader x marc spector

summary: you have yet to meet steven’s other half, but when you see him on accident after coming home from a mission, you realize you can’t keep this game up anymore. 

word count: 1,110

warnings?: pet name (love), not proofread

It wasn’t often that you stayed over at Steven’s flat. While Steven had learned that his sleeping disorder was actually DID and the reason he’d wake up with days completely missing was because Marc had been fronting, he was still nervous about you being there. Marc knew of you, and he knew you were dating Steven. But you had never met him. Steven worried about what might happen if you and him went to sleep together and you woke up in Marc’s arms. Would you freak out? Would he? Would it be a complete recipe for disaster? Whatever it would end up being, you and Steven decided to keep you staying over to a minimum until you and Marc were introduced and at least comfortable enough for the morning awkwardness. 

This weekend, however, had been an exception. Marc had apparently promised Steven that he wouldn’t front for the entire weekend, letting Steven have some much needed time with you. And it had been completely lovely. You and Steven went to a new restaurant that had opened up nearby. You watched cheesy romance movies. You snuggled up on the couch as Steven read. You had the most amazing sex before falling asleep in his arms. 

But now…Now it was weird.

It was one in the morning when you woke up to a half-empty bed. Steven was nowhere to be found. Shit. As you looked around, trying to find any sign of where he might of been, you realized the two of you fucked up by not making Khonshu promise to leave the two of you alone. Fuck that stupid pigeon. 

You let out a sigh, stumbling to the kitchen. Well, you weren’t going to go back to sleep so easily. You were to pissed at the pigeon to go back to sleep. Might as well make yourself a snack or something, maybe tune into some cheesy show. So, you made yourself a sandwich, sank into the couch cushions, and turned on Gilmore Girls.

Halfway into Paris’s meltdown from not getting into Harvard, the door creaked open. You were immediately on your feet, ready to take Steven into your arms, kiss him better from the stupid shit Khonshu put him through. But the man in front of you…That was not Steven. Steven wore the white suit, not the armor that looked like it had been wrapped in mummy bandages. 

“Shit.”

The mask melted away, revealing the face you were oh so familiar with but just a slight bit different. Marc’s face was tenser, like he was holding everything back. It was so strange to see the man you loved look so different, act so different. 

“Marc?”

“Love?” The armor melted away, and Marc went with it. Steven stumbled forward, taking you in his arms. “I’m so sorry. Khonshu needed us, and Marc was better for the mission, and I didn’t think you would wake up before we got back and I’m so sorry—”

“Shh, it’s okay. Let’s just go back to bed, okay?”

You didn’t see Marc again for a week. You didn’t hear from him, either. It was strange. Even though you’d never formally met the guy, Steven usually kept you updated on how Marc was doing. Now, it was like it was before, when neither you nor Steven had any idea Marc ever existed. 

When you tried to breach the topic with Steven, he would stammer and stumble over his words until he redirected the conversation to how big of a bitch Donna is or how he found this new book he was dying to read or literally any other topic of conversation that didn’t involve Marc. 

At this point, it was pissing you off. Why were they acting like this? Why was Marc avoiding you? Before, you understood. You had never really met him, and he wanted to give you time with Steven. But now, now you had seen him, spoke to him. How could he keep hiding? You didn’t have to see the guy everyday. You just wanted to have a conversation with him, clear the air and all that. And why was Steven aiding Marc in his hiding? Steven had always been gung ho about the two of you eventually meeting. Now that you kind of sort of had met, he was helping Marc run away? What the fuck was up with that? 

You decided the only course of action was to surprise them, to catch them off guard. So, you went to Steven’s flat when you figured that Marc might be fronting. And, oh, you were right. 

“Uhh—” Marc stammered when he opened the door to see you. 

“Don’t go,” you said. “I just wanna talk about what happened the other night.”

Marc swallowed hard but nodded, letting you into the flat. You went to sit on the couch, Marc taking a seat on the other end. “What do you wanna talk about?”

“I just wanted to finally talk to you. I mean, you’re part of Steven. I fully want to spend the rest of my life with Steven. But I don’t know how this is gonna work if we never meet. I don’t expect us to be more than just acquaintances. We don’t have to be friends or anything like that. I just want us to be able to get along well enough for Steven’s sake, you know? Because that man adores you, and I know it hurts him for us to keep avoiding this.”

Marc sucked in a breath. “I don’t wanna keep hurting Steven, either. I just…I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Steven, he loves you so much. He thinks you hung all the stars in the sky. And I…I was terrified that I was going to screw things up for Steven if I ever, you know, tried to talk to you. I couldn’t do that to him. Not when he loves you so much.” Marc looked away. “All I’ve wanted for him is the best, and I know you’re the best woman he ever could be with. If I was the one who ruined that for him, I’d never forgive myself.”

You scooted closer, reaching out and grabbing his hand, giving it a squeeze. “You couldn’t scare me away even if you tried.” 

“Not even showing up in the middle of the night in Khonshu’s ceremonial armor?”

“Not even then.” You gave his hand another squeeze. “Now, how about we order some pizza, put something on the TV, and just try to get to know each other, okay? No running, no hiding.”

Marc smiled ever so slightly. “That’d be great.”

[azraelh22]

If you are complaining about male reader x (male character) fics as a fem aligned person, you need to suck it up, 75 if not 85% of the fics posted on tumblr are for fem reader x male characters, and you’re complaining over the one male reader fic?!?!? Get over yourself.

So stop crying and go do something useful like re-blogging or commenting nice things on mlm fic blogs.

Also stop tagging male reader if your fic is clearly not for male reader, you look like a moron.

[pimosworld]

Bad days

Pairing- Steven grant x f!reader, hints of Marc and Jake x f!reader.

Summary- You help Steven relax and cure his bad day.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, porn with a little plot, angst, fluff, Steven being unsure at first, oral m receiving, cum eating, slight sub Steven,Dom reader, Marc and Jake being teases and helpful because it’s them.

WK-2.4k

A/N- Making Steven feel good is like candy to me so I hope you enjoy this.

Not beta read

[Moon Knight Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

You set the groceries down to knock on the door to Stevens flat. You don’t hear any movement on the other side of the door for a few brief moments. You know Steven wasn’t always punctual but he never missed an opportunity for you to cook him dinner. 

It was a little nerve wracking at first taking over his job in the gift shop. He was promoted to tour guide at the museum but Donna insisted he train his replacement. 

Marc was annoyed in the beginning. How hard could it be to work in a gift shop? He knew Steven had been waiting for so long to be a tour guide and told him in so many words to tell Donna to shove off. Until you walked in.

  For once in his life Steven didn’t bumble his way through an introduction. You loved the way he cared so deeply for the regular patrons and cataloged all the items  in the gift shop. 

  He gave you a taweret plushie on your last day of training and couldn’t contain his excitement when you wrapped your arms around him as a thank you. 

  Ask her now

  It wasn’t often Jake made an appearance, but since you’ve come into the picture he was making himself more and more known. 

  He’s right, ask her

  It was a problem for Steven when Marc and Jake were getting along. He has yet to make his condition known to you, but he’s noticed you smirking when he’s talking out loud or having a stern conversation with his reflection in the glass of the gift shop. 

  “I was wondering if maybe…you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime?” 

  You said yes before he could even get the words out. 

  That was a few months ago. 

  ****

  Steven noticed you at the end of the hallway as the doors to the lift opened. 

  I told you to just give her a key hermano 

  Steven didn’t want to just hand you a key like Marc or Jake would. He wanted it to be special…he already had it made, he just needed an opportunity to present it to you. He’s been so busy with his promotion he’s barely had time for you. 

  You offered to cook him dinner and he couldn’t even bother to be on time for that. 

  He looks so tired, even from where you’re standing. You can tell he’s had a rough day and you’re determined to make it better. It’s not often the boys let you spoil them, always so concerned with your needs. 

  Steven had needs too…he just needed a gentle reminder. 

  ****

  “I’m sorry I’m so late, Love.” He pecks your lips as he drops some scrolls to the ground to fish out his keys. 

  “It’s okay Steven, I haven't been waiting long.” You bend over to pick up the groceries as he drops his keys. 

  “Oh bollocks, can’t even open my own door.” You try to grab his shoulder as he picks them up from the floor. He mutters something under his breath about being clumsy and your certain Marc or Jake aren’t helping. 

  “Steven, honey.” You wrap your arms around him as you slowly grab the keys. “Let me help you.” 

  Steven wants to protest but your hands are like magic covering his. He has to pinch himself everyday to remind himself he’s not dreaming, when it comes to you. Marc and Jake may give him a hard time but he never lets them forget that you were interested in him first. 

  He sighs into your touch as you slowly open the door. “You’re too good to me, you know that.” He scoops the groceries in one arm and the scrolls in the other. 

  “There’s no such thing as too good.” Your lips curve into a smile before you lean in and kiss him and he nearly drops everything in his arms. 

  “Why don’t you set that stuff down and get comfortable.” 

  He goes to protest but you place your finger on his lips. “Go wash off this awful day, change into something comfortable and relax.” You kiss him again a little deeper and longer, you can feel him sigh into it as you start to pull away. “I’m not taking no for an answer.” 

  I would do what she says if I were you. 

  He pinches himself before he heads off to the bathroom.

  ****

  Steven notes the delicious smell wafting through the flat as he pulls on his favorite jumper and sweatpants. Although he knows whenever he comments on how good it smells you always tell him it’s just garlic and onions. 

  You’re a picture of domestic perfection as you finish putting something in the oven. You wipe your hands on the small towel as you look up and smile at him. 

  His feet are rooted to the spot in the living room as you make your way towards him,you look like you want to devour more than just the food. The urge to look over his shoulder and make sure he’s the one you’re looking at is strong. 

  Your soft hand gently grabs his wrist as you pull him toward the couch. Perhaps Marc or Jake took control of his legs because he certainly doesn’t remember how he swiftly ended up seated with you on your knees in front of him. 

  The words are leaving your mouth but he can’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears as you rub your hands up and down his legs. 

  “What did you say love?” You smirk and lean up, pulling his face to yours as your soft lips meet his. He could stay like this, just kissing you as he melts into the couch. The stress of the day pouring off him like the rain outside. 

  “I said…did you have a bad day?” You trail kisses along his jaw and nip at his earlobe as you wait for his answer. 

  “Yes.” It comes out as a confession, like he’s ashamed to admit that he has bad days doing his dream job.

  Your warm hands roam under his sweater along his chest and trail down as you hook your fingers in his waistband. His breathing is coming in too fast and he tries to calm himself down as your body brushes against the obvious tent in his sweats.

  “Do you want me to make it better?” It’s a whisper in his ear that he hears loud and clear as your hands wait for permission.

  Say yes Steven

Say yes Steven

  It must’ve been too long, because his head mates urge him to answer you before you change your mind. As if you ever would. 

  “Yes…please.” You chuckle at his rushed out response as if you can read his mind and know exactly what they’re saying. 

  It drives him a little bit wild that you’re giving him this attention. He was always a little more reserved than Marc and not as bold as Jake. He’s never been treated like this. The sole purpose of someone’s desires. 

  You tug a little on his pants and bite your lip. He lifts his hips to help you as you pull them down just enough to pool at his feet. He’s achingly hard as your hand reaches out to pump him a few times. 

  He bites down on his tongue to keep from coming at the first touch of you. It’s only been a few days and he’s already so desperate for anything you’ll give him. 

  The genuine look of enjoyment on your face as you stare at it like it’s an appetizer to a four course meal is something he’ll have to frame in his mind. 

  The feel of your hand is quickly replaced with your mouth as you slide down the length of him, your plush lips wrapped around his cock as you hum in approval. Finally provided the relief you both wanted. 

  He chokes back a moan as your tongue slides back up, slowly twirling around the tip. A drop of precum trails down the side and you tilt your head licking it up like an ice cream cone. Not wanting to waste a drop. 

  Fuck

  Your hands are on his legs again as you rub them in time with your head as you bob up and down, moaning around his cock sending chills up his spine. 

  You loved watching Steven let go. It was exhilarating that you could make someone come undone. The  dark look in his eyes is almost similar to Marc’s but you know by the noises coming from him and the way his hands grip the couch it’s your sweet Steven. 

  Put your hand on the back of her head

  “What?” He rasps out above you. 

  You come off with a pop and take in his unruly curls as the sweat forms on his furrowed brow. 

  “I didn’t say anything honey.” He stares blankly at you for a moment before he realizes he must’ve spoke out loud. 

  Idiota

  “Sorry love, you can keep going…if you want to—

  His rambling is cut short as you take him into your mouth again, not wasting a moment as your lips slide all the way down his cock. Your nose brushes the curls at the base and you gag a little. 

  “Sorry love…” Steven begins to apologize but you don’t seem to be stopping. 

  Listen to me and don’t say anything 

  Perhaps he should just listen to Marc, he’s never…well maybe not never, but he’s rarely led him astray. 

  Put your hand on the back of her head and Gently…go with her movements. 

  You glance up at Steven who nods his head as he places his hand on the back of yours. He’s looking at you with those puppy dog eyes like he’s asking for permission to do what you’ve been wanting this whole time. Enjoy it. 

  You hollow out your cheeks and pull him in deeper as he audibly moans a little louder. His nails scratch lightly at your scalp as he pushes you down a little further. His bold movements turn you on even more than you were before. You breathe through your nose and push past the burning in your lungs to stay on the edge of his pleasure for a little longer. 

  “You’re perfect, you know that?” He mostly says it to himself as you whine your response because you can't really answer at the moment. Not verbally at least. 

  You know you probably look a mess as your mascara runs down your cheeks and the drool pools outside your mouth as he takes what he wants. Except he’s looking at you like you hung the moon as his free hand swipes a stray tear from the corner of your eye. 

  It feels like he’s in the duwat again the way he’s floating between this reality and the next. He struggles to keep his eyes on you as he throws his head back against the couch finally relinquishing all control he had over his emotions. 

  The sounds of your mouth and the muttering of praises are all he can focus on as the familiar feeling starts to creep up his back and infiltrate his brain. 

  You can feel his legs tense beneath your hands as the grip in your hair tightens instinctually. 

  “I’m…im close love, you don’t have to.” 

  Cállate y déjale

  “It’s okay Steven, you can let go.” You half pant out as you resume before he can protest. 

  You place your hand on top of his and urge him on as he curses under his breath. His hips stutter slightly as he feels himself let go, spilling hot ropes of come into your mouth. You don’t let up as you swallow every drop until he’s boneless beneath you. His cock twitches slightly as you come off, slowly catching your breath. His hand drops to the couch with a thud as you raise up next to him and brush his curls out of his face. 

  The redness on his neck dissipates with every breath that he takes in. He may have been close to passing out if you hadn’t stopped soon. 

  “That was…incredible.” He half whispers to himself and you chuckle into his neck as you place soft kisses to his sweaty skin. 

  “I’m glad I could help.” 

  The timer on the oven beeps bringing your attention back to the dinner you started when you told him to relax. 

  “Ooohh, the lasagna is done.I hope you’re hungry.” You bounce up off the couch as he stands and pulls his sweats back on. 

  He feels like he ran a marathon and food sounds delightful at the moment. 

  “You made my favorite?” It’s said as more of a question than a statement as he watches you move around his kitchen like you’ve been here all your life. 

  “I made two actually.” You cut into one and place a serving on each of your plates. “Vegan and meat sauce. I’ll mark them for you so you know which is which.” 

  I love her 

Ella es perfecta

  You lick the sauce off your finger and he’s brought back to what you just did for him on the couch. 

  “I have something for you love.” Steven heads to the room briefly and digs through his jacket pocket before he finds it. 

  He sheepishly returns to the kitchen island where you’re digging into your smaller portion of lasagna. He’s trying  to rid his head of these thoughts for a second as you make the same noises from before as you savor your food. 

  His hand shakily slides the key towards you and you set your fork down to pick it up. The beautiful brass key looks so big in your delicate hands. 

  “Is this my prize?” You ask with a mischievous glint in your eye. 

  Smooth

  “Oh no…I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while. I didn’t plan it this way…it was supposed to be special and well…”

  “Shhh. Steven, relax, I'm just joking.” He eases a little at your words, knowing you’re just teasing him. You and Jake had that down better than he or Marc ever could. “I love it honey, thank you for trusting me with this.” 

  You lean in and place a kiss to his cheek, shorter than he would care for. He never wants you to stop touching him if he could help it. 

  “Eat up, before it gets cold.” 

  Before I take the body and eat my own

No me parece 

  He eats while they bicker, not wanting to waste another precious moment with you. 

  ****

  Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you stare out the window of the bus on the way home from work. 

  Steven: where are you love?

      On the bus I just left work, how was your day?

  Steven: It was quite dreadful 

           I’ll be home soon to make it better 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging a few who might be interested

@missdictatorme @chichimisaki @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @melodygatesauthor @simpforbritgents

[rosesanddecay]

Anyone x fem reader - Quick write

——

His eyes cracked open to the familiar ceilings of the hospital. But things felt different this time, not that he could put his finger on why.

As the sleepy haze left his mind, his head snapped up and looked around the room.

“Where’s my wife?” He asked the first person he saw.

The woman was sniffing but smiling, her makeup smudged from previous tears. “I’m right here, dear.” She sniffled and put her hand over his.

The ring that glinted back was one he recognized. “Why do you have my wife’s ring? Where is she?” He questioned, slight accusation coming in between the worry of his words. Where were you?

She stuttered in shock and sniffed out a few more tears, “But I am your wife, we’ve been together since-“

“You’re not my wife.” He snapped, his eyes meeting hers. She didn’t even look like you.

Her eyes were wide before she stood and raced out of the room crying. Not that he cared, he needed his lover. He needed to see you safe.

He tried to move out of the bed, to call for someone he recognized, but pain shot through his head. Hunched over and pushing against his temples, he didn’t even hear his teammates slip into the room.

“Please you have to stay in bed-“ they begged, only to be shut up by the same question as before.

“Where’s my wife?” His voice was desperate now, tear rimming his lashes as he looked between the hesitant comrades.

“You… you divorced a while ago…” they finally explained, knowing it was you he was referring to.

“Never. I’d never-“

“But you did. After you left her for your current wife.” One barked, finally letting some withheld resentment. What had he done?

He shook his head as much as he could, denial filling all the leftover memories he had. “No, I’d never- she’s the love of my life- I- I-“

Silence fell over the room as he was forced to come to the realization that he’d done something wrong. That he’d lost you because of a version of himself he couldn’t even remember anymore.

His drug-induced sobs filled the room as begged to see you again. To see you safe…

——————

John Price, Miguel O’Hara, Johnny “Soap” Mactavish , any cod man really , Marc Spector or Jake Lockley , Gojo Satoru , etc. I’m really showing my fandom preferences lmao

These are the men I can imagine specially getting into this situation (idiots)

[pygmi-cygni]

greed - marc spector

Greed - selfish desire for money, status or power

So this is in part inspired by @missdictatorme's post here but is also part of my Seven Sins series

have we all seen the tinkerbell gif? do y'all know what that is? you should. if you don't you're too young to be here.

ANYWAY.

cw: guess. spanking, sex, angry sex - not hate sex, marc is just Aggressive, 18+, reader is an avatar for Ra, afab reader, face riding, semi-public sex.

*i made reader small just because of the fairy thing but that doesn't mean 'skinny' it just means proportionally small. this is too many disclaimers just read it xox

He hated asking for help. God, it burned his skin alive to bow down to that level. It felt like he was a grumpy child asking for help with his shoelaces. But even Marc knew it had to be done. This mission was too big to be done alone.

He met your eagerness with cruelty. Refusing to look you in the eye, Marc barked orders and beckoned you into the fight. As an avatar of Ra, you had quite the arsenal for tricks and weapons. Marc didn't want to admit, but it was pretty damn impressive.

With the effortless grace of a dancer, you swept the feet out from another assailant, swinging your mantle expertly into his face.

Marc stumbled back, watching you dance around your opponents, face serene as dawn.

Oh shit-

A man came up behind you, too fast for you to catch. Marc lurched forward too slow, and the man's fist collided with your shoulders. Buckling, you collapsed in a pool of gold shimmer, radiating out from the point of impact.

Huh. Marc filed that away for later, scooping you up and slamming the assassin's face into a stone wall. The man collapsed, surrounding himself in irony crimson sludge.

You would be fine, but Marc still propped you up, pulling off his mask to inspect you for injuries. Catching your breath, you wheezed a grin.

"You...you didn't say you were pretty," you coughed around a laugh, winking at him with your good eye.

Marc flickered a grin, ignoring the way his cheeks heated. A subtle warmth radiated off of you - the heat of Ra's healing rays at work. He subconsciously pressed closer, drinking in the heat. Your breathing had evened, dark eyes watching his with interest. He looked away, shifting back. The luster of your strong arms was intensely preoccupying his mind. It made you pearlescent, glowing in the moonlight.

Sun and moon, two peas in a pod.

He was delirious. Mumbling something about needing bandages, Marc fled, sweeping off into the night sky. He felt the warmth of your gaze burning his back for hours later. Stumbling into the kitchen, he didn't wait to undress before fisting himself furiously to the vision of your halo, crying into his hand.

Every fight, you danced the waltz of tension. The rope twisted and knotted tighter each time, heated gazes now molten magma in your eyes. Marc had his fair share of sinister fantasies, jaw aching with the urge to bite into your neck.

He thought back to the shimmering halo that enveloped you after each hit. He could make you shine brighter than anything.

Hot, heavy lust pounded thickly as he ran, feeling like weight dragging at his heels. His core was roiling, twisting his gut so hard he almost groaned a release in the middle of the alley. The fight was over, you'd parted ways with a slow, coy wink and a flourish of shimmering breeze. The scent of linen and honey coated his mouth like a drug, making logic feel floaty and detached.

Marc shuddered against a wall, growling loudly. He sucked in lungfuls of soiled London air, wishing that it was your smell. Panting, he tried to shut out the building arousal.

"O-oh fuck," he gritted out, flexing his hands against the mossy wall.

Something gently rustled his hair, sweet air swirling around his nose.

"You," he breathed, stumbling towards the end of the alley. Your concerned expression met his.

"I heard you," were the frantic words out of your mouth, assessing him for damage, "are you-"

Marc slammed you against the wall, mouth snarling over yours. A surprised yowl was swallowed by his urgency. You moaned weakly, hands shoving at his chest. Quickly, you relented, sinking into the wet heat of his mouth. He licked and sucked at your tongue, drinking in every noise and breath you made. That familiar heat was rising around your skin, making his spine prickle with lust.

"Need," he gasped, groaning into your neck, "off-"

His strong arms bracketed you against wet brick while he dug his fingers under your wraps, cupping your center with a moan. You rocked gently, eyes wide at the cresting feeling of his fingertips on your wetness.

Marc smiled slowly, greed burning alongside his lust. He watched your expression shift as he softly stroked your folds, shuddering into waterfalls of pleasure. A shimmer flickered around you, enhancing the flush that decorated your cheeks.

"Yeah, yeah," he grinned, watching as you rocked harder, whining into his neck. "I know, almost there."

Marc took another bite of your neck, suckling the fragranced skin. His own need surged strongly, forcing his hips to roll against yours. The dripping heat of you squeezed at his fingers, the suckling sensation enough to destroy the last of his dignity.

Ignoring the public view of this debacle, Marc shoved his fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back at your honey that dripped onto his suit. You were a wreck, heaving and mewling in his arms. He bucked against you, wrenching his cock free. Your eyes widened at the size, and he took a moment to bask in your awe.

Without warning he sheathed himself smoothly, drawing a long moan from your ruined throat. Hot, thick, saccharine pleasure slurred through his delirious mind. Marc thrust up, reveling in the feeling of your cunt. You molded to him perfectly, the soft pink of your walls clenching and fluttering divinely.

"Good, good, good holy ff-fuck-" Marc purred in your ear, shoving you back against a stack of crates. You sighed in pleasure, a cascade of gold shimmer landing on your collarbones. The heady scent of musk and sunlight further emboldened him. Pushing past the ache in his knees, Marc thrust harder, stroking against your depths with primal need.

You huffed and whined, pulsing another wave of shimmer. The lustful haze in your eyes glowed, dewy tears decorating your lashes.

You looked beautiful.

Marc rocked and groaned, hands fisting in your cloak. He couldn't stand - pulling you on top of him as he collapsed against the wet ground. You whimpered, riding him furiously. The halo of pleasure glowed hot and needy around you, warming his skin to boiling. The suit slipped away, revealing listening muscle beneath.

"More," you breathed, moaning brokenly when he slammed you down, hands crushingly tight against your thighs. "More-"

Marc felt his pleasure spiking up too fast, all too fast. He yanked you up, biting back a groan at the strings of slick dripping off his pulsing hard length. The cool night air stung against his sensitive cock, the cooling wetness prickling gooseflesh.

You whimpered protest, scrabbling to return to the heavenly fullness. He smacked your ass, delighting in the burst of glitter that ricocheted. Pulling you onto his face, he took a greedy mouthful of your syrupy mess, licking and sucking in your scent. Above him, you moaned louder, thighs clenching around his face.

Marc stuttered a whine as he felt your strength around his neck, thick tongue plunging deeper. He could feel everything, the wet gummy walls of your cunt trembling at each stroke. The musk that saturated his face smelled of honey and thick, hot summer. It glazed his eyes over, hips undulating into nothing.

His strong hands groped and grabbed at your ass, pulling the tender flesh as waves and waves of shimmer fell onto his skin.

"M...Marc," you stuttered, grabbing onto his hair. "Marc oh god."

A gushing wave of wet flooded his mouth. He refocused, lapping up every drop. The sinful glide of his tongue at your clit splintered heat up your spine, arcing and bucking your spine. You whined high and sharp, riding his face until he shoved you off, mumbling incoherently.

You quivered and sighed, laying in a pool of golden pleasure. Marc had ignored the ache in his core too long. Pawing you back under him, he slowly sank into your freshly soaked cunt, smiling lazily with the overwhelming heat. He felt drunk, rutting into your heat, focused on nothing but pleasure and drawing as much of your beautiful reactions as he could.

Chest heaving with every punching thrust, you hiccupped and whimpered, pleading for mercy with your eyes.

"Good girl," he groaned," good girl, taking it all, good girl." Another moan tore from his throat.

"Give me more."

His demand was insistent, and you swallowed nervously, trying to think past the hypnotizing pace of his hips over yours.

"Wh-what?" you asked, voice high and thin. Marc growled, shoving into you harder, hand wrenching you over onto your stomach.

"Give it all," he spat, smacking your ass harshly. You cried out, shuddering back into his punishing pace. That divine heat spiked higher, another wave of shimmer blanketing the dewy skin of your back. Marc groaned in satisfaction, palm colliding with your supple ass again. He groped you, massaging the flesh and rubbing the shine hard into your skin.

"Sl-slow down," you panted, "slow down I can't breathe ah Marc-"

He folded himself over you, slamming you into the street. Asphalt burned into your cheek as he rutted heavy and hard, hot mouth sucking at your neck. The growls he bit back vibrated against your back. You could feel him harden even more, thrusts becoming shallow and messy.

He needed to see it, needed the proof of your submission. More of the glowing, hot warmth, that sucked him in like a whirlpool and spat him out in a wave of shining dust.

Flecks of gold had rubbed into his skin with the friction. Greedily he smacked you again, grabbing a fistful of your soft flesh.

Slick flooded out of you, slipping obscenely against his length. With a last stuttering whine, Marc spilled into you, bucking and whimpering into your overheated skin. His mouth was insistent and hot, suckling at your jaw. Once the shrieking orgasm had calmed, he settled for mouthing aimlessly, drinking up your pleasured warmth.

Ra's heavenly light basked on your face, blissfully dazed and listless.

The cold night settled over the two of you, intertwined against the wet stones. Marc shakily pushed to his knees, pulling out of you with an obscenely foul sound. You quivered, trying to recollect your thoughts.

Marc gazed down at the mess you had become. Drenched in sweat, cum and golden light, he could feel himself harden again.

A dark voice purred in his ear.

My turn, cabron?

*deep breath* AAAAGHHH I NEED TO EAT HIM

tags: @krakenkitty @ominoose @bulletgoth @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @justsomeonecalledemma @iolaussharpe-24 @rosegnome @twwcs @heeheehoohoofictimr @steven-grants-world @ael-xander @sharin4readers

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