#marc spector drabble

[boredzillenial]

Silly Comfort Drabble with Marc

A.N: just some silly hurt/comfort to start the new year off right. Written in 1st person to take a break from writing “you”

Frustration roils low in my belly as I board the evening bus headed to their flat. The work day had ended in hot tempers and frayed nerves that I just can’t shake. It clings like static under my skin, sending my nerves jolting with every slight inconvenience.

Old person taking ages to get up to a seat? Fussy child in their mothers lap? By the time I’d made it to their apartment I felt like I was about to blow. Unfortunately, my frustration often ends with tears and one of them trying to cheer me up in their own peculiar way.

Dating someone like Marc, Steven and Jake came with its challenges, but also it’s own interesting perks.

Usually coming to see them after a frustrating day ends in one of three ways - depending on who is fronting at the time. Steven, ever the gift giver, always has tea or a snack of some kind.

Jake likes to solve issues with either an attempt to make you laugh or cum. If he’s feeling particularly up for the challenge both.

Marc is surprisingly gentle in his approach. I could tell from the beginning he struggled with negative emotions, even when they aren’t directed at him. So his usual go to is either ensuring chores are done, take out is on the way, and/or a cuddle with tender rubs while watching tv.

When I finally manage to get the key in and the lock gave way I call out to the seemingly empty flat. It isn’t eerie in the way some other empty places felt. Even when I can’t immediately see them lounging about it was like the mere fact that this was their home was comforting. I call out again, the bristle of frustration coming back to the edges of my mind when I see a pile of dirty dishes in the sink and laundry strewn across the couch waiting to be folded.

“Come on.” I groan into the empty space, feeling tears prick my eyes. “I can’t, deal with all this. Not tonight.” I let the door close a little louder than usual and turn the lock pointedly.

“Hello?” I call out, unable to hide the exasperation in my tone. I hear the bathroom door creak open and see him step out. A small puff of steam escaping behind him.

His hair is damp and curls on full display. His “lounge around the house” sweater clings to his chest and pjs bottoms cling to - other things… Despite the appealing house husband look his face is still as he takes in my stance, my expression, my probably puffy eyes.

I immediately recognize the tense set of Marcs shoulder and the brief furrow of his brow “I, heard you come in. I’m sorry about the mess I meant to -“ he stops speaking a moment as I fight to keep my lip from trembling, and fail. “What’s wrong.” His voice drops low.

“I just - at work - and the flat.” My voice shakes into something pitiful and near to breaking as I try to string something coherent. With exasperated gestures to the mess at hand my frustration fully cracks.

“I’ll clean, I promise okay?” He steps slowly closer, hands rubbing supportively on my shoulders. I nod but when I meet his gaze fresh tears fall. His tone shifts to something almost pleading. “What can I do for you, right now.”

I muster a weak shrug, the sniffle teetering on a whimper. Marc pulls me into a hug as I simultaneously lean forward to bite back a sob. The resulting combination is, well, a face full of soft sweater and firm chest.

“Come here baby lemme give you a hug.” His voice rumbles against my forehead.

“Nuh uh.” I grumble, hugging him closer and burying my face in the downy fabric. He sighs and wraps his arms around me as best he can. Inadvertently pressing me deeper against his chest. “Never leaving.” I murmur.

“I can’t hear you sweetheart, what’d you say?” He whispers against my hair, kissing it softly.

I lean back and take an exaggerated breath, “I’m never leaving these.” And bury my face again, this time pressing his pecks against my face - earning me the elusive Marc chuckle.

“Those at least making whatever it is better?” He questions. I nod, staying planted in this firm, fluffy paradise. “Alright.” He murmurs. The sensation of his hands rubbing slowly across my back unwinds the tangled knots of tension throughout.

From then on Marc has a new, very persuasive tool for turning bad days into better ones.

———————

Taglist: @melodygatesauthor @ominoose @romana-after-dark @lunar-ghoulie @flowercrownonapegion @howellatme @mooksmouse @ahookedheroespureheart @beezusvreeland @auntiegigi @moonkxight-blog @faretheeoscar @queerponcho @for-a-longlongtime @silvernight-m @ierofrnkk @ingoldthewizard

[faretheeoscar]

TURNING FROWNS

into soft touches

Pairing: Marc Spector x Gn!reader

Warnings: just fluff, poor Marc needs to be comforted from time to time, although gets a bit suggestive at the end

A/N: English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there’s any mistakes, no proof read.

Word Count: 1k

Listen… taking care of Marc by giving him small featherlight kisses and soft caresses when he’s all grumpy and frowning after a hard day and being away from a mission, he ends up reluctantly letting you help him and your touch turns him into a tired, grateful and maybe horny mush.

After returning from a grueling three-day mission, Marc collapsed onto the couch, his clothes clinging to his body with sweat and dirt. Despite the pressing need for a shower and fresh attire, exhaustion rooted him in place, rendering even the slightest movement an arduous task.

His brow furrowed deeply, like the creases of a turbulent sea, Marc sat, trying to control the chaos of his thoughts. The weight of the day hung heavy on his shoulders, his posture, even his way of breathing etched into his features a testament to the battles he fought within.

You slowly approach him and climb on his lap to try to help him relax. Startled by your sudden presence, he jolted slightly, his frown deepening at the intrusion.

"Not right now baby, I'm tired," he grumbled, his voice a weary murmur. Yet, despite his protests, his hands found their way around your waist, drawing you closer to him.

With a tender touch, not minding his warning, you began to massage his temples, your fingers tracing soothing circles against his skin.

"It's okay," you whispered, a quiet soft murmur against the hushed silence of the room. "Just breathe."

His eyes fluttered closed, surrendering to the serenity of your touch and as he inhaled and exhaled, sighs of relief slowly escaped him, escaping within them the burdens of his day. Thanks to the quiet intimacy of that moment, and the gentle cadence of your breath that surrounded him, the tender caress of your touch flood his senses.

“I’m here my love, let me take care of you”

As you whispered in his ear, the words washed over him, bringing a small peace of mind to his rattled soul. Letting out a deep sigh, the corners of his lips curled up in the faintest of smiles, as he continued to surrender to you.

You gently traced your fingertips along the furrowed lines of his forehead, feeling the tension slowly dissipate beneath your touch.

Continuing to work your magic by massaging his temples, your other hand begins to trail delicately along his jawline, tracing the contours of his face accompanying it with feather-light kisses. Each touch and kiss is filled with tenderness, a silent reassurance that you're here for him, to ease away the weight of the world, for him to feel loved, wanted and cared for, and Marc? Cannot do anything but softly hum and let out small sounds of satisfaction.

Your lips brushed against his furrowed brow, leaving a trail of soft kisses that slowly erase the creases of worry. Moving downward, you plant gentle kisses along his closed eyelids, coaxing them to flutter open and meet yours.

And as he finally opens his eyes, there's a softness in his gaze, a gratefulness for your presence and the solace you've bring him, but you let Marc close his eyes again as he lets out a deep tired breath and let’s you keep kissing every single part of his face.

Your lips trail across his face, your hands delicately weave through his curls, fingers gently massaging his scalp in a rhythmic motion. With each touch, all the tension in his muscles slowly began to melt away, replaced by a sense of calm that washed over him like a gentle tide.

You whisper words of comfort against his skin, your breath mingling with his as he lets himself be consumed by the soft trail of your lips when you brush them against his cheekbones, the slight curve of his nose, going down to his jaw, stopping on his beard stubble to brush it against your lips before you make your way down to his neck.

Caresses and kisses on his neck pause momentarily as you accidentally give a gentle tug to his hair, a small gasp escapes your lips, trying to quickly apologize for the discomfort you could've caused. But to your surprise, instead of a complaint, you're met with a satisfied low grunt from Marc. His eyes, still closed in bliss, flutter open slightly, a hint of amusement dancing within them.

“Careful there…” he murmurs, with a hint of playfulness, he squeezes your hips and his hand ends up going down further to your lower back to push your body as close as he can get you to him.

Leaning his weight back against the couch, he pulled you into his arms and you settled properly on his lap, your weight resting against his frame, he tightened his grip on you, your breasts ending up squishing against his chest.

He buries his head on your shoulder, you feel his warm and hot breath against your skin, mixed with his musky scent, it sends tingles down your spine. Specially when his hand slowly guides your hips to his, and there’s when you finally notice what your soothing and sweet touches have been doing to him, feeling the hardness against his tight jeans.

“Oh.. Marc baby, weren’t you tired?”

A small hum escapes from Marc's lips when he finds the sensitive pulse point on your neck, sending a wave of pleasure coursing through you. His husky voice, laced with desire, stirs something within you, that has you squirming on his lap and making him chuckle.

“I was… I am…but… I really want this… No I need this” Marc quickly corrects himself. ”Although you’re probably gonna be doing all the work baby, is that a problem?”

A playful grin tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze, your own voice becoming huskier when you feel something that tingling sensation pooling on your lower abdomen. "No problem at all," you reply, "I've got you, Marc. Always."

And of course you wouldn’t complain why would you? You’d gladly volunteer for that kind of extra comfort he seeks any day.

I might start a TAGLIST, cause I've been writing more lately? Let me know if you wanna get on it!

Reblogs and comments are kindly appreciated!

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[eyelessfaces]

this little thing has been sitting in my drafts for so long, it's finally time to let it out – you help marc tie his tie

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

buy me a coffee ☕︎

He rolled his eyes, wetting his lips, head tilted and looking at the ceiling. “I know how to tie a tie.” he grumbled under his breath before looking down at you as you untied the messy knot he had just made and had quickly gotten angry at. –He didn’t. He didn’t know how to tie a tie, and he hated having to do it when Jake wasn’t here. Marc was not a patient man, and frankly it suited him pretty well that you had offered him your help, even if he wouldn’t admit it because he was angry at himself for not even being able to do the futile action of tying a tie.

“Do you?” you asked, looking up at him in disbelief. “Have you even ever needed to really dress up and put a tie on?” 

Since you were together, the few times where he happened to need to dress up, he just put on a plain white shirt and a suit jacket and called it a day.

He had needed to wear a tie before. The first time was long ago, and he unfortunately remembered it clearly – when he was a child, for his brother’s funeral, but his father had tied it for him, giving him a weak, saddened smile when he was done.

“I have. But I hate those” he mumbled under his breath, hating the thought of the memory, and you pinched your lips as you tied the fabric around his collar. “It’s uncomfortable and suffocating.”

“Well you don’t have to tighten it all the way up” you declared as you showed him, tightening the knot loose enough so it wouldn’t choke him. “The point is not to choke you, it should just,” you pause, adjusting the knot. “–Hang around your shirt collar, not your neck” You brought his collar down and smoothed it so it sat properly. “Does it feel okay?” 

He pinched his lips, nodding weakly.

“See? No need to get worked up.” you gave him a small grin, and he forced a smile of the same kind, as he sat down on the edge of your shared bed.

“I usually leave it to Steven and Jake” 

This very specific statement always meant that there was something deeper behind, usually something he didn’t want to talk about – it was just the way Marc was, barely scratching the surface of things, peeling the smallest amount possible off his problems. 

“I’ll gladly take the task from now on” you smiled, this smile growing even wider as he rested his hand over yours to lightly, appreciatively squeeze it. “And I’ll happily take it off of you when we come back” you grinned, lightly tugging on his tie with your other hand.

He chuckled, lacing his fingers with yours. “Don’t make me excited to come back already. Or to not go at all” he smirked, the frown over his face finally cleared away. 

—

moon knight taglist:

@scarabgrant @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @missmarmaladeth @alexxavicry 

@mystinky-butt @anightshift @wibblywobblytimesindeed @whatthefishh @grxywindd 

@campingwiththecharmings @bubuslutty @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry 

@jakecockley @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @cocodiem @pedropascalsidechick @spxctorsslxt 

@friedwings @weasleybuns @luxisluxurious @himesuedi @daisydark 

@violet-19999 @stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 

@unear7hly @pigeonmama @c-losur3 @mari-thesimp @klillaah 

@Spicydonut25 @buckyssugarchick

[sweetercalypso]

Mercenary || Marc Spector

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: while on an undercover mission, Marc suspects he’s been recognized. In hopes of protecting his disguise, he’s forced to get creative.

Notes: no major warnings; kissing, cursing, and vague mentions of alcohol. Canon? Don’t know her. Pre-Moon-Knight Marc with no mentions of Khonshu or alters. No reader pronouns.

“Darling, there you are!”

You turn at the sound of a nearby voice, surprised to see a man standing just out of reach with his attention and his arms outstretched in your direction.

The touch of his hand against your shoulder sends chills down your spine as you look over the stranger with mannered scrutiny. The evening had been overwhelmed with small talk and cordial chatter, yet the dark eyes staring back at you were an unfamiliar sight.

“I’m sorry, I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” Your soft reply is barely audible over the melodic string music traveling through the busy ballroom.

The man furrows his brow slightly before wiping the uncertainty from his features. His broad shoulders pull back and he gives a small grin. His charcoal grey suit and black oxfords don’t offer much significance amongst the sea of champagne socialites in attendance, but his mused hair and the yellowing bruise over his jaw are enough to tell you that he’s a character out of place.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he laughs airily. His hand drops slowly from your shoulder, travelling down your arm before he waves over a nearby waiter and grabs two glasses from the tray of tawny bubbling spirits.

“I don���t think we’ve met,” you say, accepting the drink with a gracious smile.

“No,” he clinks his glass against yours. “I would’ve remembered meeting you.”

Raising the glass to your painted lips, you take a moment to study the man in front of you. He doesn’t seem impressed by the room’s ornate décor, nor is he drawn to the sea of lively barons and their engrossed coterie.

Instead, he seems to count the expanse of windows across every wall, eyes jumping over each exit like he’s planning an escape. His presence draws no attention, and he doesn’t acknowledge partygoers as they waltz by. It seems, in fact, that this man is a stranger to more than just your company.

“So,” you drawl, startling the stillness that had settled around the two of you. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m having a lovely evening with a beautiful stranger.”

“Right.” You nod curtly, not missing the glint of mischief in his eye. “But what, exactly, brings you here this evening?”

You lean in closely, eyes locking onto his to gauge his reaction. “You look like a man on a mission.”

His face morphs into a look of surprise. He mulls over your words for a minute, surely weighing his options in his mind. Finally, he sighs, a sly grin creeping over his features.

“You caught me.”

Your eyes widen at his unexpected response, realizing that you were right about this rogue stranger. Thoughts of peril and unknown dangers flash in your mind like a silent alarm, but a small voice insists that he’s no threat to you.

“I’m here on business,” he begins, eyes flickering over the oblivious crowd gathered just out of earshot. “I got close to my mark earlier, but the guards got suspicious. I just need to blend in until the party’s over.”

You nod absently, giving thought to what he’d said. “So, you’re here to kill someone?”

“Not today,” he quips with a click of his tongue. “Too much of a mess.”

Nervous laughter spills from your lips. You fight to contain your sudden reaction, but it’s too much to keep from overflowing. This stranger – charming and entertaining as he may be – is dangerous, and his presence is surely no laughing matter.

Taking a moment to quiet your composure, you miss the way the man’s eyes flicker once – twice – over your shoulder when he notices a group of tall, serious-looking men moving steadily in your direction. His jaw tightens and he quickly ducks his head, deflating the humor from your lungs in an instant.

“Is everything alright?” You ask, tilting your head to meet his downcast gaze.

The man shakes his head stiffly and takes another survey of the room, searching for a way to make an escape. He spots the thicket of slow dancers in front of the orchestra and he’s quick in forming a plan.

“Dance with me.”

“What?” You blink at him with wide eyes, not sure what to think of his sudden request.

“I think I’ve been spotted and I need to hide my face. Dance with me. Please.”

A short nod is enough of an answer for the raven-haired man. He slips the half-empty champagne flute from your grasp, abandoning your drinks on a nearby table in favor of leading you towards the dance floor across the room. The two of you weave wordlessly through the throng of duos until the rest of the room is lost beyond the intimate sway of the masses.

He stops once he’s sure he’s out of sight, jaw tensing like he’s deep in thought. His hand guides yours to rest softly on his shoulder while his other palms aptly at your hip.

“M’not much of a dancer,” he says quietly, almost apologetic in the way his feet immediately begin to stumble into yours.

The corners of your mouth tick upwards as you fight back a grin. With each ungainly step he takes in creating a clumsy waltz, you begin to see more of the humble man behind the disguise.

“That’s alright,” you assure him with a smile. “I’ll lead.”

You plant your feet as confidently as you can manage and use your hold on his shoulder to push and pull him along with your strides.

One foot leads the other and the two of you fall into a fluid, measured step. Before long, you’re moving in a comfortable sway like familiar friends or devoted partners.

“Are they looking for me?” He asks lowly once you’re turned in the right direction to see the party over his shoulder.

Two gruff men in plain black suits roam through the crowd on either side of the room, slowly taking count of each person in attendance.

You suck in a deep breath as one glances in your direction, almost as if he knows he’s being watched.

“Yeah,” you reply in a whisper, nodding your head as subtly as you can. “I see at least four, and they’re heading this way.”

“Shit,” he curses under his breath. “I was trying to avoid making a scene.”

The situation calls for action, but you’re unable to think of any way to help the man beyond what you’ve done thus far. You’re not a spy, or anything else of importance that might’ve granted you the skills to aid in this affair.

Just as one of the guards begins to part through the dancing couples, a wave of panic washes over you. In an act of instinct, rather than tactic, you lean in and press your lips to his, placing a hand on the stranger’s cheek in order to hide his face.

He’s still for a moment before he reacts and wraps his arm around you in a tight embrace. His mouth moves against yours skillfully, eagerly, like this impromptu kiss was planned all along.

The guard is long gone by the time you pull away, breathless and wide-eyed at the realization of what you’d done.

“I’m so sorry-” you drop your hands from his face, taking a step back to put a respectable distance between the two of you. “I don’t know what came over me. I saw the guard coming and-”

“Thank you,” he interrupts your nervous apology with a grateful smile.

“I have to go while they’re still busy looking for me, but really, you’ve been a great help.”

He’s turning to leave before you can think to stop him, disappearing into the crowd without so much as a hint as to who he is or where he’s going next. The mystery of the evening remains unsolved, much to your displeasure.

“Wait.”

You’re pushing through the crowd to follow after him, careless of the odd glances you receive from demure guests in your wake.

When you’re close enough to touch him, you call out another “wait!”, grabbing his wrist to keep from losing him in the crowd.

You’re almost upset with him for leaving so feebly, although you’d never admit it out loud. The thrill of the evening had sparked something inside of you, and the spontaneous kiss had only left you wanting more. But now that the adventure is dying down, you’re beginning to lose your confidence.

When you realize he’s waiting for you to speak, you’re suddenly at a loss for words. The need for excitement has grown cold, fizzling out until you’re left with a dreadful pit in the bottom of your stomach.

“I, uh- I didn’t get your name.”

It’s an anticlimactic end to your meeting, but it’s all you can think to say in the moment.

He flashes a smile that reminds you of when you’d first met. No longer faced with the threat of guards closing in, the man’s cool composure has been restored. With a familiar sly expression, he offers only a fleeting response before he’s whisked away:

“Don’t worry – I’m sure we’ll meet again.”

[thecitysgraveyard]

hello people! well im currently getting back into writing and so now im also writing for the moon boys :>> so you can request fluff, smut or angst and if you want you can give some prompts too :))

[cybersinsposts]

wrote these cuz i was bored

coworker!steven headcanons, fluff and implied smut.

★-coworker!steven grant, who was infatuated with you when he first laid his eyes on you.

★-coworker!steven grant, who shyly approached you at work to show you round the museum because Donna nagged him to.

★-coworker!steven grant,who became more talkative at work after you two became friends.

★-coworker!steven grant,who asked for your socials but was only given your number and tiktok account.

★-coworker!steven grant,who started stalking your reposts to find your interests.

★-coworker!steven grant, who always seemed to have the perfect gifts.

★-coworker!steven grant,who found your twitter account through internet stalking.

★-coworker!steven grant,who now knew what you liked sexually through your reposts and following.

★-coworker!steven grant,who finally built up the courage to ask you out on a date.

★-coworker!steven grant,who gave you the best night of your life after dinner in his flat.

[traveller-of-the-knight]

Ok, so!

You know all the "Doctor Strange Astoprojects the mk system and we cinematically see the three alters slipping out of the body.

But but but hear me out!

What about Dr. Strange trying to push one person out of his body and failing because it is actually a system and he needs more strength to push them away.

So Strange would hit their chest multiple times expecting something to happen but uh-uh nothing and poor Steven tries to get away from him.

Eventually he puts more effort and manages to do something, that is making Jake front by pushing Steven away from the front and suddenly gets slapped by him.

Jake gets into a fist fight with Strange while Strange tries to use his powers to teleport Jale away from him.

Eventually he manages to astroproject them for a second and he sees Jake and Marc splitting from the body holding hands until Steven pulls them back in.

They are together in this they won't let anyone separate them, Strange needs to try harder.

[heroinnne]

“are you okay?”

marc asks, gripping your arm and checking you over for any lethal injuries, his brows knitted in worry.

“i’m fine.” you say, wiping away at some blood that was on your cheek from a cut.

the two of you are in the aftermath of another fight — and you got caught up in the crossfire, and bravely — or stupidly, depends on where you see this from —  you had jumped in to defend marc.

“you shouldn’t have done that.” marc says, pushing off your hand and wiping the rest of the blood off of your cheek.

“marc, i told you —” he cuts you off, “it was stupid and reckless.”

“marc —”

“do you know what would've happened if i didn’t get there in time?”

“i’m —”

“you could’ve died, y/n!” he cries out, and he doesn’t know what he would've done if you did, you weren’t meant for all of this, the fighting, the violence, the hurt.

you were too fragile, too chaste.

and he was all you had for protection at a place and time you shouldn’t have been at.

“and it would've been my fault.” he continues, his voice gruff and weak, and his hand shakes in yours, and you notice the tears welling up in his eyes even as he casts his gaze down so you wouldn’t see.

“marc,” you say softy, cupping his face in your hand as you tilt his head up to face you, and when a tear slips, you wipe it away with your thumb, “i’m okay.” you reassure him.

“look at me,” you say softly, “i’m as good as new.” you try to joke to lighten the mood but it doesn’t work.

you lean in closer, pressing your lips against his in an attempt to comfort him, to ground him to your presence.

it works as you feel him melt into the kiss, his hand holding yours and he knows that you’re here.

you pull away slight from the kiss, and you whisper against his lips,

“come on, let’s go home.”

[blackkatmagic]

If ur taking Moonknight ships, Marc Spector and Steve Rodgers with mind control!

“Fuck you, that’s a lie,” Marc hisses, pressed as flat as he can get to the wall of the shrine that the Prince of Orphans led them to. The Mandarin was supposed to be here. The Mandarin is not here.

Scarlet Witch is, though, and it seems like she’s having one hell of a bad day.

Sprawled out in his throne, one leg crossed over the other and a dusty glass of something that absolutely isn't wine in his hand, Khonshu chuckles. “I would never lie to my knight,” he lies. “It’s the simplest way to break her control over him, my son. You asked for a cure and I've provided one.”

“Fuck you,” Marc growls, and ignores the look Clint is giving him from the other side of the small shrine. Clint knows Khonshu is real, or he’d better, after their detour into ancient Egypt that one time when the West Coast Avengers were still a thing. “Give me a different cure. A better one.”

Khonshu cocks his head thoughtfully, like that will hide the gleam of wicked mirth that swirls through the galaxies in his empty eye sockets. “That would require a quest seeking my sister-son Heka, my knight, and a remedy brewed by his divine hands. I don’t believe you have that much time at the moment.”

“If you depart your body now of all times,” Valkyrie tells him, low but very definitely dangerous, “I will tell your cab driver friend where you hid all of his false mustaches.”

Marc grimaces, ducking a little more as there's a loud crash, a thud, a groan. The Prince of Orphans lands hard on the stone, and Natasha drops down a few paces from him, breathing hard with a bruise already disappearing across one cheekbone.

With a loud, ringing thud, Steve’s shield embeds itself into the stone of the wall just to the left of the Prince, and heavy footfalls sound.

“Shit,” Marc mutters, and closes his eyes, ignoring the heavy weight of Khonshu’s amused stare. Breathes, steeling himself—

“Moon Knight,” Valkyrie warns, alarm sliding into her tone. “If it is that foolish an idea—”

“All of my ideas are foolish,” Marc tells her. "If he throws me across the room, try to catch me.”

“Moon Knight!” she protests, but Marc ducks away from her grab, vaults the wall, and then stops dead, something thudding in his chest. Steve is staring at him, looking dangerous as hell in the black of his old Nomad costume, even though no other man alive could probably pull off that V-neck. His eyes are red, though, and his expression is icy cold, in a way Steve would never be when standing in front of his own team. Whatever Wanda did to him—

Whatever she did, Khonshu gave Marc the way to fix it. It’s just a really fucking stupid fix.

“Moon Knight,” Steve says, and there's a rough, almost gravelly edge to it that makes Marc feel like a stupid teenager sneaking Captain America comics and fantasizing about them again. Him again. Which is absolutely not an appropriate thought to have when Steve’s currently a brain puppet of the Scarlet Witch during one of her breakdowns over her teenage kids getting pissy at her. Especially not given what Marc is about to try and do.

Steven would be better at this, Marc thinks, mostly resigned to getting punched in the face. Too bad Steven is a squishy human and Cap would turn him into a slinky.

“Hey, Cap,” Marc says, and tries to think of a way to say how about you let me get within grabbing distance without breaking my arms in a way that will go over well. “If Iron Man sees you walking around like that, you're going to give him the vapors.”

Steve’s expression darkens, and he flexes one hand like he’s imagining closing it around Stark’s neck. That’s a pretty standard reaction to Stark, though. It does give Marc cover to take two steps towards Steve, braced to move if things get violent, and he opens his hands, like an offer.

“Think you want a henchman?” he asks, and hears the bursts of indignation that come from four different directions as the team catches his words. Ignoring them, because Natasha is the only one close and conscious enough to be a threat if they decide to dogpile him, marc reaches up, pulling his mask off deliberately, and tells Steve, “Look, I don’t want to stick with these lunch detention nerd rejects if you're going off to do your own thing, Cap. I can be a good little right hand if you want me to.”

There's a pause, more thoughtful than before, and Steve finally turns, gives Marc his full attention rather than keeping one eye on Natasha and the Prince. “You want to be my henchman,” he says, flat, and the red light clinging to him like a second skin flickers, whirls.

“Henchman, goon, pet damsel if that’s more your speed,” Marc says, taking another two steps closer. He’s almost within arm’s reach now, and Steve still hasn’t tried to twist his head off his neck, so that’s promising. Probably. “I look great in a pink feathered negligée.”

Somewhere behind him, Clint gags pointedly, and Marc tries not to scowl, making a mental note to put ink in his coffee as soon as he gets the chance.

“Pink feathers?” Steve asks, and for the first time his tone slips out of cold anger, right into bemusement.

“I can lounge around your secret lair and let you test it out, if you want,” Marc offers, not even bothering to try for charming. Steven could manage that, but—yeah, Steven isn't going to touch this one. Besides, Steve seems blindsided enough by the offer that Marc steps right up to him, reaches out, and presses a hand to his broad chest without losing his head. When he looks up at Steve, halfheartedly trying to make it looking through his lashes like Marlene sometimes used to do to him when she couldn’t tell it wasn’t Steven in front of her, Steve looks down at him, something Marc can't read on his face, but—well. It’s not violent, at least. Marc got worse responses from other guys in the Marines, and given Steve’s from the 40’s, he wasn’t holding out much hope of better.

“So what about it?” he asks, leaning in, and Steve’s hand settles on his waist—

Marc kisses him, hard, no time wasted with finesse. He slams their mouths together, and feels more than hears the dry-bone-rattle of Khonshu’s laughter. Something burns, burns right through him and into Steve, as bright as the moon hanging full and round above them, and Steve jerks. His arm snaps tight around Marc’s back, and Marc braces to get tossed like a frisbee—

Instead, there's a groan, winded, warm. The kiss gentles, and a hand curls over Marc’s cheek, tips his head into an angle that’s a little less awkward. It feels a bit like an electric shock, and Marc twitches, almost jerks away, but…this is actually kind of pleasant. Not just awkward bodies, like sometimes happens, but—well. All those years spent crushing on Captain America probably have something to do with that.

Then, slow, gentle, Steve draws back, the shimmer of red around him gone. His eyes are sky-blue again, bright and familiar, and Marc takes one look at him, catches his breath, and says, “Fuck. Cap?”

Steve blinks, blinks again. Then, all at once, his eyes widen, and he says with deep relief, “Marc. You broke her control?”

“It was the image of the pink feathered negligée,” Marc tells him, flat, and desperately tries to jam his mask back over his head before something in his face gives away the whole I have a crush on the most unattainable man in existence thing. “You’re welcome. Thank Khonshu.”

“If I'm thanking Khonshu, I feel like it probably wasn’t that,” Steve says, and grimaces, putting a hand up to his head. “Ugh. I think I have a migraine.”

“Wanda’ll do that to you,” Clint says, cautiously poking his head above the edge of the low wall. “Moonie, did you really just break the evil witch’s curse with a kiss? Are you a fairy tale princess?”

“No, I'm Sailor Moon. And Wanda’s not evil,” Marc says, rolling his eyes, and drags his mask down a little more securely. “Shut up, bastard.”

Khonshu, still chuckling, tips his glass full of unidentified and unsettlingly-colored liquid at Marc. “You would make an excellent henchman, my knight,” he says, and is gone in the space between seconds.

“Damsel?” Natasha asks judgmentally, raising one red brow.

“Who wouldn’t want an easy retirement?” Marc counters. “If Cap wanted to take over the world, I think he could.”

Natasha weighs that for a moment, then snorts and waves in agreement, leaning down to check the Prince of Orphans.

“Please don’t ever let me take over the world,” Steve says, one hand still pressed over his eyes. “Even for the sake of your retirement.”

“Don’t look at me,” Clint tells him. “I look terrible in pink feathers. And my kiss can't break a curse.”

Marc flips him off, going to grab Steve’s arm and steer him out of the shrine. “Come on,” he says pointedly. “You should probably lie down. The birdbrain can handle getting everyone back to the ship.”

“While you play damsel? Come on, I can rock purple feathers—”

“Not as well as Moon Knight,” Valkyrie says, and between her and Natasha, they heave the Prince up. “Retrieve the good Captain’s shield, Hawkeye.”

Marc very firmly kicks the door closed before he can hear Clint’s protest.

Steve makes a quiet sound of amusement, body heavy where he’s leaning on Marc’s shoulder. “Do we need to have a talk about you offering to be a villain’s henchman?” he asks.

Marc rolls his eyes. “Only yours,” he counters, but instead of getting uncomfortable, the way he expects, Steve shoots him a thoughtful look.

“We should have downtime in Berlin once this mission is over,” he says after a moment. “I know you normally go back to New York, but you should stay. If you meant that kiss.”

Electricity, again. A frisson, sharp through Marc’s nerves, but—it makes breathing a little more difficult than it really should be.

“I could mean it,” he says, and looks away, feeling entirely too self-conscious. It was a bad kiss. Right up until Steve took over. “Assuming I didn’t scare you off.”

“I'm hard to scare,” Steve says gently, and—

Well. There's a fine line between supporting Steve and walking with Steve’s arm over his shoulder. Not that Marc is about to protest.

[melodygatesauthor]

Sweetness

Vampire Marc Spector x f!Reader

Blurb 1 for Kinktober 2024 - Request by @silvernight-m

NSFW below the cut - No Major Warnings - Reader is not coded

Marc stole away to your room one night when the mansion was fast asleep.

You awakened to him, hovering over you, eyes filled with such a heavy desire it was almost tangible. You cupped his cheeks, leaning up to slot your lips over his. Marc’s breath was coming out in short, desperate huffs, mouth quickly working its way to your jawline, then to your pulse where he rested, basking in your overwhelmingly delicious scent.

“I wish I could taste you,” he muttered against your skin, the sound of his fangs shifting into place rang loudly in your ear; the sound of danger; the sound of hunger.

“I know,” you whispered, wanting more than anything to give him that small thing, but you knew Khonshu would never allow it.

His kisses peppered your skin until he reached your sternum.

“I’ll just have to kiss every inch of you until I’m satisfied enough then,” he sniffed out a laugh, looking up at you through his dark lashes.

You nodded, breathless and wanting, body sparking to life at the mere sight of him exploring you with his lips alone. He kissed your breasts, peeling away your nightgown so he could flick his tongue over your budded nipples, grazing the hardened flesh with his teeth.

“Marc,” you whispered, somewhere between a beg and a demand.

It was painfully slow, the way he pressed his lips against different parts of your body, each time feeling better than the last. You thought you might scream when he lapped his tongue over your lower abdomen.

“You’re so wet,” he commented, sounding a little surprised.

“You do this to me…constantly,” you said, eyes still transfixed on his movements.

He looked right at you as he dragged a finger through your slick folds, like he was gauging your reaction, daring you to moan for him. Your jaw dropped when he dipped his finger inside your waiting hole, curling it upward and feeling your cunt flutter.

“Marc,” you said again, this time accompanied by a heavy moan.

He held onto your hip with his free hand, melting his mouth against your burning clit. With a gasp, you threw your head back, your hand quickly moving, grabbing onto a fistful of curls. You arched your back, angling your cunt against his face, filling the room with your soft, whispered moans. 

Marc’s eyes flitted upward, catching your gaze in the heat of the moment. You heard him groan deeply, swallowing against your mound like a man starved. With another finger to meet the first, you felt a delicious stretch, followed quickly by your choked whine. Marc hummed into your folds, starting to piston his fingers in and out of you, moving in time with his tongue.

Your thighs clenched around his head, a sign that your orgasm was coming near. He looked up at you again, brow raised as if to acknowledge your impending climax. You shoved his head back down, crossing your legs over his back and biting your lip.

“J-Just like that, right there, o-oh god,” you muttered, using your free hand to cover your own mouth.

When Marc added finger number three, you were a goner. He curled them up, hitting that spot that made your whole body shudder and your cunt clench around him. You had to use both hands now to silence yourself, lest your screams wake the entire household.

After what felt like forever, your mind became clear again, the fog of your orgasm fading away. Marc made his way up to you, kissing your lips softly and brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“Goodnight, honey,” he whispered, kissing the tip of your nose.

“Goodnight, Marc.”

Back to Kinktober Masterlist

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

Pussy drunk Steven Grant!!

hii, im very sorry this has taken so long!! thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌 also apologies in advance if there’s mistakes, I had a migraine while editing this

sweet

Steven Grant x f reader

wc || 0.6k

warnings || 18+ only sexually explicit content (oral f receiving, subby steven, praise) minors dni I couldn’t help but make him submissive, it’s just too easy

masterlist + rules

taglist

Steven Grant is the type of guy who often needs guidance to get a job done, needing simple reassurance and encouragement, the kind who loved hearing when he was doing something well. 

You and Steven haven't been dating long, so you were still somewhat foreign to one another's bodies, unsure how to navigate each other just yet. Steven being the adorably sweet and awkward guy he is, hasn't had much luck with women, causing him to feel inadequate in the bedroom. Since you became a couple, you've been experimenting with ways to build his confidence, quickly learning that he responds well to praise and direction. 

-

He looks up at you from between your thighs, his dark brown eyes blown huge as he stares up in adoration. Hands lightly stroking your thighs with uncertain features, grazing his palms over the soft flesh. 

You reassuringly nod as you place your hand over his, slowly guiding it to where you need him most. Lacing into his fingers as you lead him over your underwear, palming him over you. "Yeah, that's it," you whisper, momentarily closing your eyes as you feel his delicate touch. "Take them off," you softly instruct, nodding when you notice his questioning eyes. 

He slips from your gentle grip to snake his fingers into your waistband, gingerly sliding them down. His eyes dart between you and your pussy, looking at you with a precarious glimmer as he settles himself, getting comfortable between your legs.

"Go on," you ease, your tone full of warmth. You slide your fingers into his curls, gently tugging. "That's it," reassuring.

He itches his mouth closer, faintly licking a soft stripe through your folds, featherlight touch as he does so. He slides his arms under your thigh and reaches up to your hand, lacing and clasping into your fingers as if he was seeking comfort. His tongue stiffens as he slides through you again, parting your folds with a content groan, his movements light yet precise. "Right there, Steven... that's it," you softly praise, tightening your grip in his hand and hair. "You're doing so well."

Your praise instantly encouraged Steven. He began to work over you as if he had finally got a knack for you, your taste and feel being something he doesn't want to part from.

His gluttonous mouth movements grow hungry and desperate as he flicks over you, swirling over your clit as he listens to your body, listening to your hitches in breath. Paying attention to you.

Encouraging him further, you earnestly whimper in praise as you tug his hair, eyes screwed shut, muttering senselessly in the air. "Right there... you're making me feel so good, Steven... so good," peeking down, you catch a brief moment of eye contact before your eyes clamp closed again. "You're doing such a good job."

Steven's initial reaction to your somewhat pained whines of pleasure was to stop, unsure if he was hurting you. Sensing his uncertainty, you tenderly brush over the back of his hand as if to comfort him, silently reassuring him as you feel the build-up to your release.

He laps over you in the way he knew you liked, flicking and teasing your clit, parting and sucking on your folds, not once faltering in motion as he brought you to your high. Caressing your pussy.

Quivering against his lips as you coat his tongue, freely jolting as you came. 

He gently kisses your inner thigh before crawling up the bed next to you, snuggling into your side as he adjusts the covers, draping it over your lower half. You twist your neck to face him, sweetly kissing his lips while you wrap your arms around him, nuzzling the side of your head into his chest.  

@thewinterv @bubblezuku

[pimosworld]

read it again part II

My continuation of some of my favorite fics and series to re-read.

As always please check the individual warnings on each one. I have a wide range of things I read and enjoy and it’s up to you to indulge or skip whatever you’d like.

Part I here

Frankie Morales

Taste like heaven- @magpie-to-the-morning

Fuck it I love you- @psychedelic-ink

Take care of you- @whiskeynwriting

The hunt- @absurdthirst

Santiago Garcia

Ride or Die series- @writefightandflightclub

Cold shower- @the-little-ewok

Santiago Baby- @reallyrallyauthor

Baby Please Series- @hoedamn-eron

Triple Frontier (all the boys)

Then and now- @softlyspector

Team Building Exercise- @mylifeliterally

A proposition- @dameronscopilot

Bloom- @charnelhouse

Steven Grant

But you can’t wait to sink in- @moonknightly

Batons and Unicorns series- @stormkobra-5

Panic- @peterman-spideyparker

Make it up to you- @preciousscarab

Marc Spector

Shibari- @bits-and-babs

Making trouble- @juneknight

Far too long- @fettuccin-e

Tag team- @babyboibucky

Jake Lockley

Getting to know you- @moonlight-presence

Let me help you- @screwtodd-stevesherdaddynow

Look at me- @luc-k-y

So cold- @loki-hargreeves

Moon Knight ( all the boys)

A long night- @myfictionaldreams

Limitless- @missdictatorme

More hearts than mine- @starryevermore

Torn, Show me- @blackleatherjacketz

The shape of you-niverse- @bit-dodgy-innit

Feel free to leave a comment with your favorite re-read or message me directly to include in future installments.

Please comment and reblog the authors works that they pour their time, heart and soul into.

[eyelessfaces]

sigh. I can see "i've got this, you go rest." from the prompt list with the moon boys. specifically marc, maybe you guys have a kid and they wake up crying after a nightmare. marc's been gone but the second you sit up you feel a soft grip on your shoulder, the mumble and he takes care of everything AUGH

You can only feel frustration.

She won’t stop crying, you have tried everything. You’re on the verge of tears too, desperate for that nightmare to slip from her mind so you can both go back to bed and have a peaceful night.

You feel like you’ve been here for hours, and hot tears are still streaming down along her baby round cheeks. Maybe you aren't cut for this, maybe parenting isn’t for you. 

You could solicit the boys’ help, ask for back up to anyone that would be fronting at the moment when you wake them up. But you know they have had a long, tiring day serving Khonshu, and you would feel awful waking them up for something you should be able to figure out alone.

So you cradle her head close to you, run your hand through the dark curls that she so evidently inherited from her fathers, and gently rock her in your arms, pacing around her room. 

You have tried everything. Her favorite plushie, her favorite song, singing it to her, taking her outside for some fresh air, everything.

But it still won’t do. 

“Please, come on” you whine, almost beg, crushed by desperation as frustrated tears gather at the brim of your eyes. You���re not angry at her, you’re almost sure you could never be. You’re angry at yourself for not being able to take care of this properly, maybe you are what’s wrong.

Then you think you’re hallucinating when you feel a soft grip over your shoulder. You turn around, and you’re way too exhausted to even figure out who it is out of the three of them that is leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“I’ve got this, you go rest.” Marc. The half awake mutter is followed by a compassionate smile as he reaches to take hold of your daughter.

Marc gently takes your daughter into his arms, his movements fluid and calm. Marc, the man that believed he would never be good enough, would never be able to be a good father.

You feel some relief as you walk up to the doorframe, your daughter’s cries slowly starting to stop now as Marc hums her a lullaby. 

“Thank you Marc” you mumble, your voice betraying the weariness you’re not even trying to hide.

He nods, his eyes expressing understanding. The frustration inside you begins to dissipate, replaced by a profound sense of gratitude for Marc’s support. 

You go back to your bedroom and slide under the sheets, and though you want to wait for Marc to come back to bed to thank him again, the heavy weight over your eyelids won’t allow it.

[jayke0]

Rabbit Season

Summary: Just some drabble on how i think the system would react to their beautiful girlfriend's bunny outfit.

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: bunnygirl outfit, lingerie, had chubby!reader in mind but can fit for any size!, f!reader, butt plug, boob touching, ass fondling, p in v mentioned, probs typos, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

......................…………………………………………….

• Steven would be the first one you'd show. He's arguably the easiest to impress, which in turn makes him the easiest to work up.

• You'd give him a looong make-out session first and get him down to his boxers, only to slink out of the room to change.

• You'd look at him with a lidded gaze when you re-enter the bedroom, hands held politely in front of you.

• “Bloody hell…” He'd murmur and gesture for you to come closer as he'd sit himself on the edge of the bed. “I'm guessing you like it.” You'd chuckle.

• “Like it?! That's a bit of an understatement, innit? I mean-.” Steven would rest his hands on your waist, stroking his large hands up and down the slick, black material. “You look bloody gorgeous, love. So so sexy..” His words would trail off as he'd look at you, in complete awe of the goddess in front of him.

• His face would be between your boobs before you'd even get another word in, tugging down the front of the suit hard enough to male you jolt forward.

• He'd apologize profusely while not even taking his mouth off of your flesh, and you'd simply laugh and pat his head in response.

• Jake would be next, since he gives you, by far, the best responses, even to the most mundane of underwear.

• You'd make sure he's busy with cooking first, before you'd leave and return in the outfit. He'd turn to ask you a question, only for it to die in his throat as his eyes would rake over your body sitting on the counter.

• “Dios mío... Eres malvado, amor, verdaderamente malvado.” He'd grumble as he’d put the spatula down and approach you with a hungry look in his eye.

• “Lemme see you.” He'd help you hop off the counter and twirl you around as if you're dancing, stopping your hips when he'd catch a glimpse of the gap cut into the ass of the outfit, revealing a pretty bunnytail buttplug you'd bought to match with the ears.

• “Ay mi vida,” his voice would be practically dripping with lust as he'd tug the tail lightly and give the exposed flesh of your ass a light slap.

• “Gonna turn this off, then imma fuck ya over this counter, okay?” And of course you'd say yes.

• Marc's unflinching demeanour is what would make you pick him last. You know that he's always going to appreciate you, but those first few moments make butterflies flutter in your stomach.

• You'd wait till he’d been out on a mission, knowing that he's always riled up after one. You'd lay as casually as possible across the bed, facing the doorway.

• You'd then be surprised at the impressive amount of expression that'd tear across his face as he'd see you, looking at you as if he's a predator and you're his prey… which would be rather fitting, really.

• He'd love playing with the ears as he'd fuck you from behind, not even having taken the suit off thanks to the convenient “access” hole cut into the fake leather.

• He'd mumble in your ear about “what a good bunny” you are, and how well you take his “big cock”, all things that'd ultimately end with you a panting and sweaty heap on the bed.

[lokischickadee]

My Masterlist

Loki

Headcanons:

How Loki would celebrate your birthday

Loki dating someone who was cold

Showing Loki you love him

Dating Loki would include

Oneshots:

Forgotten Love

Proposal

Rightful King of Asgard (OC)

Surprise

Save you

Lady Loki

Blurbs:

Lady Loki

Character AI chatbots

Loki

Supernatural

Imagines:

One

Two

Good Omens

Nothing Yet

Moon Knight

Nothing yet

[backtothefanfiction]

The Last Night | Marc Spector Imagine

Summary: You finally find out Marc’s secret alter ego, but it came at a cost

Warnings: trauma, angst, hints to assault, break up, just a lot of angst and feels

A/N: been desperate for some Marc Spector/Moon Knight content, so I thought I’d just supply a little of my own. This is just a quick little drabble before I go to sleep. Enjoy.

The water had turned from hot, to warm, to practically freezing, but still you didn’t move. Couldn’t move.

You’ve been stood in the shower for over half an hour now, your initial scrubbing, desperate to get the blood off of your skin, out of your hair, now just turned to numbness. The water ran clear, but you still didn’t feel clean. You doubted you’d ever feel clean again.

You’d never really spoken about his past- but you’d known what he’d done. He had been a soldier after all. You’re a lucky person indeed if you are a soldier and never have to kill anyone. You thought that life was behind him though. When he disappeared for hours at a time in the evening or just failed to stop by at all, you figured he was just busy or he’d fallen asleep in front of the TV at his place. Never did you imagine he was out doing this.

As the icy droplets continued to hit your red raw skin, you couldn’t help but wonder, if you hadn’t gone out at all tonight, would you ever have found out his secret. You should just feel glad he saved you. Sure you came home covered in blood, but at least you came home… at least you were alive. You didn’t even want to think what would have happened to you if he hadn’t shown up when he did.

With your forehead resting on the cold white tiles in front of you, you barely noticed him creep in behind you. The moment he felt the cold temperature of the water, he reached to turn the shower off. You knew you should push him away right now, but you needed his familiarity, his comfort, his warmth- his safety- more. He reached for a towel off the rail, just beside the shower door, wrapping it around your shoulders as you turned yourself around, your body melting into him as you finally began to sob.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He said softly, kissing the side of your head as he held you tightly in his arms. “I’m sorry.” He continues to say.

Marc doesn’t want to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t gotten there in time. What he would have done if you had been taken from him? He had tried so desperately to keep his late night activities separate from you, and yet still here you were. He should have just told you. But would it have kept you safe?

He hoped that you’d always think it was just a random guy trying to get lucky. Hopes you’ll never find out that it was a targeted attack because you were his girlfriend.

“I’m sorry.” He keeps saying, but he still hasn’t fully worked out what he’s apologising for most. That this happened to you? That he didn’t tell you he was some late night crime fighting vigilante with an Egyptian God in his head? Or because he knows he put you in danger and come the morning you’ll wake up to a note by the side of your bed and you’ll never see him again. He’ll tell himself it’s for you- to keep you safe. But he knows that will always just be a lie to alleviate his own guilt about having put you in danger in the first place.

But that’s tomorrow’s problem. For now, he’s just going to hold you tight for as long as you’ll let him and be with you until you fall asleep. For now, he’ll allow himself this. Because come sunrise, you’ll go back to just being another stranger and he’ll go back to spending his time alone.