#moon knight oneshot

[ichorai]

i was just a kid ; marc spector.

track one of BROKEN MACHINE.

pairing ; marc spector x vigilante!gn!reader

synopsis ; khonshu wanted you dead. marc just wanted you.

words ; 6.6k

themes ; action, mild angst/fluff, vigilante au, thief au

warnings / includes ; blood/injury, cursing, mentions of human trafficking/sexual assault but not at all graphic, marc is basically chasing after reader for half the fic, we're traveling the world in this fic baby !!! khonshu being Annoying, reader doesn't know marc has DID and thinks he's crazy, a steven cameo !! and one (1) mention of spider-man and daredevil <3

main masterlist.

NEW DELHI, INDIA.

The street market was crowded, bustling with chatty tourists, loud salesmen, and traveling vendors. The air was heavy with the sweet, saccharine smell of fresh mangoes, intertwined with the faintest trace of turmeric, ginger and garam masala from other stalls you hurriedly passed by. You would’ve given anything to stop and try some of the food, if not for the terrifying white-suited fucker hunting you down.

The bleeding cut on your cheek he’d given you from when he threw his crescent-shaped boomerang in your direction throbbed. You’d barely been able to duck away in time. At least here, in the busy street, he couldn’t risk hurting anyone else by striking you long-range. 

At least, you hoped so. You weren’t entirely sure how far this bastard was willing to go to get you. Sure, you’d made a lot of enemies in the past, but, to your recollection, you’d never met any moon-caped supers keen on taking your life before.

You were quick to duck through the tight-knit throng, panic setting in when you realized the market was thinning away—you were near the end of the street, and you no longer had the advantage of cover on your side. 

With agile steps, you sprinted into an alleyway, glancing up the side of an apartment.

Then, you began to climb. You scaled the small grooves in the bricks, expertly balancing your weight just right so you wouldn’t fall. You’d done this a million times before, with much smoother surfaces to climb—after all, that was the bare minimum required of a thief. 

You hauled yourself onto the rooftop, laying low so he wouldn’t be able to spot you from ground level. 

Only—he wasn’t on ground level.

A shadow loomed over you just as you crouched by the rusted air conditioning unit, and you had but a millisecond to roll out of the way before his foot came crashing clean through the metal.

Well, fuck me, he can fly, you wryly thought. 

“Glide!” the man behind the mask gruffed as he grabbed your arm and shoved you against the crumpled AC unit, the searing hot metal digging painfully into your skin. “I glide, I don’t fly!”

“I said that out loud?” you panted with a hoarse chuckle, before quickly twisting and kicking his knee, brandishing a sharp dagger from the utility belt loosely secured around your hips. Up close, his suit appeared to be fashioned from a multitude of bandages, not unlike the cheap mummies from old nineties halloween movies. “Sorry, would it be weird for me to ask why a toilet paper cosplayer is trying to murder me?”

The man offered you no response, only diving forward and landing a good punch to one side of your jaw, which made your vision go blurry with disorientation for a moment. 

There was no way you could best him with strength—you needed to get away from him. 

With quick, nimble fingers, you pulled two smoke bombs from your belt and threw them onto the ground. Large plumes of ashen white immediately ate up the space between you, and he was left blinded for a couple of seconds. You tugged a grenade out a moment later, pulling out the pin with your teeth before tossing it in his general direction and throwing yourself off the opposite side of the building, where you’d spotted a plastic-woven tarp over one of the stalls by the edge of the market.

You’d crashed straight through their booth, fruits and drinks spilling all over the street’s asphalt. The vendors started cussing at you in a language that was foreign to your ears, but you knew they were saying foul things nonetheless. With a groan, you pushed yourself up, ignoring the searing pain that ran down your leg and began running back into the crowd. 

The explosion on the building had blown Marc back several meters, and he cursed beneath his breath as he pushed himself back up. Just as he was about to set back off to track you down, Khonshu’s bellowing voice made him halt in his motions.

“Let them go,” the God rumbled. There was an undertone of mild disappointment that laid stagnant beneath his voice, as if he’d just lost a game rather than a target. “We have more pressing matters at hand. Ammit’s followers are stealing more souls in Cuba.”

Marc’s brow furrowed. “Let them go? You want me to go to Cuba? That’s halfway across the world! I can finish the job, they can’t have gotten too far—”

“We have more pressing matters,” he repeated himself, this time with an edge to his voice. A headache pulsed angrily through Marc’s temple. 

“Why’d you want them dead so bad? This target—that person, were they a follower of Ammit? Huh?” 

Much to his frustration, Khonshu ignored him completely, merely brushing past his avatar. “Go to Havana,” the bird-skull rumbled over his shoulder. “I’ll meet you there.”

And with that, he disappeared.

ASTANA, KAZAKHSTAN.

A final stream of smoke fell from Elena’s lips as she pulled the cigarette away, dropping it into the floor to stub with her boot. She fixed you with a neutral expression as you made your way to her, though the unmistakable affection in her molten brown eyes gave her away. 

“Took you long enough,” she said, glancing at the large black cloak you were wearing. Her demeanor gradually shifted into one of a more somber variety. “Verdict’s been decided. The court decided not to charge—all those police that beat my friends to death… they’re walking away free of consequence. The government’s gone to shit. Everything is more expensive now—riots are breaking out over fuel prices, which means more people are getting killed. Nobody is willing to help anymore.”

You nodded grimly. “What can I do?”

There was a dark glimmer to her eyes as she squared her jaw. “You’re going to help me burn down government buildings. I don’t know how many, but… as many as it takes for them to change.”

A hint of a grin graced your lips as you regarded your past-lover with a nostalgic kind of fondness. “It’s the first time I see you in years and you’re already throwing me headfirst into war.”

She offered you a shrug and a wry smile. “Don’t kid yourself. You live for this kind of shit.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” you hummed distantly. “Where do we start?”

It was pandemonium. 

Everybody was yelling—the protestors, the police, the civilians watching from the sides, the sparse firemen as they tried to put out the massive, roaring flames that were greedily swallowing the government building in its entirety. You had to admit, you were rather proud of your handiwork—absentmindedly wondering if Elena would be happy with it, as well.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, a foreign hand tightly seized around your wrist and began to drag you back away from the crowd. Your gaze wildly swiveled around in confusion to the man yanking you along, noting his heavy-set furrowed brows and his frustrated scowl. With as much strength as you could muster, you dug your heels into the ground and halted his motion, pulling against him with all your might. He didn’t relent, only staring you down with dark eyes that held the warbling reflections of the fire you set behind you. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” you barked, starting to get more frantic as you fruitlessly attempted to get him to let go of you. 

And when he spoke, it finally dawned on you.

Well, fuck me. It’s that bitch that chased me down in New Delhi. Wonder why he isn’t wearing his super suit… probably not to attract attention like last time. The news was all over him.

“You’re just getting more people killed,” he husked, clearly talking about the fire you’d caused, before brandishing a dark karambit knife, one that you swore gave you a cut just by looking at it. “No wonder he wants you dead.”

Fear wove down your spinal column when the blade poked your lower stomach in warning. “I’m sending a message,” you growled in reply, lips curled over your teeth in a snarl as you bristled. “And what about you? You’re gonna fix the problem by killing me? I don’t even know you! Some hero you are—those people protesting out there? They’re better than you will ever be.”

For a moment, his pupils darted back to the rioting crowd, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features, and you used the short-lived distraction to your advantage. You expertly kicked the knife out of his hand and landed a quick blow square in the center of his face, feeling his nose break beneath your knuckles. 

Not wanting to push your luck—you remembered how fast he was during your last encounter—you gave him one final shove, sending him sprawling into a trash can with a groan and a muffled curse.

By the time he forced himself back onto his feet a second later, you’d already disappeared into the shadows.

Fuck. Khonshu was gonna kill him.

PODGORICA, MONTENEGRO.

Marc still wasn’t sure why Khonshu wanted you dead so badly. Then again, he wasn’t sure about anything when it came to Khonshu. 

But he knew one thing for certain—if Marc truly wanted you dead, then you would’ve been six feet under weeks ago. Which meant… he wasn’t actively trying to kill you because he didn’t actually want you dead. All the others that he’d killed for Khonshu felt like they’d deserved it—rapists, abusers, pedophiles… and though Marc didn’t know you very well, he knew you weren’t anything like the people he’d killed before.

Marc didn’t know what he was doing. 

Jaw clenched, he pulled the cap lower down his face, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jeans. He followed not too far behind you, silent as a wraith, watching as you merrily strode down the streets of Podgorica. 

Finally, when you stopped by a little coffee truck to order an iced latte, Marc stepped forward to stand beside you.

For the first minute, you idly tapped away on your phone, smiling down at the screen briefly before pocketing the device. You glanced at him, thinking nothing of the person beside you, assuming they were just another civilian—

Then you froze.

You knew that face.

After all, you’d broken that very same nose less than a week ago. Strange, it looked just fine now. 

Immediately, you hunkered down into a defensive position, backing away from him with quick steps. Then, you ran, sprinting away so quickly that Marc could’ve sworn a trail of dust kicked up beneath your feet.

The man in the coffee truck incredulously yelled out after you, followed by a string of what Marc could only assume was a creative litany of Montenegrin profanity. 

Dropping a few shillings onto the truck’s counter, Marc grabbed your coffee and ran after you, shocked at how far you’d managed to get in such a short amount of time. 

There was no denying that you were a fast runner—but as the old tale went, the quick hare would always get overly confident. You slowed down to a moderate jog when you glanced behind you, Marc nowhere in sight. With a relieved sigh, you turned the corner and slumped against a building, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. 

Damn, you’d kill for that iced coffee right about now.

As if on cue, Marc rounded the corner, catching you by surprise. You were just ready to turn tail and run away again, but his hand shot out and held onto your wrist, not unlike he did in Astana. 

You spewed out a myriad of curses, ranging from calling him an ‘insufferable cucumber-dicked motherfucker’ to ‘smooth-brained, butt-faced swine’, wildly trying to get him to let go of you. If you weren’t violently bucking against him with all the grace of a panicked mare, he would’ve laughed at the creativity of your insults. 

“Stop, I just want to talk!” exclaimed Marc, dodging when you pushed yourself forward to try and wrap your hands around his throat. 

“Last two times I saw you, you tried to kill me!” you breathlessly spat. “Sorry if I don’t quite trust you now!”

“I’m unarmed,” he gritted out, stepping back slightly to allow you to scan your gaze over him. Though you didn’t want to admit it, you knew that if Marc really wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead long ago. “I just want to ask you a couple things. And look—I brought your coffee!”

A low hiss fell from your lips. “I’m not answering jack shit.”

With that, you lunged forward and shoved him hard—so hard that he stumbled into the jagged brick wall behind him with an oomf. The iced latte sloshed right out of its cup and spilled all over his chest. His head struck painfully against the stone and his vision went blurry for a moment, expression faltering. 

You stepped away, watching him with cautious, narrowed eyes. 

After a long, pregnant pause, the man blinked in a dazed fashion, seeming confused. 

“What? Where am I? What’s going on?” he said, accent suddenly… British. He fixed you with a genuinely miffed gaze, appearing slightly frightened at your withering glower. 

You didn’t stay to answer his question. 

As you were turning on your heel to run away, you faintly heard him mutter to himself, “Where the bloody hell am I?”

Crazy bastard.

VALENCIA, SPAIN.

Your knuckles were split. Blood dribbled down your fist, a mixture of yours and the man whose face you were caving in.

One of your hands was bunched into the collar of his shirt, holding him down as you rained punches on him. The sickening sound of his bones giving way with your strikes didn’t deter you, and you only snarled and hit him again as he blubbered out prayers in Spanish. Blood-flecked spittle dripped from his busted lips. 

“Who are you praying to?” you hissed, releasing his collar in favor of wrapping your hand over his throat, squeezing tight. The dull green of his eyes flashed with panic, legs flailing weakly. “The gods will not listen to the likes of you—I’ll make sure of it.”

A strangled wail erupted from him. 

And just as you were about to land another punch, you found yourself being shoved away from the man, and promptly lifted off the floor with the scruff of your shirt collar, shoving you against a wall. You began kicking and twisting blindly, cursing furiously when you saw the man you were beating up scurry onto his feet and haggardly sprint away.

Your struggling was of no avail, and you weren’t at all surprised to see the same person that’s been trying to track you down for months now. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, brows heavily furrowed and dark eyes stormy with anger. “You were about to kill that guy!”

“He deserves it,” you bit out, glaring back at him with just as much intensity. “The fucker’s been stalking a friend of mine and sexually assaulted her daughter.”

There was a beat of silence. Marc’s cross expression seemed to drain away, but he still bore a stern face as he slowly let you go. You slid down the wall and got back onto your feet with a wince. 

“Why have you been following me?” you huffed, dusting off your pants. “You think I don’t know that if you really wanted to kill me, I would be dead by now?”

Marc squared his jaw and leveled his gaze on you. “Someone… close to me wants you dead. I want to know why first—he won’t tell me.”

“Sounds like you shouldn't be all that close to him, then,” you snorted derisively. 

“Not for a lack of trying,” the man dryly replied. 

With a scoff, you stepped forward and wiped your bloody knuckles onto his shirt, leaving a damp trail of darkening crimson. “There’s way too many reasons a person would want me dead,” you whispered, one hand patting his chest. The other trailed down, down, down…

To the high-rise potted plant beside you. You grabbed a fistful of dirt.

“See, he’s not exactly what you’d call a person—”

Before Marc could finish his sentence, you chucked the dirt straight into his face. He inhaled some of the soil and doubled over, pounding on his chest as he coughed it out. With a growl, he frustratedly swiped the remaining flecks of dirt out of his eyes, blearily looking back up. And, to none of his surprise but much of his dismay, you were already gone.

OSLO, NORWAY.

“Why aren’t they dead yet, Marc?” grumbled Khonshu in that grating, gravely tone of his. Even though the God had no eyes, Marc could still feel his stare burning straight through him. 

With a frown, Marc was quick to respond, “Because you haven’t told me why yet.”

“You’ve never needed a reason before—always blindly following my orders,” the bird-skull crooned. “What makes them so different?”

There was a bitter taste to the back of Marc’s throat. What made you so different?

“Because I don’t know if they deserve it, alright?” he retorted, crossing his arms to glare up at the tall figure. “You can’t just expect me to kill everyone who mildly inconveniences you.”

Harrumphing, Khonshu snapped back, “They are naught but an inconvenience—they are a disruption to the very balance of nature. Y/N has taken justice into their own hands, and that is a very dangerous thing for a simple mortal to do.”

Marc cast his gaze away in frustration, pacing back and forth. “But that’s exactly what you make me do.”

“Yes, because you are my avatar,” deadpanned the God. “And Y/N is not. Though, they might as well be because you are being a fool.”

He could feel one of his eyes twitch. There wasn’t ever a conversation Marc could remember where Khonshu didn’t insult him. 

“They’re doing what they think is right,” defended Marc. “They’re not hurting people just for the sake of it.”

“That is not for them to decide!” bellowed the God, which made him step back just a bit. “They have done terrible, unimaginable things in the past—though mistakes some may be—and they will continue to make them. Take a look for yourself.” With that, Khonshu swept his arm out, gesturing to the large bank across the street, large windows giving him a clear view of what was going on inside.

His heart dropped down to his stomach when he saw you. 

You were wearing a mask that covered the entirety of your features, except for your eyes and your mouth. The rest of your body was shrouded with simple, dark clothing, suitable for running. 

And, most notably, you had a gun in your hand, pointing straight at the trembling woman working behind the counter. Your mouth was moving and you gestured with lax, calm movements, despite the explicit terror written across the woman’s face.

Marc’s brow furrowed. Damn it. 

He watched as you snatched the bag of money the woman slowly slid over, and hightailed out of the bank with the gun still gripped tightly in your hand. You ran the opposite way, before disappearing down another block. Glancing over at Khonshu, only to see that he was nowhere in sight, Marc huffed out a sigh and began sprinting after you.

One downside of Oslo was that their buildings weren’t exactly the easiest to climb—which meant that you had to stick to the ground and trust your speed. 

Marc wasn’t as fast as you without his suit, that was for certain. But with his suit—he could glide. 

And so that’s how the white-caped figure dropped straight down in front of you out of seemingly nowhere, which elicited a shriek of surprise from you, nearly dropping the bag out of shock. You had pulled your mask off long ago, shoving it into the knapsack shrugged over your shoulders, along with the gun. 

This clearly wasn’t your first time doing this.

“You,” was what you incredulously breathed out, eyes wide. “You must be obsessed with me or something.”

Not in the mood to play around, Marc growled out, “Why are you doing this? Give the money back. It’s not yours.”

“Who said it was for me?” you countered, upper lip curled in contempt. You tilted your head at him, eyeing his suit with interest, before returning back to your scathing disposition. “Not that it’s any of your business, but this money’s for the small orphanage a couple miles from here. They’re barely getting by with the money the government gives them. I have a kid there I know.”

With bated breath, Marc willed the suit away, leaving him in a dark sweatshirt and a pair of woolen pants. He eyed you suspiciously, still not too sure if he should trust you.

Sensing this, you rolled your eyes and unzipped your bag. “If you don’t believe me—check my gun. It’s blank.” You fished out the small weapon and handed it over to him with the end pointed towards you so he wouldn’t think you were going to shoot him. “No bullets.”

Marc didn’t need to check it—by now he knew you were telling the truth. But he looked into the chamber anyway, finding it void of any ammunition. 

“Can I go now? We both know you’re not going to kill me. The cops will be looking,” you said, voice a bit more gentle than before. He noticed that the anger on your face had melted away, leaving only urgency and another tumultuous emotion that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

When he offered you no response, finally relenting, you nodded once to him, a glimmer of gratitude behind your irises. And with that, you began running again, effortlessly disappearing into the shadows.

“Fool,” thundered a rumbling growl from somewhere above him. Marc looked up, but the bird-skulled God was nowhere to be found.

COLUMBUS, OHIO.

Damn. Nothing hit harder than classic, greasy, American cheeseburgers with a side of curly fries and a milkshake. You shifted eagerly on the sticky red leather of the booths, shooting the waitress who’d handed you your food a flirtatious smirk and a ten dollar bill, which she took with an equally salacious wink.

You grinned down at your food before taking the first bite into the burger, a muffled noise of content falling from your throat.

“Am I interrupting something?” said a frustratingly familiar voice, the man sliding into the seat across from you. “It sounds like you were just about to have the greatest sex of your life—with a cheeseburger.”

You pointedly glared at him, though it lacked any true heat. After about a dozen deliberately slow chews, you finally swallowed down the food. Marc looked like he wanted to say something else, but you merely held up a finger, slurping on the paper straw of your milkshake. He pursed his lips with a mildly aggrieved look.

Finally, you tilted your head at him. 

“Is there something you want from me?” you asked him casually, reaching to the end of the table to grab a napkin and wipe at the corner of your lips. “Because I’m not in the drug business anymore, if that’s what you’re looking for. Or is it something else, hm?”

It seemed that Marc hadn’t completely thought this through. Sure, he’d planned out what he roughly wanted to say to you, but now that you were right in front of him, he found his tongue running dry. He fumbled for words, fists clenching and unclenching by his knees. 

“I don’t want to kill you. Or hurt you at all, for that matter.”

You scoffed, remembering the instances in which he’d hurt you plenty.

“I just… I want to know your side of the story. I want to know why you do what you do,” he said, a bit quieter. 

For a moment, Marc thought you’d just tell him to piss off. But there was a gradual shift to your features, going from obvious irritation to gentle curiosity. 

“Alright. I’ll cut you a deal,” you said, popping a curly fry into your mouth. “I tell you about my tragic backstory, and you tell me all about this… thing that’s been wanting to kill me. And before I start—I’m gonna need your name. I can’t keep mentally cataloging you as the toilet paper man.”

And for the first time since you met him all those months ago—Marc laughed. It was deep and gratingly genuine, coming from the very bottom of his chest.

“Well, first of all, it’s not toilet paper. It’s the ceremonial armor of Khonshu’s temple. And second, it’s Marc. Marc Spector.”

“Ceremonial armor of whose what now?” you balked. 

A hint of a smile graced the corner of Marc’s lips. “Khonshu—Egyptian God of the moon. I’m his avatar. He’s the one that wanted me to kill you. He called you a disruption to nature—said that you were wrongfully taking justice into your own hands.” As he spoke, the smile began to wane away, and he regarded you in a more serious light. “I want to know why he thinks that.”

You stared down at your plate of fries, stunned. An Egyptian God wanted you dead? You knew you pissed people off, but Gods too?

“And if you don’t like what you hear?” you quietly asked, lifting your gaze to meet his. “Will you drag me out of the diner and strangle me to death?”

Though you could tell he didn’t like saying it, Marc’s face was set in stone when he leveled with you. “I’ll give you a head’s start.”

Another beat of silence. You picked up another fry and popped it into your mouth. The plate slid across the table as you nudged it towards him. 

“Alright, Marc. Settle in, have some fries, order a milkshake—it’s a long story.”

And you told him everything. You told him about your childhood—rumbling stomachs, nimble thieving hands, falling off of buildings when running away from cops. You told him about your teenage years—pulling off heists, brokering deals with gangs, breaking nearly every bone in your body being reckless. You told him about your early adult years—falling in love with Elena, getting more comfortable as a vigilante, as you liked to call yourself, meeting other superheroes and helping out on occasion. Marc seemed to recognize Spider-Man and Daredevil’s names when you mentioned them in passing, his eyebrows arching up closer to his hairline. 

You told him that you now spend your days traveling around the globe helping people. 

By the time you were done spilling your entire life story, your fries and burger were cleanly polished off. 

Marc was silent for a long time, as if unsure what to say. 

“I was in love once, too,” he said in a tentative manner, gaze trained on the table. “Her name was Layla.”

“Oh, yeah?” you curiously said, sipping on the last frothy remnants of your milkshake at the bottom of the glass. “And how’d that work out for you?”

There was a sad glint to his eyes. “Not so good. We’re divorced now.” He cleared his throat before you could press him about it. “What happened with you and Elena?”

It was now your turn to stare out the window in a despondent manner. “Same as you. Except we were never married. My lifestyle was… too much for her.”

Marc nodded in understanding. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you stared at the glossy table in silence.

“You still in love with her?”

You lifted your gaze to meet his. “I love her, yeah—I always will. I’m just not in love with her anymore.”

The man across from you hummed. There was a newfound understanding between you two—unspoken, but the both of you could feel it. 

“Do you still love Layla?”

A ghost of a smile graced his features, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “Not in the same way I used to. But I do.”

With a final slurp of your straw, your drink glass was emptied. “Seems like we’re a lot more similar than first meets the eye, huh?” 

Marc fixed you with a loose, awkward smile. Without another word, he pulled the bill of his cap lower down his face, and slid out of the booth. It seemed that he wasn’t going to be strangling you tonight. 

You didn’t look back when he walked out of the diner, the bell hooked by the doortop tolling with his departure.

YEKATERINBURG, RUSSIA.

The bird skull was saying something. His bony beak was moving. You could feel the vibrations of his thundering voice beneath your feet. And yet—you had no fucking clue what he was talking about.

You blinked up at the God with wide eyes. 

“Could you repeat that?” you winced out, having not picked up a single word Khonshu had said in the past three minutes. The God grumbled, and somehow glared at you despite having no eyes within his bony skull. Beside you, Marc let out a muffled snort.

“You insolent buffoon,” the bony figure snarled. “Have you not been listening?”

Despite the bristling God in front of you, you found the entire situation to be amusing. “Sorry, it’s just… your head’s really big. It’s kinda distracting. Just paraphrase yourself—I don’t need all the terms and conditions.”

Marc’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, but he immediately sobered up when Khonshu rounded his pointed beak to him, back straightening. 

“This is a gravely serious matter—!”

“You know what else is serious?” you snapped, pulling your thick woolen coat closer to your quivering body. “Catching hypothermia! Did you really have to pick Russia of all places? We couldn’t have met on a warm beach in the Caribbeans, or something?”

If Khonshu had eyelids, you were sure they would’ve been twitching with repressed agitation by now.

A deep baritone of a sigh fell from the lanky God. He leaned his weight against his crescent-tipped staff, as if willing his own patience to hold steadfast. 

“I said—” he started again, watching you cautiously, “—that I will be letting go of your past sins. But only because my avatar is so keen on you, and because you show a consistent effort to rid the world of evil. However, if you slip up so much as once, I will personally see that to an unkind descent into the afterlife. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal!” you harrumphed, tucking your frigid nose into the collar of your fur coat. “And I did those things to people who deserved it—which is exactly the same as what you do, you bony hypocrite! Can we go inside now?”

The God grumbled something unintelligible, though you suspected it had something to do with your impertinence, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“You’ll get used to him,” assured Marc, placing a hand on your back to lead you back inside. “He doesn’t get any better but—you’ll get used to it.”

“That’s reassuring,” you dryly responded, teeth beginning to chatter. As soon as the two of you started to walk back to the small little city hotel, you elbowed his side with a playful grin. “So… you’re keen on me, huh?”

Marc gave you an unimpressed look. Snowflakes danced with the wind and landed in his neatly-combed curls. “Khonshu had to believe that I liked you—the last thing he’d want is a sloppy, grieving avatar.”

“Mmh, I don’t know…” you said, tapping your finger against your chin in thought. “He’d probably like that, considering he’s one manipulative son of a bitch. Maybe he just secretly likes me and wants to keep me around.”

“Yeah,” snorted Marc. He halted in his tracks, forcing down a smile. “That, or I blackmailed him.”

Your eyes widened, frost clinging to your lashes and brows. “You blackmailed an Egyptian God?”

“Let’s just say that he’s had a sticky romance with the Egyptian Goddess of love—ironically, she’s one of the few beings that he’s genuinely terrified of. I threatened to get in contact with her avatar if he didn’t absolve you.”

You kicked at a small build-up of snow by the sidewalk, an excited gleam to your irises. “Crazy how even the Gods have petty dating drama to gossip about,” you commented, turning to him. His nose was tinted a faint shade of red from the cold, bits of white frost freckling his hair and his clothes. “Thanks for not killing me, by the way,” you added as an afterthought, fixing him with a warm smile. 

“Just keep out of trouble,” he gently reminded, mirroring your soft grin. The two of you were now standing in front of your dingy little motel—and Marc apparently had something to attend to halfway across the world in Cuba. 

So this was goodbye. 

For now, at least.

Without thinking, you leaned forward to press your cold lips against the warmth of his cheek, the tip of your nose grazing his cheekbone as you laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Thanks,” you whispered when you pulled away slightly, breath misting into an opaque fog. Marc was regarding you with an expression that bordered on fondness, which was certainly a new look that you found yourself craving for more. “I haven’t really properly talked to anybody in ages so… this was nice. Goodbye, Marc.”

With that, you turned on your heel and headed into the hotel, grateful for the blast of warmth from the overhead heater, though you could still feel Marc’s burning stare bore holes into your back, even as you turned the corner and disappeared from his sight.

ADDIS ABABA, ETHIOPIA.

Blood, everywhere.

Gunshots in the distance.

Snarling men rounding the corner—human traffickers.

Your dagger glinting beneath the hot Ethiopian sun.

A man screaming as you sliced his throat. 

Gurgling.

Red on your hands. On your clothes. On your shoes. 

Two successive punches—one to your stomach, and the other to your face.

Pain blooming beneath your skin.

A fist around your throat.

Squeezing. 

Choking.

Dark spots dancing about your vision.

Your nails clawing into their eyes. 

Air.

Gasping for breath. 

Wheezing.

You desperately parried away another assailant’s knife.

A song of steel against steel.

More gunshots flying every which way.

You dove behind large metal crates. 

Sand in your shoes.

Copper on your tongue.

Crashing. Yelling. Cursing.

Your fingers flexing around the hilt of your dagger.

Bated breath.

You looked around the crate.

Marc fucking Spector.

A ghost of a smile on your lips.

Your name being called out—surprise in his tone.

“Fancy seeing you here!” you shouted.

Marc’s fist curled into one of the traffickers’ collars.

“It’s been a while!” came his mildly amused reply.

A grunt. A punch. A groan of pain.

His white cape fluttered with the wind. 

“You down for a burger or something later?”

You spoke calmly, as if you weren’t currently strangling someone with a long power cord. 

The man fell limp in your hold. 

“Sure—I could go for a burger,” he called out, 

Blood trickled down your nose and grazed your lip. 

You wiped it away with the back of your hand.

The last of the traffickers was struck down with Marc’s crescent boomerang. 

A breath of relief. 

Drenched in blood (most of which was not yours), you made your way to Marc.

“You clean up nice,” he joked.

A roll of your eyes.

“Oh, shucks, Marc,” you simpered with a mischievous grin, dragging a bloody hand down his face once he retracted his mask. 

He grimaced in disgust, but didn’t push you away. 

A laugh fell from your throat, hoarse and echoing.

You looped your aching, bleeding arms with his. 

“Let’s go get that burger.”

LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND.

“Ow—ugh, Marc, could you go any faster?” you barked through the dirty cloth wedged between your teeth, glaring up at him with watering eyes. You’d endured pain far worse than this, sure, but Marc was taking twice as long stitching you up than when you’d do it yourself. Though, admittedly, whenever you had to patch yourself up, it was a rather shoddy job and often left a much larger, gnarled scar than it would’ve, had you properly taken care of it. 

The man above you shook his head, dark curls hanging loosely over his forehead. “Stop moving and maybe it’ll hurt less,” he replied, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as he worked on your stitches. “You know, just because we work together now and I heal quickly doesn’t mean you do, too.”

With a grimace, you tore the cloth from your mouth, chucking it somewhere across the small motel room to freely speak to him. “It was just a mistake,” you replied, nearly doubling over with a strained groan when he punctured the skin of your abdomen with a small needle, where the deep gash resided, one last time. “I timed myself wrong. Happens sometimes.”

Marc let his eyes roam over your exposed skin, brows divoting ever so slightly upon seeing the multiple other scars littering your body. They were memories of your past, and you weren’t ashamed of them. 

“Doesn’t look like it only happens sometimes,” he murmured, tying off his sutures and cleaning off the last bits of flaking, dried blood on your stomach before binding the open wound with thin bandages. 

“You worried about me?”

Marc didn’t spare you a response. He busied himself by putting away the medkit and tossing the discarded, bloodied clothes into the bathroom sink. When he came back to sit on the bed beside you, you had gingerly moved positions so that you were propped up against the creaking bed’s headboard. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Shitty,” you whispered. “England fucking stinks.”

Marc chuckled, a small smile curling his lips upwards, though you noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

The two of you sat in silence for a while. 

“Thanks for stitching me up,” you told him.

“Thanks for not dying on me,” he replied. His hand sought yours and your fingers laced with his. “I know we’ve only been working together for a month by now, but I’m starting to really like you.”

With one last painful shift, you moved so that your faces were only inches away. You paused when your lips were just a hairsbreadth from his, giving him time to yank you away if need be. 

But he didn’t. 

His lips met yours with a tender sort of sadness, pouring months of frustration and anger into the embrace. A warm hand came up to cradle the back of your head, angling you closer, wary of your newly-stitched wound. 

Forehead resting against his, you gently pulled away, finding solace in the fact that he chased after your lips just a bit, before cracking his dark eyes open. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” he mumbled, gaze darting back down to your parted mouth. 

“Okay,” came your broken reply.

And despite it all, he threw all caution to the wind and kissed you again. Again, and again, and again—far into the night, until the two of you passed out on the stained sheets of the motel bed, limbs intertwined and your nose pressed against his throat, where you could hear the soft thrumming of his heartbeat. 

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Khonshu was hovering on the rooftop, finding himself rather glad that his avatar had finally found someone he could trust—even if that someone was the very bane of his existence. 

“I need a new avatar,” the God harrumphed to nobody but himself, knowing full and well that he wasn’t letting go of Marc Spector and his… counterparts any time soon. 

[sincka]

|| Silly Mistakes ||

Summary : You and Jake cook together, but the apartment soon becomes a war zone...

Characters : Jake Lockley ; You ; Marc and Steven makes a small appearance

Notes : this one was a request and I know we agreed only for the "basic cute fic" but I couldn't help myself writing some crazy stuff lol it's still simple but I hope the person concerned will like that fic. 🥺❤️ [English and Spanish aren't my native languages, I apologize for my mistakes. Please tell me when something's wrong in the text, I'll correct it]

Warnings : love ; kisses ; love again ; hugs ; more kisses ; cocoa mixture attacks ; whipped cream assault ; a bit of anxiety 🤏 ; cursing ; khonshu is pissed off

Word count : 3.2K

You straighten up.

In front of the rounded mirror, you rub your still damp hair with a towel to dry it. You cherish this feeling of well-being. Your muscles relaxed, your clothes rubbing against your soft, clean skin, the pleasant smell of your hair, the pleasant smell of tomato... Tomato ? Perplexed, you frown slightly as you turn towards the door. You sniff and that good smell coming from outside is still there.

A smile appears on your face when you imagine what your boyfriend is up to.

After a few minutes, you're ready to leave the bathroom.

The smell hits you all the more.

Between the bookcases placed on either side, you see him preparing something in the kitchen. And you can hear him whistling quietly as he's focused on his task. As you walk, you recognize the tune of the song. The slightly slower version of Quien Sera made by Dean Martin. Your curiosity takes over and you keep walking, watching the multi-faceted man open the blender to smell the content. On your way, you notice that a black tie is placed on one of the two chairs on which you sit to eat, chat or laugh together or even all at once. You definitely know who it was.

Usually you find this tie there when your favorite limo driver shows up to get ready for the night ahead. You hate the idea of him being out at night. Jake is not a real hero, you have already seen him at work despite all the trouble he has taken to preserve you. Because even if he's never ashamed to stay true to himself, he found himself being concerned about the way you saw him. He was brutal, radical, determined but also very protective. With time and deep conversation, you've learned that his motives are laudable and that he does his best to put the needs of others before his own. He may not be the typical hero, but he's a true vigilante for you nonetheless. He's just a bit more unpredictable, hot-headed, and hot-tempered than some of the superheroes revered by mankind.

And you have no desire to stop him in his missions, because they are just as crucial for him as for the others, even if he sometimes employs rather drastic measures on his enemies.

"Jake ?" you guess as you keep walking.

You see him take a spoon out of a drawer before plunging it into the blender. But you become all the more intrigued the closer you get to the counter he's standing in front of.

"...Jake ?"

"Taste this." he said suddenly bringing the spoon closer to you.

Despite your surprise, you let him bring the spoon to your lips to taste this liquid and creamy substance.

There, your eyes widen.

"Mhh, damn, that's delicious." you say enthusiastically. "Is it gazpacho ?"

"What insight." Jake teases you with a grin.

"Piss off." you retort with a smile as you hit him on the shoulder, which made Jake chuckle.

He then brought the spoon to his lips to eat the rest before setting it down in the sink. He'll clean it up later.

"I didn't help you prepare it, it bothers me..." you admit, putting your hands on the counter with regret.

"You needed to relax, and a gazpacho is quick to make." Jake replies pouring the contents of the blender into a glass pitcher.

You think for a moment, as you watch your boyfriend cover the pitcher with cellophane. He had his shirt sleeves pulled up over his forearms and his collar was unbuttoned. Then jealousy momentarily overwhelms you when you find that Jake never stained it despite the danger of the tomato.

"Since when do you cook in a white shirt ? Who does that ?" you decide to tease him with a playful grin.

"Me. Ever since I noticed you like watching." he replies, before giving you a proud look accompanied by a charming smile, while he wipes his hands with a towel.

Taken aback by his response, your eyes widen briefly and your heart skips a beat, then your cheeks blush uncontrollably.

"Okay, let me catch up for tonight. I'm making dessert." you announce, determine to get your hands dirty and above all to change the subject quickly.

Of course, Jake's smile widens even more as he puts his gazpacho away in the fridge.

"Yes, would you mind, mi amore ?" he closed the fridge door and then moved closer to you, while you watched him out of the corner of your eyes. "But I like when we cook together, so... Pick a dessert and you can tell me what to do." he adds nevertheless once at your side, plunging his eyes into yours while having his fist resting against his hip and his second hand resting on the counter a few inches from yours.

You raise an eyebrow as you shyly hold back a smile. This idiot knows very well what he's doing by standing close to you and giving you that smile, so sweet but also so seductive.

"So you're going to obey my orders ?" you ask with interest.

"Sí, señora." he nods.

"Mh. Interesting." you say innocently.

Jake chuckled softly. He couldn't help but keep his eyes on you. It often happened to him to observe you with tenderness and amusement, especially in those quiet moments when it's just the two of you and your way of pushing each other to the limits, just for fun.

Since gazpacho is low in calories, you could afford to eat something heartier. After a few minutes of inventorying the cupboards, you decide on a simple moist chocolate cake with whipped cream.

So you start the preparation while Jake preheats the oven. With a whisk, you mix the ingredients that you have placed together in a bowl. But your concentration was quickly disturbed by the man who came up behind you to gently kiss your neck, and the spot behind your ear, then your cheek, forcing your lips to curve upwards. More tenacious than ever, Jake keeps kissing your cheek until you turn to look him straight in the eye while stopping all your movements. He raised his eyebrows as if he was as surprised as you, also stopping his tender kisses to meet your insistent gaze. It's not his fault after all that you smell so good.

Without saying a word, you go back to work while a smirk remains glued to your face. You notice that the mixture is starting to become more compact so you quickly reach for the melted butter on the counter, however you don't see it anywhere. Frowning, you look around in hopes of finding what you need. Then when you turn to Jake, you come face to face with the cup containing the melted butter he was holding. So you bring your hand to it but Jake decides to take it a little further away from you. It is therefore by rolling your eyes that you end up meeting his gaze again.

"You're supposed to help me not slow me down." you say with a slight smile, trying to figure out your boyfriend's intentions.

"Why are you in such a hurry ?" he asks back with a smirk.

His eyes landed on a specific spot on your face, and you can't help but do the same. After a few seconds, you move closer to each other, your eyelids slowly drooping in anticipation. Finally, your lips move together in harmony, gently, but also with a hint of passion. That's what Jake wanted, right ? And yet he was still surprised by your initiative, responding to your kiss with as much fervor. Then he felt the cup slip out of his hand. He opened his eyes, pulling away from your lips reluctantly when he saw you with a victorious smile holding the cup you had just stolen from him.

"I am so proud of you." He announces, shaking his head slightly as he smiles admiringly.

You briefly shrug one shoulder in false modesty before pouring the butter into the bowl. How funny, Khonshu's avatar cooking with you and acting all lovey dovey like he's never threatened anyone or came home with blood on his knuckles. People could say that he was getting soft, but really, he already was when you met him. You're just one of the very few people who really tried to get to know him and dug deep to find out who he really was. But of course, he's kinder to you than he's ever been to anyone else. Paradoxically, he's both sweet and rough. He's... Well. Jake. You snort of amusement and tenderness at that thought.

Then you continue the recipe by adding vanilla essence. At your request, Jake has broken three eggs into the mixture and once that's done, you stir everything with the whisk. Finally, when the preparation is ready and, for his part, Jake finished mixing the whipped cream, you hasten to grease the baking pan.

But the protector of the night's travelers is far from stupid.

He watches you with some concern, noticing that something's wrong. You seemed so rushed, too focused, not fully enjoying this time you were spending together. Of course you were going to savor this cake, but you don't cook together to cook. Jake wanted to spend time with you and the cake is just a pretext. However, you didn't seem to be on the same wavelength tonight. And he suspects why you were so determined to do everything in a hurry.

So he thinks, analyzing your face for just a moment. He wanted you to stop putting pressure on yourself, to enjoy instead of constantly dreading. He also hated leaving you every nights, but you wouldn't gain anything by being dominated by your anxiety and neither would he.

So, while you prepare the baking pan, Jake looks here and there, searching for an effective solution. As for you, you stay focused on your task and don't let yourself be distracted by anything or anyone. Finally, you take a towel to clean your hands.

And you jump when something suddenly lands on your face.

"What the-" you bring your hand to your cheek and to determine what Jake just threw at you.

You then turn to him, entering in total confusion. You see him holding a spatula covered in whipped cream.

"Oh, maldita sea, I really didn't miss you." he said discovering the cream on your face.

"What are you playing ?" you ask then.

"I don't know, you tell me. You seem so eager to see me go." he briefly shrugs.

"N-No, absolutely not ! You idiot !" you retaliate as you throw the towel on the counter.

"Perfect ! So calm down for a minute and enjoy the moment !"

"I'm trying, but I don't want you to go away !" you exclaim in a broken voice.

Suddenly, a heavy silence sets in.

You throw a chill in the room and none of you dare to speak.

Jake's shoulders fell as he looked at you with a sincere apologetic expression. Shit, he didn't know how much that upset you...

"...I'm sorry, I can't take you seriously with that thing on your face." he finally laughs, unable to contain himself any longer.

It's funny, you really thought you could get revenge by undermining his morals.

Your lips formed an 'o' of astonishment and you gasp.

"You, bastardo--" you're getting angry.

You grabbed the whisk before throwing the cocoa mixture on Jake's shirt, the latter instinctively taking a step back while raising his wrists in surprise.

Ah ! Take that, you think proudly.

"Not so white now." you smile, enjoying your revenge and admiring your masterpiece on his shirt totally ruined by the mixture.

Jake looked up at you. He was going to save that shirt for tonight. That's a shame. Now he has the duty to fight back.

You raised your eyebrows, challenging him with your gaze. For a moment, neither of you move.

It's all happening now.

Then you grab your bowl and Jake did the same with his before he sprays cream on your clothes. You turn your head to avoid his attacks as you blindly throw chocolate at him while moving away from his position. A laugh escaped your lips as you tossed chocolate at his shirt again then cowered as Jake walked around the table to aim at you better, however he only managed to reach your back.

"That's it, hide, pobre cosa !" he attacks you again as he gets closer to you.

"No, not the hair, not the hair !" you exclaim, laughing before you start running.

He chases after you and grabs you around the waist with his arm, causing you to cry out in surprise as you drop the whisk to the floor.

"No ! Stop, stop !" you giggle as he presses you against him. "You're supposed to obey my orders !"

"There are no rules in battle !" he retorts childishly.

Desperate, you plunged your hand into the bowl that you managed to keep before spreading the cocoa preparation on his face. He closed his eyes and laughed heartily as he released you, but he decided to drop his spatula to counterattack in your own way.

"Bueno, no hay piedad." he warns you.

"Wait, wait ! Not here ! I don't want to stain the sheets or Steven's books." you warn him back as you were dangerously close to the shelves and the bed.

"I agree. Come back." he challenge you in turn.

Okay. You are in the zone that he mustn't cross and yet you inevitably had to get out of it. You have to find a strategy.

Or quite simply, you could stop behaving like children.

Jake beckons you to join him with his hand in an ever more provocative way while raising an eyebrow, and you hesitate for a moment, biting your lower lip, unable to prevent yourself from smiling at this grotesque but so liberating game.

When you suddenly try to fake it by going one way before rushing the other way, keeping your bowl against your chest like you're protecting something precious. Jake used the second shelf to turn around and catch up with you.

He then scooped as much whipped cream as he could into his hand before quickly setting the bowl down on the table.

"¡No-- vuelve aquí!" he laughs again, grabbing your arm to pull you towards him.

"Nonononono !" your eyes widen, trying to aim for the table to put down your bowl when you feel it slip through your fingers and you almost miss the edge.

Jake then placed his hand full of cream on your clean cheek as he gently pulled you against him, managing to have the last laugh as you almost tripped together. You put your arms around his waist and he put his available hand on your other cheek to watch your cream-covered face.

"Querida..." he laughs.

Immersed in a sweet bliss, you close your eyes and you keep giggling while lowering your head. Jake accompanies you in your laughter, and his look and his smile are pure joy and affection, the wrinkles that appear towards the outer corners of his eyes testifying to his euphoria.

And while his laughter fades little by little, he finally tries to clean your face as much as possible with his hands to see you more clearly, also brushing away the few locks that fall on your forehead while you raise your head towards him, a few burst of laughter escaping from your lips.

"You have some on your eyes." you laugh once more as you bring your hand to his face to gently wipe away the chocolate that slightly weighs down his eyelids, cleaning one eye after another with love.

Now, you can admire his passionate, playful gaze, full of devotion. Immediately, you give him the same look, your heart warming up so much that it gives you a dose of adrenaline in your veins. No one but him is capable of provoking such strong emotions in you.

If only you knew how capable you are of provoking the same thing to him.

And that's why you end up kissing.

Inevitably, you each taste your cooking while you can't help the smile that curves your lips. After all, you didn't like waste. So you end up putting your hands on his neck while he brings his arms around your waist, hugging you, constantly kissing you, drunk with love.

Together, you could transform an ordinary evening into an avalanche of emotions, madness and newness. Of course, you also like to be carried away in a pleasant routine, being bored together is sometimes part of your daily life, but this routine never becomes unbearable. There's always that little something extra that makes your days better, whether at home or when you're out in town. You both thought this energy was coming from the other, too humble or too blind to admit it was coming from you, when in reality it was just your dynamic. Both of you are irreplaceable and inseparable. It's only thanks to you two that this crazy and intoxicating atmosphere could come to life.

So Jake can't blame you for trying to steal more time to be able to spend it by his side. He would have done the same for you.

You end up kissing his cheek and he presses his lips to your neck, shivers running through your skin, before he whispers a few words there.

"What was that ?" you laugh briefly.

"I'm staying." he repeats, meeting your gaze again.

Your expression immediately changed.

For a moment, you can't believe it.

"You just had to ask." he continues.

"But... What if something serious happens outside ? If Khonshu--"

"The world won't stop spinning if I choose to ignore it." he replies then to reassure you.

So you smile, trying to hide as much as possible the joy that overwhelms you when you realize that he genuinely wanted to stay. Besides, staying at home a few times doesn't stop him from being Khonshu's fist of vengeance later on.

"Plus, I can tell Khonshu to get lost, once in a while. It'll knock him off his pedestal." he adds, managing to make you laugh one last time, cherishing this melody like sweet music to his ears.

"I'm not sure he'll like it." you say back.

If you or Jake were paying attention, you might see some lights crackling.

"We don't give a damn..." Jake retorts before kissing you passionately.

He sure has a power over you. Just like you have this power over him.

"What are we doing for the cake ?" you ask against his lips.

"Well, that was delicious." he replies.

"Really, you like it ?" you play his game.

"Yeah, I loved it." he said sincerely, kissing all over your face.

"Your whipped cream was delicious too." you smile as you hug him back. "It's the best dessert we've ever made"

"I thought the same thing."

"We're awesome." you conclude.

Finally, your lips meet once more.

"El horno sigue encendido." he said without separating from your lips.

"Mh ?"

"The oven's still on." he clarifies.

"Oh, shit." you pull away.

You walk towards the kitchen and he holds your hand until there's too much distance between you, then you lean over to turn off the oven. Although it's electric, you don't like leaving it on for nothing.

And you come back to Jake.

Now face to face, you both take one last look at your silly mistakes and it's not hard to see that you went a little bit too far.

"You do realize I just showered, right ?" you ask then with a grin.

"That's why it's funnier." he replies with a satisfied smile and an amused look.

You're never mad at him for long anyway.

With an amused smile, you sigh as you head to the bathroom to clean yourself up. Jake then puts his hands on his hips observing the stains of chocolate and cream they had left on the floor, on the table and of course in the kitchen. Luckily for you, the aquarium and the books are unstained.

"I'm not cleaning up this mess." Steven says suddenly.

"Neither do I." Marc continues.

Then silence dominated the room for a few seconds.

"Not it !" Marc and Steven's voices echoed in Jake's mind.

"Not it--" Jake said quickly but is too late.

Nevertheless, the limousine driver accepts his sentence. He was the one who declared war, after all.

He sighs deeply.

"...Joder."

[nev3rfound]

drunk text me : s.g

loosely inspired by the song ‘drunk text me’ by lexi jayde. but this one has a happier ending for the end of 2022. 

masterlist / permanent taglist / etsy shop

feel free to send requests in as I am still lovesick over mk and oscar Isaac in general.

also wanna say thank you for all the support this year, it’s been a wild one for sure! 

Swirling the near empty glass in hand, your name being called is a faint mumble as you remain lost in thought.

A gentle nudge finally brings you back to the cocktail bar that you were dragged along to for celebrations. “Y/n, you still there, babes?” Your friend chuckles, giving your other friend a knowing look as you sigh heavily into the glass.

“Yeah,” You glumly answer, barely lifting your head up to see two deep-set frowns aimed your way. “come on, leave me alone.” Lifting the glass up, you swallow the last of the drink now heavily diluted from the melted ice.

Quick to signal the waitress, your friend orders another round of drinks, something you can’t help but feel is not the wisest idea.

“We didn’t say anything!” Your other friend holds her hands up in protest with a tipsy smile crossing her face. “You’re the one looking like you’re at a funeral, it’s fucking New Year’s Eve!” She reminds you, motioning vastly to those around you and the banners littering the walls.

Rubbing your hand across your face it already feels heavy from the four rounds gone since you arrived. Behind you there’s a couple, talking about how much they love one another and the mere thought is making your drink want to reappear in your glass.

“It’s just not fair, you know?” It sounds whiny, and you know all too well this is not what they brought you out for or to hear all night. “Who sends a text saying ‘I’ve got to leave the country’ and never texts again, like, what?” You babble, reaching for the brightly coloured drink with the umbrella sticking out that the waitress places down.  

“I know hun, it’s not right and he was a dick for that.” Your friend pats your shoulder. “So even after all this time, not a word?”

Shaking your head in response, your body sways from the movement. “You deserve better.” She raises her glass, motioning for you to join.

The three of you hold your glasses up. “To better dick in 2023.” You cheer along half heartedly, trying not to think about the man who brought you nothing but joy for six months of the year.

***

Sitting in the darkness of the flat, Steven listens to the growing sound of celebrations outside whilst his thoughts cloud his mind.

“Hey, it’s almost New Year, buddy.” Marc chimes in from Gus’ fish tank with a half smile. “Onwards and upwards, you know?”

Steven scoffs, turning away from the fish tank, and walks over to his book covered desk. “I just should’ve told her sooner.” He admits with a sigh. “She deserved so much better than that and I can’t even show my face.”

Marc huffs internally, tired of watching this back and forth Steven keeps having with himself. “I’m all for it, man, I told you so when we got back from Cairo.” Marc reminds him. “Big birds gone, you can do what or who you want!”

“It’s not that simple though, Marc!” Steven quietly lashes out, wanting to add so much more but he can hear his phone vibrating from his desk.

Rushing over, he pushes his books aside without a care until the light pokes through the pages. Your name and a daft photo of you illuminate his screen as he shakily lifts it up.

“H-hello?” He can barely hear as he calls out your name, the raucous of screams and shouts following you through the line.

“Can you hear me?” You practically yell, and Steven can feel his anxiety peaking; you’re just drunk. “Steven?” You repeat his name once more, stepping outside of the venue, and quickly glancing back to make sure your friends haven’t followed you. “Are, are you there?”

Now outside, you can feel the bitter chill of London. Wrapping one arm around yourself, you lean against the wall for support now feeling the cocktails going straight to your head.

“I’m here.” Steven responds. “Why, erm, how come you called?” He knows it’s a stupid question, you probably didn’t mean to call, why would you?

You interrupt Steven from his downward spiral. “I miss you, I, I know it’s stupid 'cause you’re the one who fucking ghosted me, like who does that anyway? But you did it anyway and I miss you being around. I miss a lotta things but you’re one of them.” It all comes pouring out, you’re unsure if it even makes sense but Steven, he can hear you perfectly.

“I am such a dick, I know.” Steven buries his face into his free hand, groaning loudly. “And I am sorry, Y/n. I truly am. I get it if you never wanna see me again, I’ll keep outta your way and-”

“Hold on.” You stop him from proceeding, holding your hand out in front of you like he was there in person. “You, you’re back?” You ask, now blankly staring at the street full of people.

‘Well done, Steven.’ Marc chuckles dryly.

Huh, yeah I, I got back two days ago?” His voice rises an octave as he clutches the phone tightly in his hand. “Y/n?” Pulling the phone away, he’s still on the call with you. “You, you there?” He asks again, more stressed this time.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Steven Grant, you’re back?!” You almost scream down the line, followed by a laugh.

Smiling wearily, Steven nods to himself. “I, yeah.” He answers. “But like I said, I’ll stay well out of you’re way I don’t wanna make things awkward for you with work or,”

“No, no, Steven, stop, please.” Once more you can’t help but cut him off. Maybe it’s the alcohol giving you the push you’ve been needing or you don’t want to spend another minute without him in your life. “I want to see you, I want you to be the one I call when I’m drunk like this or when I’ve had a lousy day at work. I just, I want you to be there, and I want to be there for you too.”

The lines goes quiet now, but from Steven.

“If that was too much, maybe forget I said it?” You quietly request, mentally recalling what you just said.

“Where are you?” He asks, not missing a beat.

Looking up, you repeat the name of the bar. “Why?” Your smile begins to rise again as you listen to the sound of rustling and movements through the phone.

“Just stay there for me, yeah? Don’t go wandering off like you do when you’ve had those cocktails.” Steven remembers, and your heart starts to warm as you hear his front door slam shut, followed by him apologising to it.

“Okay.” It leaves your lips in a whisper as he says goodbye.

The door to the bar opens in a hurry, and a long sigh of relief is heard. “There you are, christ, had us worried!” Your friends walk out, one of them struggling in her heels. “It’s almost midnight, you can’t miss this.” She tugs on your arm, but you remain glued to the spot.

“I just needed some air.” You shrug. “I’ll be back in time, don’t you worry. Go on in, I’ll be there soon.”

Unconvinced, she walks back in, but your other friend hovers a moment longer.

“You called him, didn’t you.” She raises a brow, knowing how to read you all too well. When you nod, she simply chuckles and brings you into a tight hug. “Just let him know, if he dares ghost you again, we’ll make him an actual ghost, okay?”

Chuckling, you thank her before returning to the waiting game of staring at your phone, watching the minutes count down as it nears midnight.

“Scuse me, sorry!” Your ears perk up to that voice as it becomes louder and clearer.

Practically running the corner, Steven has yet to spot you as he tugs on his creased shirt and brushes his curls out from his face.

Whilst he remains oblivious to you, you can’t help but note how he’s still Steven, even after vanishing three months ago.

You watch Steven looking around aimlessly until you shyly raise your hand like it’s the first date and he can’t pick you out. But once his eyes find yours, he knows he’ll never have an issue finding you again.

“Y/n?” Steven happily sighs as he quickly approaches you, mentally debating if to go for a hug or a handshake or-

Not giving him a chance to decide, you wrap your arms around his neck tightly. “Hi, Steven.” You mumble into him, slowly feeling his hands wrap around your back, squeezing you tightly in response. “Thanks for coming back.”

Slowly easing his hold on you, his toothy grin expands. “I’m sorry I let you go, I,”

Steven is interrupted as cheers from inside intensify. “Almost midnight.” You remind him. “You were saying?”

“Right,” Steven nods. “there’s so much I need to explain to you, and if you’ll let me that is, but I don’t want to lose you, not for good.”

“You, you want me back?” It sounds so uncertain from your tongue, but Steven lifts his hand up to cradle your cheek.

“I never wanted to let you go in the first place, and for that, I’ll forever be making it up to you.” He explains, just as everyone inside begins to count down. “And I don’t want to go into this New Year without you, as cheesy as that makes me sound.” He laughs, hearing Marc cringe at that comment.

Resting your hand over his, you smile into his embrace. “Good job I like you, Steven Grant.” You lean closer as the countdown hits 0, kissing him through the cheers and fireworks all around, knowing you’d be starting the new year fresh with Steven by your side.

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[leviathanspain]

you really made me hate myself

marc spector x reader, jake lockley x reader, steven grant x reader

synopsis: their lies have become way too much to deal with

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“you don’t mean that!” he yelled, tossing the box of chocolates onto the kitchen table, his keys making a clattering noise next to it.

you huffed, still angrily packing your bag, “oh but i do! steven, i do mean it!” you wiped your lip, sweating as you had frantically tried to move, but you stopped as you saw him move closer, “don’t touch me.” you held out a hand and watched steven stare at you with broken eyes.

he shook his head in disbelief, “i would never- darling i-“ he set out another hand to try to grab yours but you flinched, tumbling over your own feet as you knelt down by the bed, your knees hurting from the crashing impact. “no. you wouldn’t, but he, would.” now it was stevens turn to flinch. he tried to collect his words but as stirred, babbling as marc stepped forward now into the body.

“y/n. please, think this through, you don’t even have a passport,” marc had them in his bags, hidden away as he claimed for “safety”. “you need us.” he wasn’t new to the manipulation game. it had worked out hundreds of times for him.

you scoffed, “don’t think you can do this again. marc, you don’t understand, you don’t get it! i cant live here anymore, live in fear of who i will wake up to, if i’ll ever even wake up! you’re dangerous, you are all dangerous fucking people.” you gripped your hair in a hysterical laugh as you got up from your position on the floor.

marc shook his head, “is that what you want then? to be alone? you could’ve just asked, we could’ve disappeared for a few days-“

“that’s just it, marc! i don’t need a few days! i need a few-“ you paused, watching marc for his reaction. his eyes were expectant, waiting as he looked at your lips ready to form the words.

“say it. say the fucking word, y/n. do you need help?” he stepped towards you, “forever! that’s what you were waiting for! you’ve already got the courage to leave us, what’s another word to cement it all in?” he huffed, stalking over to the drawers that held most of your clothing, “here!” he grabbed the top drawer and dumped its contents into your open bag. he tossed the drawer on the floor and began to spread the clothes out in the bag, “i’ll help. get you out quicker.” he stepped back and saw tears streaming down your face.

suddenly, as you looked down to sniffle, you could feel a hand on your shoulder, gripping tight, “you leave, you know i’ll just find you. again, and again, and again.” his accent was recognizable, he was the bane of your existence, yet he was the one who loved you the most.

you wanted to fall apart in his arms, but you knew he would win if you did. “leave me alone, jake.” you gritted, watching the shadow of jakes hand crawl up your back, and down your spine again.

“why? what did i do?” he tried to sound innocent, it was one of his tactics, of course. jake lockley, the master manipulator!

“you really made me hate myself.” you whispered, jake kissed your neck, urging you to go on.

“mhm, cats got your tongue?” he asked upon hearing your grunts of approval, seeking for more. he smiled to himself, “don’t leave. we need you.” he begged, he could play whoever he wanted, just as long as he got you to agree with whatever you said.

you nodded, and gave in, one last time.

[mazesangels]

𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐅𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 | 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐜 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫

ep 5 spoiler warnings

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: while you’re fighting with marc he slips into a panic attack after you mutter the few words he only connects to his mother

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: marc spector x gn!reader

𝐰.𝐜: 1.357

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: marc’s having a panic attack, references to childhood abuse (mentioned in one sentence)

𝐚.𝐧: this is just a small something. it’s kinda bad but the idea wouldn’t leave my mind since i saw someone on here (i don’t remember op 😭😭) say that “it’s (all) your fault” are probably marc’s trigger words and that’s why he reacted like this to steven so i just hAD to write this. this is the first piece of writing on this account soo kinda excited <33

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 was beating out of your chest as you reached towards him, hands shaking. You’ve never felt like this before. Never had your chest tighten and your throat close up this way, making it feel like your breath could barely find room in your lungs.

“Marc?” you whispered, gulping when your voice came out breathless.

You couldn’t panic.

You couldn’t both be panicking.

Although the reason why Marc’s breath was coming out raged and his eyes were darting across the room, unfocused and glassy, was completely unbeknownst to you and that was scaring you.

He was shaking, eyes wet, his hands that were balled into fists raised to his head.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry, i didn’t- please forgive me, i’m sorry.”

You didn’t understand what he was apologising for.

You had been arguing but that wasn’t completely uncommon for you. You were fighting from time to time but never had Marc just suddenly frozen up and then started to shake and to cry and to…apologise.

You wished you were more collected, could think clearly, guide him through whatever he was facing right now. But when Marc cried, you cried. That’s how it has always been.

And as he was panicking now you felt yourself become more breathless and nervous, eyes darting across his face on the search for answers. But there weren’t any.

“He-hey,” you cooed, trying to calm your voice, “Hey, hey, hey. Marc.”

He was folding into himself at the sound of your voice, head dropping between his shoulders, and your heart broke into a million pieces at the sight of the man that you loved looking so scared. So frightened. So small. So alone in his pain.

You stepped closer, hand still reaching out but you remembered not to touch him without telling him you would or asking if you could. You thought you heard about that. That it could only make it worse.

You took in a deep breath, trying to calm your heartbeat that was going wild in your chest.

Whenever you were in trouble Marc helped you. He was the one calming you down when you panicked, holding you against his chest and making you take deep breaths.

You wondered if that was why he was so good at it.

You’ve always wondered.

And now Marc was the one who needed you. You couldn’t just let your fear and confusion make you freeze up like that.

“Marc, can you hear me? You’re alright. You’re fine.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied, mindlessly, hands still guarding his head and it looked like he was shielding himself from something, maybe you, maybe something else. Either way, it didn’t matter. Your heart still ached in your chest at the sight of it.

Taking another step forward, you leaned down to be able to look at his face, turned downwards and hidden by his arms, and you saw his eyes were still wide open, gazing into space.

“I’m not upset, okay? I am not mad at you.” You softened your voice as you talked, trying to make it sound less shaky but you knew that if Marc really tried to he could hear how close you were to crying as well. “Can I- is it okay if I touch you?”

He hesitated. You weren’t sure if he had heard you at first. Maybe his heart was pounding in his ears as well… Maybe his own breathing distracted him or maybe he wasn’t with you mentally. But then he nodded, a single tear running down his cheek.

You brushed his shoulders and he flinched but you didn’t pull back, carefully moving your hands up his arms to carefully pry his wrists away from his face.

“You’re fine, no one’s gonna hurt you, you’re fine. It’s just me,” you repeated quietly, only softly tugging and then waiting until Marc moved his arms himself.

He did after a little bit, but he was still shaking, still, and so were you.

“Can you help me calm you down? I don’t- Can you tell me what you need?” you asked, clueless what to do next, trying to rub soothing circles into his skin.

Marc shook his head. “I don’t- i’m sorry, it’s all my fault, i-“

Tears fell onto your shirt and you bit your lips to not break out into tears as well.

“You’re perfect, Marc. You’re perfect. You’re so kind and i love you, okay?” You reached towards his face, softly grabbing hold of it and turning it towards you. His eyes seemed to focus in and out of your face, unable to see you. “Let’s try deep breaths, alright?”

Being put on the spot like that… it was like everything you’ve known about how to handle someone having a panic attack had escaped your mind. Everything people had told you, every google search, every video you’ve watched… you wrecked your mind but came up with nothing.

The only thing you could remember was that you have to calm down someone’s breathing.

He nodded against your hand and you could tell he was trying and you were so proud of him.

You started breathing like you remembered seeing Marc doing it, taking deep breaths into your nose, letting the air fill your lungs and holding it there for a second and then blowing it out of your mouth again.

You repeated it, mimicking it to Marc and he followed as best as he could.

His breath was shaky but a little less erratic and his eyes started to refocus, staring down at your chest as it moved with every deep breath you inhaled and exhaled.

You sat there until he seemed to come back to himself slowly as he blinked, a tear catching in his eyelash.

You reached for his face, brushing his tears away with your thumbs and leaned forward to place a kiss on his forehead. He was still shaking.

“It’s not your fault, I'm sorry, I got upset, I shouldn't have said that. It’s not your fault, it was my fault. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?” you told him, throat closing up and making talking hard again.

Marc didn’t reply, only reached out to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you closer so he was holding you and his head was resting on your shoulder. You moved to hold his head with one and rub his back with the other hand, feeling your heartbeat calm down now that he had calmed down.

“Did I scare you? I did, didn’t I?” Marc’s voice came out raspy against your shoulder.

You couldn’t believe he was still worried about you even though he was the one just coming out of a panic attack.

“A little bit…but I did, too, right? I’m sorry I got mad, it was wrong of me.”

You had triggered the panic attack, you were sure. You didn’t completely understand why as you had fought a few times already and he never seemed anything else than slightly upset before. But with the way he had sputtered apologies and asked for forgiveness it only made sense that your fight had been the cause of his state.

Marc held you closer and you felt the shake of his head against you. “No, it wasn’t. You’re right. I did mess up, I know.”

He did. But so did you. Both of you had messed up and you shouldn’t have started yelling and trying to put the blame on him.

“But that’s okay, it’s okay to mess up. I was being unfair to you, I'm sorry.” You wanted him to understand.

You tightened your grip to signal you were being sincere. And as a promise. That next time you wouldn’t say those words again. The words that had triggered this. The words that you could only assume were only ever muttered at him full of poison and hatred by a woman who was supposed to love and protect him.

How couldn’t you realise it sooner?

“I love you,” he mumbled.

Then you felt the press of his lips against your shoulder and you smiled.

You kissed his hair in return

“I love you, too.”

[babyboiboyega]

Dealings With a God (Marc Spector x GN!reader, platonic)

"Dealings With a God" (Marc Spector x GN!reader, platonic)

Content: violence, injuries, near death experience, allusions to death, angst

Word Count: 3.4k

Babyboiboyega's Marvel Masterlist

Babyboiboyega's Main Masterlist

**********

You knew that going on this mission of sorts alongside Layla, Marc, and Steven would result in some truly harrowing moments. It wasn’t long ago when all four of you were fighting a jackal that happened to be invisible to half of you, and it wasn’t that long ago when you, Layla, and Marc had once been on this same journey to acquire the same thing: the scarab that pointed in the direction of Ammit’s Ushabti. 

You should’ve known that the first sign of that goal once again being attainable, Layla and Marc would jump on it; you knew them well enough to know that they both loved the thrill of the mission. 

It had already been decided that you’d be accompanying them when you left for London alongside Layla to seek out Marc; but in the face of Harrow’s plan to release Ammit and cause utter chaos across the entire world, the decision to accompany them was even easier to make. This incredible pressure to quite literally save the world only added to the harrowing moments you all had, and had yet, gone through.

A jackal attack, a quick trip to Egypt, and a boat ride later…and all four of you were once again in another rather dangerous situation. 

Somehow, while having to dodge both bullets and spears being shot and thrust your way, you managed to grit out your displeasure at the entire situation. 

“Just one day…one day where we don’t have to fight for our literal lives. Not all of us have suits, Marc!”

From somewhere on your left, you heard the ghost of a chuckle as he flew about the arena, dispatching anyone who dared to get in his way. It made you roll your eyes as you deftly dodged a sloppily thrown punch your way. Snapping your hand out in an open-palm hit, you stunned the burly man in front of you just long enough for you to hook your arms around his neck before bringing his face down on your raised knee. He fell to the ground in a groaning and crumpled pile and gave you just enough time to catch sight of the scene quickly unfolding in front of you.

Between one blink and the next, the suit Marc wore changed to the one that belonged to Steven, alluding to the fact that Steven had fronted…in the middle of a fight. 

You didn’t have time to voice your displeasure with him, as your attention was quickly captured by the sound of a man barreling towards you, his hands outreached and aiming for your neck. Despite the daunting task of incapacitating a man twice your size, you could still hear Steven’s voice floating across the arena, trying to sound very cooperative in the face of dozens of uncooperative men. 

“That's it. All right, time out. That's it, time out!”

He was still attempting to placate the violent men around him when you managed to sweep the feet from under the man in front of you, sending him to the ground violently before knocking him out with a swift kick. 

“Steven, what are you doing?! We’re in the middle of-”

“Guys, let’s all calm down, yeah? We’re all worked up. Lets all just chill the f out, and talk for a second-” 

A violent wince wracked your body as one of the spears pierced Steven’s body, making him grunt loudly. Despite knowing that the suit protected him from what would’ve been a quick and painful death, you still couldn’t stop the panic from coursing through your body at seeing not one, but two spears pierce his body, all the while hearing him urge Marc to take the body once again. 

It was evident that Marc did just that as the suit once again changed to the ceremonial one of Khonshu. He shook his head once and effortlessly broke the spears sticking out of his body. 

You could only watch, though, as more spears took the place of the ones Marc had just gotten rid of. His movements were angry and ruthless as more men continued to swarm him, and you had just taken a step in his direction to offer some type of aid when Layla’s voice reached your ears.

A quick glance over your shoulder showed that her fight against Bek wasn’t going in her favor as much as it had been a few seconds ago, and you felt your anger flare. 

All this from a few dozen people whose lives you four were trying to save. All of this violence that could have been avoided, but they’d rather listen to a deceitful man with glass in his shoes who walked with a cane. 

The small moment of reprieve was quite literally shattered by a strong fist connecting with your jaw. Admittedly, it disoriented you for a few seconds, but that was all it took for the man in front of you (who was wearing way too much cologne) to grab you by the collar of your shirt and hoist you off of your feet. 

You struggled fruitlessly, your hands scrambling to try and find something of purchase to grab onto, but your attempts were futile. He held you at just enough of an arm's length to watch you struggle while also making sure you couldn’t get the jump on him. 

With your eyes whipping around, you tried your damndest to find something- anything- that would help you while the man stared at you, a feral grimace on his face. 

Your wildly swinging legs finally caught him good enough in his sternum for him to momentarily weaken his grip on you, which was enough for you to break free from his hold. With another well placed kick to his chest, he was letting you go and flying back a few inches. You dropped unceremoniously to the ground, chest heaving as a result of…well, of everything that had been happening for the past few minutes. 

The man started to advance upon you once more, and with a grunt of frustration, you leapt to your feet before running at him as fast as you could in the small space between you two. Throwing your entire weight at him, his hands raised to grab at you only for you to use the momentum of your body colliding with his to take him to the ground. As you two rolled across the ground, you managed to deliver enough punches to his body and face to leave him a groaning mess as you once again shot to your feet…just in time to see Layla pass you in a sprint.

Following her with your eyes, you watched her swipe a gun from the ground before vaulting over the fence that separated you two from Marc. 

You didn’t have to guess why she was heading in that direction, as you found yourself following right behind her as you took in the scene.

The same men that had been swarming Marc had managed to slightly subdue him by piercing several of his limbs into the sand below him. The more he struggled, the more men joined in on the attack against him. 

You cleared the fence just as Layla fired a shot, hitting yet another man who had been on his way towards Marc, intent on adding his own spear to the collection already sticking out of Marc. 

Her attention being on Marc resulted in her not seeing as Mogart approached from behind atop a horse. Being too far away to really do anything, you opened your mouth and called her name, but she turned a second too late.

Your steps quickened as Mogart’s spear came up in an arc, effectively clipping her chin and knocking her to the ground. Her shout of pain reached your ears and spurred you on even faster, but your path quickly became blocked by a man wielding the sharp weapon. He waved it menacingly in an attempt to stop you, but just past his shoulder, you could see Mogart approach a barrel with a number of varying sizes of spears before picking the biggest one. He turned, and it wasn’t hard to see that his sights were set on Layla, a bone-chilling look of anger in his eye.

Seeing Layla fall to the ground was all it took for Marc to incapacitate the men around him quickly and effectively. Mogart paused as Marc stood across the arena, breathing heavily and standing in a threatening stance. 

Without a word, they both started running towards each other…and towards Layla, who was still on the ground with no way to defend herself. 

You cursed loudly before pumping all of your energy into running the distance between you and Layla. The man blocking your path paused momentarily at the sight of you not slowing down, and it was enough for you to slide right between his legs before jumping to your feet again. 

Between you, Marc, and Mogart, you were the closest to Layla. It was risky, especially with a man on horseback aiming straight for Layla with a huge, metal spike-tipped spear; but what was another harrowing moment added to the list?

You managed to reach Layla just in time to knock her out of the way as Mogart’s spear came down. The both of you went rolling across the sandy ground, you a little further due to the momentum used. 

It was hard to realize when you finally came to a stop, as the earth around you continued to spin even as your body stayed still. You could feel the effects of the fight finally catching up as you laid on your side. With every breath you took, there was a dull pain that made itself known where your ribs were. With every breath, it slowly progressed into a more apparent pain that made it more difficult to breathe. 

You wanted to move, but there was a heaviness to your limbs that hadn’t been there seconds ago, but then again…how long had you been laying there? Were Marc and Layla okay? Had you all gotten the information you needed?

You wanted to sit up so badly, but…but now the pain was becoming unbearable. You opened your mouth to call out to one of them, but only a pitiful wheeze sounding like their names escaped your lips. Along with it came the coppery taste of blood, and it was only then when you realized that something was wrong. 

The realization was further confirmed when both Layla and Marc’s faces appeared above you, making you briefly question when you had been turned onto your back. There was something flickering at the edges of your vision, and you raised your hands to swat it away; at least you thought you did. In reality, your hand lifted in a pathetic attempt of a wave, and Layla saw it as you looking for comfort. She scooted forward on her knees before taking your hand and holding it tightly between hers. 

Despite the sky going in and out of focus along with their faces, you could see the expressions of panic and something else on Layla’s face as she looked down at you. Marc’s mask had retracted at some time, giving you an almost clear view of a similar expression on his. His frown was deep, his eyebrows were furrowed, and his lips were moving. They didn’t match the words coming from his mouth though.

“Y/N, you…you keep your eyes on me. You keep ‘em on me, okay?” 

“What’s wrong? What’s going on? Did we get the map?” 

You wondered if your voice sounded as hoarse to them as it did to your own ears. With a gasp of pain, you attempted once again to sit up. It only resulted in that pain returning, only tenfold, and it blossomed across your entire torso. It also resulted in you catching a glimpse of the wooden shaft that stuck out of your torso at an odd angle. 

You wanted to tell them that you could feel your limbs growing colder by the second, but the only thing escaping your mouth were gasps and shallow breaths from your attempt to move yourself. 

Marc’s mouth was once again moving, more urgently this time, but it took a while for your ears to stop ringing enough to finally hear what he was saying.

“Y/N, you can’t move-don’t move. We’re going to get a car, and then we’re going to get you out of here. We’re going to get you some help-you’ll be okay.”

A rueful laugh escaped your lips, and with it came a new splotch of blood. If the waves of pain wracking your body and the pure looks of panic and worry on Marc’s face were anything to go by…his last statement wasn’t exactly believable. 

You managed enough strength to raise the hand that had once been engulfed in Layla’s, who at some point had left, and grabbed at Marc’s. He eagerly accepted it, bringing it to his chest in a tight grip. Your mouth opened, and you were convinced that it would take all of your remaining strength to push the words out.

“Marc, you and Layla have to go. You…you have to stop Harrow- he’s going to win. He’s going to kill people…if you don’t go.”

Your vision had stopped swimming, instead being replaced by a darkness that creeped along the edges. It gave you just enough vision to see Marc shake his head furiously, his eyes closing momentarily before opening again. 

If your vision had been clearer, you would’ve seen the tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall any second. 

“No, no, no- we’re not leaving you here. That’s not an option. And you’re not leaving us- you’re going to be fine!” 

His head snapped up at something that you couldn’t see or hear before he looked back down at you. Despite still being able to see his face, your eyes were no longer focused on him. They were focused on something…someone…that stood over his shoulder. 

A brief flash of a memory rocketed off the walls of your brain as you stared at the creature, instantly knowing who he was because of the memory.

There had been a time where you had talked to Steven and he had willingly given you an interestingly worded description of Khonshu. 

The flowing beige, almost light brown wrappings that covered his body. His menacing staff in the shape of a moon, and his even more menacing bird skull for a head. He had then gone into a small ramble about what kind of bird skull the god had for a head (“most likely an eagle, as that’s how the god is depicted in ancient scribings”, he had said enthusiastically). 

You guessed you could now say that you were one of only four people who had seen the god up close.

The shock that came from seeing Khonshu was nothing compared to the shock you felt as his voice echoed throughout your mind. 

It thundered and echoed so loud, that it was all you could hear. In a distant part of your mind, you could faintly see Marc’s mouth moving quickly, but soon enough, your entire focus was centered on Khonshu.

“You mortals are interesting creatures. You fight and kill your own kind…while also being willing to sacrifice your own life to save your own kind…which is what you did.”

His head tilted, almost as if he were scrutinizing you. He leaned closer until his skull was all you could see, or maybe it because the darkness that had been steadily creeping in had finally completely obscured your vision.

“Certainly one of the more interesting one’s I’ve seen. I may have something that could benefit us both, child. Marc Spector no longer wishes to be my avatar...though with only a simple agreement, you can live again...and Marc will be able to be free once more. When we stop Harrow, of course."

Without him saying, you already knew what he was referencing. You had certainly heard Marc and Steven talk about it enough times, “it” being the process of becoming Khonshu’s avatar.

You had heard a short, quickly explained story as to how Marc became his avatar, and you thought it ironic that your story was growing to be just a little similar to his. 

Khonshu’s voice boomed once more, interrupting your slowly fading thoughts.

“In exchange for your life, do you swear to protect the travelers of the night, and bring my vengeance to those who would do them harm?”

You briefly thought of what Marc would say if he knew what you were being offered; if he knew that you were being offered something that he hadn’t even wanted Layla to go through. You wondered what he would say to you right now; would he urge you to take the offer if it meant you would live, or would he try to convince you that…that death was better than becoming what he was? 

Almost as if sensing your thoughts and giving the impression that he could control more than you thought, your vision cleared gradually, but quickly. It allowed you to view the scene around you, a scene that had changed from the one you last remembered. 

Instead of a night sky gazing back down at you, you came face to face with Marc’s wide and distraught eyes looking down at you. Above him was the roof of a car you had absolutely no memory of being put in, and your vision rocked with what you could only assume were the movements of the moving car. 

“I got you. Don’t…you can’t close your eyes again. Keep ‘em open for me, Y/N. We’re almost there.”

Almost where, you wanted to ask. You were scared that the answer would be anywhere other than the temple or site the map would lead you to. You knew Marc and Layla, and you knew that they’d look for any type of medical help instead of chasing down the lead you all had just gotten. 

They couldn’t do that if they wanted to stop Harrow. Taking that extra trip could result in Harrow finding Ammit before they could, and then everything would be for nothing. 

Your vision once again faded to black before being replaced by Khonshu once again. This time when he spoke, he seemed impatient, but not desperate. It seemed the god had known your answer before you had.

“Do you swear to protect the travelers of the night, and bring my vengeance to those who would do them harm?”

You couldn’t feel your physical body anymore, but you were perfectly capable of recognizing your own thoughts, so you used those in order to answer him.

Yes. 

An intense heat replaced the cold feeling that had taken over your body, but it wasn’t painful. If you could liken it to anything, even something you had never felt, you’d say it felt like a surge of pure, raw power humming through your veins. All at once, the familiar weight of your own body came back along with your other senses. 

The sounds of Marc urging Layla to drive faster coupled with the sound of the jeep going over rough terrain resulted in a truly chaotic scene. The pain you could vividly remember feeling had completely disappeared, yet the heaviness in your limbs remained accompanied by an exhaustion like no other.

Your eyes opened on their own accord, fluttering lightly and seeking out Marc’s. 

Having noticed something you couldn’t see, Marc’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked over your body. One hand gripped one of yours while his other hand pressed down on the wound that…well, that had been on your torso. Now, as he lifted it, his glove covered in your dark blood, it only showed the red patch that covered the majority of your torso along with the rip in your shirt that had been made by the spear.  There was no gaping wound where there should’ve been.

The realization made his eyes snap up to meet yours, the look of distress deepening as his mouth opened. He asked the question you had not been looking forward to answering, and you were admittedly glad when the tendrils of exhaustion grew close enough to claim your consciousness. 

“Y/N…what did you do? Wh-what did you do?”

Your vision went dark, once again, before you could answer. 

**********

I hope you all enjoyed this oneshot! It was supposed to just be a oneshot, but I can't just end it right there. I've already started on the next part lololololollllll

Good News: finals are here! Now its both good news and bad news for me. Good news in the way that it means I'm almost done with the semester, bad news in the way that I have to take them. I've already taken three, and I have three more! Hopefully afterwards, I'll have more time to write!

ARE WE READY FOR THE LAST EPISODE OF MOONKNIGHT THIS WEDNESDAY. I SURE AS HELL AM NOT. I'VE GROWN SO ATTACHED TO THIS SHOW AND THE CHARACTERS, WHY WOULD MARVEL THINK 6 EPISODES WOULD E V E R BE ENOUGH.

Chile anyways...

Once again, I hope you all enjoyed this oneshot! Please like, reblog, and/or comment! Likes show me that you liked the oneshot, reblogs show that you liked enough that you wanted to share it with others, and comments just make my day and allow you to tell me how my writing has affected you in any way! :) I greatly appreciate any and every single interaction from you all when it comes to my writing, and I greatly appreciate y'all!

Stay safe, y'all!

[1800-rogers]

Ghost Of You (Marc Spector x GN!Avenger!Reader)

summary: y/n dies at Vormir instead of Nat

wc: ~1k

content: poor attempt at angst, mentions of y/n’s death, mentions of the blip, steven and jake are not part of the fic, marc is not the moon knight when y/n dies

Pov: second person

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the split of the Avengers, everyone that was on Steve’s team, you being one of them, was either in prison or on the run from S.H.I.E.L.D and the United States government. You were on the run. Those stupid accords had caused you to flee the country, and move to London. Granted, a more secluded country would’ve been more safe, however, moving to London had always been a dream of yours. While in London, you met Marc Spector, the most handsome man you had ever seen in your life. You were wearing your Led Zepplin shirt when you met. The same one you wore when you fled the United States. You and Marc eventually fell in love with each other and got married. A small courthouse wedding that was just the two of you. No guests. It was all you could’ve asked for. 

One night while you were laying in bed with Marc, you got a call from an unknown number. You looked at each other with confusion before you answered and put it on speaker phone. You and Marc looked at each other before you finally spoke up, “Hello?” You asked with slight fear in your phone. You jumped a little when the voice responded. It was your best friend, Nat.

“Y/N, I need you to come to Wakanda. It’s an emergency,” She said before hanging up.

“Who was that?” Marc asked.

“An old friend, and I guess she needs my help.”

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“No,” you sighed, “but until then, you’ll be just fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The surviving Avengers in Wakanda took you back home in the Quinjet. You just sat there in silence, thinking about Marc. Wondering if he was one of the unlucky people to turn into dust. When you walked up to your front door, it was locked. You ran the doorbell hoping that Marc was there to open it, and he was. You lunged into his arms, crying as you told him everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Five years later Nat decided to visit you. Her hair had grown longer and her natural red was conquering the dyed blonde. As the two of you were eating lunch at a small café, she brought up that the Avengers might have a way to bring everyone back and that they wanted you to help. You agreed and immediately headed home to tell Marc. Just like last time, Marc asked, “Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“No,” you sighed, “but until then, you’ll be just fine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Little did Marc know, that would be the last time he would see you in person. Steve had delivered the news about your death to him. Everyone wanted Nat to, but she felt like it was her fault that you died. She told you about bringing everyone back. She went to Vormir with you and left with the Soul Stone, but not you. It was nobody’s fault that you died. Marc was understanding that Nat wasn’t the one to tell him. Out of all the Avengers, she was grieving the most. You two were the closest after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One morning Marc decided that he was going to clean up the house. He put on your favourite playlist, and started with your coffee mug that was on the coffee table in the living room. It had been sitting there, unfinished, for months. The same mug you were drinking out of when Nat had arrived to London. Marc sighed, as he picked up the mug. Your pink lipstick stain had slowly been fading away over time. He put it away before heading to the garage to clean out old  boxes. He found a box that had your name on it, and opened it to see what the box had contained. Digging through, he found old photos of you and the Avengers, and below it all was your Zepplin t-shirt. Marc wiped a tear from his eye as he remembered that you wearing this shirt when you met, and how you told him it was the same one you wore when fleeing the states. Marc dropped the shirt in his lap and sat on the garage floor for what felt like hours before he heard the faint sound of your favourite song coming from the living room speakers. It was A Man Without Love by Engelbert Humperdinck. He got up and headed to living room to slowly sway with the song. It reminded him of you. The lyrics, and the fact that it was the song that was playing when Marc proposed. That was why it was your favorite song.

 “Every day I wake up, then I start to break up

Lonely is a man without love

Every day I start out, then I cry my heart out

Lonely is a man without love”

You played the song so often that one day Marc asked you to turn it off. He had started to get sick of it, however now, he felt as if he would never get sick of it. He turned it up and danced around the house pretending that you were singing the song, and dancing with him. That night, Marc decided to sleep in your shared bed, instead of on the couch like he had been for the past few months. He took your Zepplin shirt, placed it on your side of the bed, and put on A Man Without Love. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Within the next week, Marc visited your grave for the first time. He finally had some closure over your death. He placed down a bouquet of lavenders as he sat down,  telling you what he had been up to.

“So I drown it out like I always do,” he said through tears. “Dancing through our house, with the ghost of you.”

“And I chase it down with a shot of truth, that my feet don’t dance like they did with you.”

[freedvmrouge]

INJURY.

fandom: marvel.

character(s): moon knight, soldier.

word count: 472.

tags & warnings: pov marc spector, moon knight (2021-2023), existential dread.

summary: marc comes back to midnight mission (is. 25) after a brutal battle and gets patched up by soldier.

masterlist.

Marc's at the end of his rope. He can hardly feel his arms and his legs are this close to completely giving in. He knew following 8-Ball would be a trap. He went anyway. He needed to find the new Black Spectre and 8-Ball's information was too good to be true. Sometimes, he's just gotta bite the bullet, he supposes.

However, he thinks there are enough deep lacerations and bullet holes in him now to fill a very morbid museum.

Badr may be a doctor, a damn fine one actually, but even Marc can't deny how horrendous his current state of being is. It's never been as clear as this exact moment.

The next time one of my sons dies while I am imprisoned, I cannot resurrect him.

That's what Khonshu said to Badr when he came back from the dead.

The poor man. That was only his first resurrection as a Fist of Khonshu. How many has Marc had now? Four? Six? He always says that he isn't afraid to die. He's reckless to a fault and his last death probably should've been his due. But here he is with even more chances.

"Boss?!" He hears Soldier from somewhere to his left. "What happened?!"

Marc is soon gently manhandled towards a table, not unlike how they first met. Except that time, he and Reese were treating Soldier and Marc still felt invincible.

Not so invincible after all, eh? Jake remarks with a scoff.

"Wrong side of a machine gun," Marc grumbles.

"Please tell me that wasn't a joke," Soldier pleads as he pulls out the first aid kit. "Actually, I take that back. Please tell me that was a joke."

All he can do is puff out air in some facsimile of a laugh. He sends a quiet thank you to the Midnight Mission for dropping him off with Soldier and not Reese or Greer.

Soldier keeps talking through his treatment, trying to dig for information. He's worried. That's nothing new. Yet when he thinks about all the living beings that now count on him, Marc's frozen.

Even if he dies tonight, the Midnight Mission will continue. Reese and Soldier would take over, possibly even Greer, too. But would they be able to? If Marc didn't have his duty to fulfill each night and every night following, would he have been able to?

"I'll get more bandages tonight. We're running low."

Marc hums. He turns his head to look at Soldier, focused entirely on the task at hand, and doing a fine job at it.

When Soldier finishes wrapping Marc up, he neatly puts away the first aid kit and Marc remains seated. It feels like the world has shifted on its axis once more.

Finally found that will to live, have you? Steve so helpfully notes.

"Maybe so," Marc concurs. 

[romanarose]

A one shot request

this is a request that @ahookedheroespureheart sent me!

I hope you like it! It's kinda like the start to Sunshine, but different! I kinda took a lil inspo from the Spider-Man/ Mj kiss from the first spider man movie bc that scene changed my life.

Remember kids, if someone is knocked unconscious, take them to a hospital! But for the sake of this fic, we'll ignore that

'Prompt idea. Steven has a crush on a coworker at the Museum. One night on his way home he notices her getting roughed up by a group of guys that jumped her. She's rendered unconcious & he has to step in to rescue her. He takes her back to her flat & waits by her side till she wakes up slowly in a daze, confused wondering who this mysterious stranger saved her. She wants to know who he is so she slowly lifts up his Mask just below his nose brushing his face lightly with her finger tips 'Are You Real? Or am I dreaming' 'I can assure you love,you are not dreaming' 'How do I thank you for saving my life?' *She looks at his lips & shyly smiles. Blushing *"

ENJOY

My asks are open for head canons or one shots!

Not beta read, have mercy

Steven Grant was in awe. Granted, he was generally in awe of you most days. He was in awe of you when he first saw you. It was your first day of work and he couldn’t believe that someone could look so casual but so beautiful. He was in awe of you every day as you led the children's groups, so friendly and kind to the little kids as you guided them through history themed crafts. And he was in awe of you now, how he saw you groaning and rubbing your eyes, but when he walked over to check on you, you swept it all away and lit up when you saw him. 

“You alright, love?” He asked.

You smiled at him, touched by him checking in “Yeah, just tired. I’m heading home now. Thank God.”

“I’m not off for another half an hour, if you’d like to wait I can walk you home?” Steven offered. He walked you home many nights during the week. Most nights, actually. And you wanted to wait for him, you really did. You relished those walks, he always asked you a million questions about your family, he listened to you complain about your younger sister getting in trouble with your parents again or your friend drama. Why did a guy care so much about people that he didn’t know? He seemed genuinely sad when you said your sister has been drinking a lot and he laughed so much when you explained your friend's mess of a dating life.

“As much as I would love to, I gotta get home. I have an early morning doctor’s appointment and I need to stop at the store before I get home.”

Steven was disappointed. He looked forward to the walks as much as you did. “But who will tell me how Amy’s tinder date went?” He joked. Really he cared more about updates on your sister. The whole situation seemed to stress you out so much.

You laughed “I’ll fill you in on Monday, I promise the weekend will get you some good stories.”

“Okay, be safe.”

“Thanks, you’re a sweetheart.”

Steven was walking home, wishing you were with him. You two lived pretty close to each other, you used to play around with paths to take, switching streets and sometimes going down an alley to “spice things up” as you said. Eventually, you settle on a path you liked. It passed a gay bar that was always having a good time and you two had gotten to know the security guard at the hospital you passed. Whenever the walk sign was about to change red, you both ran across the street to make it. If it were up to him, he’d stay and wait for the next round of green lights, but the first time it happened you took his hand and dashed across the street. The look of joy on your face from that tiny hit of excitement? Well, he’d run across every yellow light for the rest of his life if it made you smile like that. He was in awe of you. Steven took the way home the two of you always took, he missed you.

When Steven heard shouting, he didn’t initially think it was you. All he knew was a woman was in the alley getting attacked and he knew what he had to do. Steven summoned the suit and rushed to where he found, to his horror, you. Before he could react, he saw one of the men attacking you knock you out and Steven jumped into action. He made quick work of the men. He wasn’t sure if they were dead or not; it wasn’t his intention to kill them, but it wasn’t like he was trying to keep them alive… He looked over to you and could see you were in an out of consciousness, watching him.

First things first, he checked your pulse. Breathing, that's good. Steven sat down and carefully pulled you up onto his lap, checking for injuries. No blood, that’s also good. He scooped you up and still his suit, he carried you to your apart. You occasionally stirred, which was also a good sign. You had looked up and seen his masked face, but you didn’t look scared.

Steven sat by your side in a chair he pulled in from the kitchen, watching you, waiting for you to wake. Steven kept the suit on, knowing he could reveal his secret identity to you.

When he finally saw you wake, he moved to your bedside. You looked at him in confusion “Who are you?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

You reach out, slowly, pulling up his mask just under his nose, brushing over his skin with the pads of your fingers. You tried to pull it up further, but Steven took your hands, stopping you. You saw him smile and despite not feeling well, you were comforted by the smile. You would recognize those lush lips anywhere.

“Are you real?” You whispered. “Or am I dreaming?”

Steven knew he wasn’t doing well with keeping his secret, but he didn’t much care “I assure you love, you are not dreaming” He brushed back hair out of your face as you still laid on the pillow. 

“How do I thank you for saving my life?” You glance at his lips, hoping he gets the hint.

“You don’t have to do anything but get better” You bring a hand back to his face, not daring to make a move on the mask again, but you brushed his lips with your thumb. When he didn’t move in but didn’t pull away, you figured he would never make the first move. You know your sweet Steven would never want you to think you had to do anything. But boy, did you want to. You gently guided his mouth to yours, and finally did what you had wanted to do since the day you saw him.

Hello! Comments mean the world, reblogs help a lot! If you like this, come drop a follow and check out my ongoing MK story, sunshine starlight sweetheart Brightside which you can find on this blog or on my AO3, which is romana_rose!

[ladyclwriter]

Marc Spector's Inferno

Meeting the hell on his mind (pre-show timeline

People admired the orange, yellow, and mesmerizing purple of the sunset. But not Marc.

He remembered when just seeing the star lower and lower on the horizon gave him goosebumps. Panic filled his mind, his heart pounding more than any of his moments with Layla. Now he was nothing more than a ghost of himself, sitting on the ceiling of the apartment he shared with her, just waiting for the moon to rise.

Khonshu didn't need to say anything. He knew his Avatar was fully aware of his duties. Of his debt. And, well, as long as he could, Spector just stared into the void, in an unbearable wait even for the expressionless man.

There was no longer a watch on his wrist. Not only because he didn't need to count the hours, since at that point they were branded in his being; in a mechanical habit of just looking at the sky to know when he should leave the house. But also for no longer having the audacity to use that gift from Layla with the disturbing ticking that accompanied the too-slow clock. The annoying little noise helped to interrupt, sometimes intensify, the frantic thoughts of his half hour “pre-mission”, which slipped between pools of blood, laughter of his fiancée, his past and his future.

The blood. Oh, the blood.

How many flashes, how many tremors did he had when remembering the blood on his hands? No, it was nothing new. Before Khonshu, he was already a murderer.

And that was an incessant topic. “At least before I was paid” or “now I fight for a noble cause”?

He did not feel worthy of any nobility. No, Marc Spector didn't have any good in him; be it good intentions, positive emotions or happy memories.

He had no right to any of that.

Maybe Steven had. Yep, that anxious, hyperactive, upbeat, always-stepped little guy deserved all the beauty in the world.

And Layla. Yes, Layla was worthy of everything Steven was, and maybe more. But Layla didn't deserve to be with a man so... so...

Cruel? Empty? Fucked up? He didn't know which one to choose.

It wasn't a lie that with his partner he felt as alive as he allowed himself to feel. But what to think when he knew that at his wedding he would face a huge bony bird at the back of his bride?

What to do when he knew Layla didn't deserve to spend the rest of her life with some weird, white-dressed anti-hero who kills so many people every single night? Even without the title of Moon Knight he knew he would still be a motherfucking assassin. No therapy in the world was going to erase the guilt he carried over his brother's death. Gods, Layla didn't even know that. Not even Steven. What if Steven found out? What if Layla found out? What if the two found out? What if the world knew that Marc Spector was always destined to be a killer? It was better to have continued alone. Secrets from him would die with him. But he loved Layla. But she didn't deserve it, what if she found out, what if...

To escape. He wanted to get away from there. But how to deal with parting? No, he couldn't see Layla cry. He couldn't make her cry. By all the gods, how fucked would he be if he were the reason the only person he loved on the entire planet was sad? That same person didn't deserve to have children with such a shitty man.

Layla wants to have kids? We already talked about this? How could we even think about it? No, Marc Spector cannot have children. Imagine, children sleeping while the father murders and exterminates and annihilates?

Layla should be a mother. No, Marc couldn't deprive himself of that just because he had a terrible life.

But how? What if Khonshu used the children? What if they had to inherit their father's suit? What if he never got rid of his duty? What if he had to live through this endless hell he'd gotten himself into by denying his death?

Yeah, they always said that when the time comes, you have to accept it. Everything always has a price. And Marc knew he would pay for it for a long, long time. Would Khonshu let him die again?

No, he couldn't die. And Layla?

But... What if leaving her is worse than dying? What if the two things are the same thing?

He couldn't do this to her. So what could he do? Keep beating yourself up and thinking he should be far, far away from her?

How Marc regretted it. He should never have approached her. Damn his late father-in-law for dying. Now, sweet Layla was doomed to an schizophrenic sociopath. And the sociopath didn't know what to do.

He would never have an answer to all his questions. But of one thing he was sure; the moon was almost at that particular spot. And with it, his duties knocked at the door.

He opened his arms, head falling back. A vein popped in his neck, grinding his teeth lightly as he felt the power of Khonshu wrap around and shiver within his body. The sashes and every layer of the impeccably white suit smelled like death. But it carried something good. With it, he would forget all the incessant questions. With it, all those voices and sweat and the will to flee or die disappeared.

Only one thing remained in Marc: his duty.

Kill, kill, and kill.

It was okay. All was well as he vaulted buildings in pursuit of Khonshu's countless vendettas. That was okay, because during the night, he didn't care about anything but hunting and scavenging.

If for some the dawn is a symbol of security, of peace, for Marc Spector it was a sign that he was going back to hell.

This was an experimental writing that I did a long time ago, and decided to post here. Not exactly a fanfic, so didn't posted as it. Hope you enjoyed it, and that I did portrayed Marc well. Sorry for any grammar, English isn't my first language, I'm self-taught.

See ya, love you 💕

[readerthatreadsss]

Worth The Wait | Steven Grant

(Inspired by the song of the same title by Kali Uchis)

Pairing: Steven Grant x fem!reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: You and Steven have been roommates for a while now. But one night after being stood up by yet another guy in a string of dates gone wrong, Steven offers you some support...which sparks an interesting chain of events.

Warnings[18+ activities MDNI]: sub! (ish) Steven, dom! (ish) reader, fools in love, friends/roommates to lovers, mentions of drunk reader (but not drunk when they actually have sex, you'll see), crying (reader's drunk and starts venting for a bit, that's all), unprotected p in v sex (cloak the joker before you poke her), oral sex (steven and r receiving), Steven doubting himself mid-sex, assertive reader and awkward Steven! , choking (r receiving), riding, creampie, barely edited cause I'm really fuckin tired.

A/N: Hi. Don't ask me where I found the time or motivation to write this shit when school started back a month ago. The idea just popped into my head and my fingers didn't stop moving once I opened a draft. Note, I have a tall fem! reader x Steven in my drafts to finish so don't think I forgot!

"Steeeeven," knock knock knock, "STEVENNNN," knock knock knock−

Steven's brows furrowed beneath his reading glasses at the sound of your voice coming from outside your shared apartment door. Concern as well as confusion sprang through him instantly. You sounded drunk. Which he was sure to be the case seeing as you were sloppily knocking at the door rather than opening it with your keys.

He quickly shut the book he was reading and removed his glasses before making his way over to the door in fear that your next call of his name would wake the entire building.

Unfortunately, he opened the door at the very moment you launched your hand forward to knock once more. This caused you to tumble through the door with a drunken yelp. But Steven caught you in his arms before your body could hit the ground.

You looked up at him with a lazy smile and hooded eyes. "Thanks, Stevie bear," you hiccuped, using both hands to cling onto one of his very defined biceps. You had never realized how big and firm they were before that moment.

"You're welcome," Steven replied worriedly. He swiftly shut the door with his foot and used your grip on his arm to bring you standing back on your feet. "Y/n what the bloody hell happened to your date?"

You rolled your eyes at his question, kicking off your heels and making your way over to the couch without somehow falling again. "See now, Steven," you paused and pointed at him drunkenly, "it can't be a date if the said date doesn't even bother to show up!" you explained.

Steven sighed deeply at your explanation as he sat on the other end of the couch. This wasn't the first time this had happened to you—or him for that matter—but he could never understand why. You were easily one of the most beautiful women in London, and definitely one of the smartest, (your framed Ph.D. in psychology hanging over the television was evidence of that). You were the full package and more. Any man would be lucky to have you.

But the men of London were clearly morons if they kept standing you up or acting like complete knobs to you on your dates.

He would never do that to you. But he's seen photos of your past dates. A woman like you was way out of his league and would never go for someone like him, anyone with eyes could see that.

"How much have you had to drink?" Steven suddenly asked you.

You raised 3 fingers to the best of your ability. "Six," you answered before bursting into a fit of giggles at Steven's expression.

"Gosh, y/n, you're absolutely clobbered," he grabbed a blanket from the arm of the couch and spread it over where your short skin-tight dress was riding up your thighs.

"Well I didn't lie," you sat up abruptly, throwing the blanket off your lap and turning to face Steven and sit as crosslegged as your dress would allow, "Three of the drinks were margaritas...the other three were shots of vodka though," you admitted softly as if it were some secret for only yours and Steven's ears.

"Do you have work in the morning?" Steven questioned gently, picking up the blanket and handing it back to you. Your dress was riding up with every slight movement you made, which meant more of your thighs being exposed to him. Despite this, Steven wouldn't dare look anywhere except your eyes.

"Nope." You threw the blanket back on the floor. The night was pretty warm, you don't understand why Steven keeps giving it to you.

"Do you want me to make you some coffee or tea?"

"Yup."

Steven looked at you in question for a few seconds. "Which one?" he prodded, fighting back a smile at your muddled state.

You moved closer and narrowed your eyes, "Which one of what?" you questioned, truly confused, before breaking out into another fit of drunken giggles that caused you to momentarily tumble forward and land your hands on Steven's thighs.

"Coffee it is then," Steven answered for you, his voice traveling up an octave. He then carefully moved your hand from his thighs, trying to ignore the chills your touch sent up his spine, and hightailed it to the kitchen to put on the percolator for you.

You tilted your head as he walked away, noting how quickly he left.

When Steven returned with your cup of coffee (with cream and no sugar just how you liked it), he found you seated in the same spot but with his blanket draped over your head and body while soft sniffles and sobs met his ears.

He placed your cup on the table nearby and carefully approached your figure on the couch. Steven reached for the blanket and slowly removed it from your body.

"Why are you crying, love?" he sweetly asked once your face came into view.

"Because I'm a mess," you sniffled, using a hand to wipe the trail of tears falling from your eyes.

Steven's head tilted in disbelief at your words. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"Yes I do," you nodded fervently, "It's why my dates have sucked for the past 2 months, it's why I got passed over for that goddamn promotion at work last week, and it's why you can't stand being around me for longer than 3 minutes these days."

Steven was taken aback by your words. You thought he couldn't stand to be around you? That's impossible.

"You practically sprinted to the kitchen!" you added after a few moments of silence.

"To make you coffee," Steven protested, gesturing to the cup lying untouched nearby.

"I saw your face," you looked down at where your hands lay in your lap.

Steven swallowed harshly. "Y/n."

You ignored his call for your attention.

"Look at me," he came closer and entangled his hands with your own in your lap, immediately causing you to look up at him with tear-stained eyes, "You are not a mess," he softly yet sternly said to you.

"Yes I am−"

"No. You are not," he interrupted your arguing, "Your dates? They're all losers for letting you slip through their hands. And if a few bad dates is fate's way of making you wait to find the one, then I think that's well worth the holdup, yeah?"

You chewed on your bottom lip anxiously before nodding in agreement.

"And as for my behavior earlier, it was−" Steven paused with a sigh fumbling for a sensible excuse, "it's your perfume."

You pulled a face that would have made Steven laugh under normal circumstances. "My perfume? You hate my perfume?"

Steven swallowed harshly. He hated lying. He wasn't even good at it. But convincing you that he couldn't bear your perfume was easier than admitting that he just couldn't handle the way your hands felt on his thighs or the way his entire body heated up when you leaned closer to him. "Yup. The smell was too much for me," he fibbed.

You rested your head in your palms, pouting slightly. "But you're the only reason I wear this perfume, Steven," you confessed, barely audible.

Steven's face fell. "What?"

"You told me that you liked it when I moved in and from then I kept buying it just because you liked it."

Steven's heart swelled at your admission. He felt like an asshole. He was no better than the losers you'd been going on dates with.

You continued to speak. You could feel words preparing to leave your lips that have been eating at you for a while, now guided by your lowered inhibitions. "And I didn't only mean just now. These past few weeks you can barely look me in my eyes, or be near me, Steven. What am I doing wrong?" your voice broke with your last words.

Steven had seen you cry a few times before. But this time was different. The look on your face was heart-wrenching. He couldn't believe that he made you feel like this.

Because he was having trouble dealing with his own feelings for you, he made you think he hated you...when it was the complete opposite.

"There's nothing wrong with you. It's all my fault," Steven said, breaking away from your gaze, feeling it pierce through him.

"I'm the one who was dumb enough to fall in love with you..." he added, only to look up and see you passed out against the arm of the couch.

A part of him was saddened that you fell asleep before hearing his confession. But another was grateful and profoundly unprepared for your inevitable rejection.

Steven looked at you for a few more seconds before carefully picking you up—smiling to himself when you curled into his chest—and carrying you to your bedroom.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

You woke up in a slight daze...and in someone else's bed.

It took a few glances around the room for you to piece together that you were in Steven's room.

And then all of last night's events came back to mind, seeping in and clearing the fog that your excessive alcohol consumption had sired;

Your failed date. Coming home and falling into Steven's arms. Saying way too much to Steven. Steven's last words before your body shut down.

Steven.

Steven.

Steven.

"Oh God," you mumbled, cradling your face in your hands.

Eventually, you pulled yourself out of the bed and stumbled into the bathroom for a shower. You thanked whatever higher power was at work that Steven was still asleep on the couch when you padded through the living room.

But when you finished showering and exited the bathroom, you were hit with the smell of freshly brewed coffee. You poked your head into the living room to make sure Steven was still in the kitchen before running a path straight to your room and getting dressed.

After throwing on one of your old university crew necks and the first shorts you could get your hands on (which happened to be very short ones), you heard a knock at your door followed by Steven's voice.

"Y/N? I have a cup of green tea and some painkillers here...thought you'd need them."

You found yourself smiling at the sound of his voice, something that was becoming more common in recent weeks. What did you do to deserve a man like Steven in your life?

You quickly moved to open the door and let Steven in. "Hey, Steven," you greeted him with a small smile.

He released a nervous chuckle as he presented a cup and two pills to you. "Good morning."

You took them happily, bringing them to your night table. "I'm not actually feeling very hungover," you said to him, turning to sit on your bed.

"Really? That's surprising...considering last night," Steven replied, taking a hesitant step further into your room.

"Yeah must be my tolerance and all that," you shrugged, taking interest in how Steven had yet to meet your eyes since you opened the door.

A beat of silence passed between you while you took a sip of your tea. "Steven, you can sit," you softly spoke, gesturing to your bed.

"Oh, sure," Steven took a seat at the farthest edge of your bed, maintaining a more than comfortable space between you.

"How'd I end up in your bed this morning?" you suddenly questioned. You were genuinely curious, but the reaction it garnered from Steven was more than worth it.

After a brief clear of his throat, Steven answered, "Well you sorta climbed into my bed in the middle of the night, gave me quite a scare actually, and I wanted to give you space to rest so I let you have my bed and I slept in the couch."

"Oh, I'm sorry," you frowned, a tinge of embarrassment seeping in, "Why didn't you sleep in my bed?"

"Because..." laying in your bed that smells flawlessly like you would've sent him into cardiac arrest- "the couch is more comfortable."

You nodded in understanding, placing your half-empty teacup back on the table.

"If you uh need anything," Steven stood up from your bed, slowly walking backward to the door, "just shout," he said as he turned to open the door.

"Did you mean it?"

Steven halted in place at your words, his back still facing you.

You slid off your bed and approached his oddly still figure.

Steven's throat ran dry. There's no way you could have actually heard him. Right? "What?" is all he managed to say.

You walked past him and used a hand to close the door, coming to stand in front of him. You needed to look at his face. Living with Steven for a year has taught you that he wasn't a man of many words but his face said more than enough when he couldn't. Drunk you couldn't utilize your psych degree the night before, but sober you sure could at that moment.

"Did you mean it?" you repeated, "When you said you fell in love with me?"

Steven's jaw slackened when he met your stare, that feeling of being pierced by your gaze returning. "I-"

Your eyes narrowed as you took a step closer to him, now being close enough for his nervous breaths to fan across your lips. "Because if you meant it then I would tell you that. I think..." you paused and looked away for a moment, "No, I know that I love you too."

Steven's hooded brown eyes widened. He blinked a few times, trying to will himself to wake up if this was a dream.

You bit back a small laugh at his expression before you continued. "I love how willing you were to rent some small-time therapist your extra bedroom because you heard her crying in the corner of a coffee shop that she'd been kicked out by her stupid ex-boyfriend. I love the mugs you buy me every month because you saw them and they reminded you of me. I love how you watch shitty action movies with me after every bad date I have because you want to take my mind off them. I love how much you care about...everything really. I love you, Steven Grant," an enlightened smile rested on your face as you spoke, "and I'm sorry that I spent the past year thinking everything you made me feel was platonic when the truth was that you made me feel things that no one else has. I'm an idiot Steven-"

"No," Steven's first word came, a relieved smile accompanying it, "You are not an idiot. You are the smartest person I've ever met. Smarter than me, that's for sure," at that, you both laughed, "I've spent this whole year thinking that you would never see me as anything more than your weird, boring roommate...and turns out you loved me this whole time," he ended in a soft whisper, shocked by his own conclusion. Steven found his eyes drifting down to your lips and you immediately took note of it.

You exhaled deeply before closing the gap between you and Steven, meeting his lips in a bold kiss.

Initially stunned, Steven sunk into your lips soon after, gently bringing his hands up to rest on the sides of your face.

Your brain fogged as Steven devoured your lips, an unusual confidence taking over him. You wrapped your hands around his neck and smiled into the kiss, allowing Steven to slip his tongue past your lips, tasting more of you and pulling a moan from your chest.

Steven pulled away first, feeling himself enter a state that he wouldn't dare himself to in your presence. You bit back a whine when his lips left yours, looking up at him in confusion.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," he spoke, taking a step away from you.

You licked your lips and stepped towards him. "Steven, trust me, I want to do this. I want to do a lot more than this actually," you pulled his waist flush against your body, drawing a shared moan from you both when his growing bulge pressed against your stomach.

Steven's hands flew up to grab the back of your neck and your jaw. He softly muttered your name, as a warning more than anything else.

You leaned in and pressed a kiss against the corner of his lips. "If you say no, we will stop this right now and go eat breakfast. But if you say yes, we are gonna stay here and I'm gonna let you do very bad things to my body."

Steven swallowed harshly. "God, yes," he replied, failing to swallow back a whimper at the implication of your words.

Your hands squeezed his waist as you moved back to look at his face fully. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear that Stevie," you smirked.

Steven looked down at you with adoration clear in his eyes. He couldn't believe this was really about to happen. He used his hold on your neck to pull your lips crashing into his. This kiss was a lot more hungrier than the first, with Steven now making his intentions much clearer.

"I'll take that as a yes," you grinned between kisses.

Steven groaned his agreement as he continued to kiss you.

You used your grip on his waist to push him back towards your bed, effectively breaking your kiss and causing him to land on the edge of your bed with a grunt.

Steven looked up at you through his lashes in awe as you approached him. He watched keenly as you removed your top, wearing nothing underneath, before moving to straddle his thighs. Steven made a move to touch your chest before stopping his shaky hands midair and looking at you in question.

You gently held Steven's chin up and smiled down at him. "Steven you can touch me," you reassured him. Even in an intimate moment like this, he was ever the gentleman...

Steven indulged with a sheepish smile and brought both his palms to each of your breasts. Unable to help himself, Steven dove in and took one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened bud.

"Fuck, Steven," you moaned, eyes slamming shut at how good it felt. Your words only seemed to egg him on further as Steven switched to your other breast, his lips and tongue moving against it with more enthusiasm.

Your hands at the back of his neck grabbed fistfuls of his curls while his ministrations against your chest pulled more moans and whines from your lips.

Some time after, you pulled Steven's lips away from your breasts and met them in a searing kiss, pressing your clothed cunt down against his erection. "Shit," Steven lowly cursed, bringing his hands to your waist to grind you down further against his bulge.

You obliged with a moan, grinding in Steven's lap harder. "Tell me what you want, Steven," you whispered against his lips.

Steven's hands squeezed your waist harshly when your lips began sucking against his throat. He could barely put together thoughts at the moment, much less words.

You trailed a hand down to the waistband of Steven's sweats and slowly reached under it for his cock. You swallowed a moan when your hand traced his full length and girth. "You've been holding out on me Steven," you chuckled against his neck.

Steven blushed furiously at your words. "Thank you?" he responded awkwardly, barely functioning with your hand rubbing along his cock.

You chuckled once again, pulling away from his neck to look at him. "You're so pretty," you said, causing another wave of red to hit Steven's cheeks.

"No one's ever said that to me before," he admitted softly.

"Well that's okay, cause I want to be the only one who makes you blush like this," you grinned brushing a stray curl from his forehead, "I bet your cock is just as pretty," your hand picked up speed beneath Steven's pants, "Can I see it? Please?"

Steven nodded enthusiastically. "Anything you want," he said with a desperation that had your pussy throbbing with need. You briefly lifted your hips allowing Steven to clumsily slide off his sweatpants and boxers and step out of them.

Once you returned to your position on his thighs, you looked down at his cock, the head already dripping with small beads of precum. The length was truly unexpected, as well as the girth. You would do anything to feel him inside you.

But for now, you really wanted to taste him.

Steven watched you sink to your knees before him, your eyes never straying from his.

"Are you sure you want to-"

"Steven you said anything I wanted," you paused, gliding your fingers over his length and watching it twitch in response, "And I really want to taste you. Can I suck your cock, Steven?"

Steven's breathing picked up as he took in the image before him; you on your knees, touching his dick while literally begging to suck it with a look in your eyes he could only compare to the look of a wild female tiger eyeing her freshly caught meal in the nature documentary he watched the week before.

"Please, please do," his response came soon after.

You began with a kiss to the head of his cock that made it immediately jump in your hand. You couldn't help but chuckle, and it was a sound that Steven hoped would be the last thing he heard before he left this earth. "You're so sensitive, Stevie," you cooed before pressing another kiss but to the base of his length.

Steven released a sharp moan at both of your kisses to his cock, finding himself embarrassingly close to cumming already.

"Please," he pleaded your name with a whine, "stop teasing."

You swirled your tongue around the head where precum had gathered, moaning in time with your movements and drawing yet another mewl from Steven. "Oh but Stevie, I just love hearing you say please," you teased him, looking up from where you had a hand wrapped around his base and another briefly caressing his balls.

Steven was now panting, his eyes never leaving you as you held him. He watched you slowly wrap your lips around his tip before slowly sinking down.

After reaching a little more than halfway down Steven's cock, you felt yourself gag but simply stilled instead of removing yourself completely.

"Fucking hell," Steven grunted before melding into a pathetic moan once you held your position. You eventually let up when you almost ran out of air and slowly removed your lips from his dick, your eyes meeting his with tears streaming along your face from the stretch.

You were prepared to do it once again but felt Steven's palm grab your chin before you could. "No, love, please. If you do that again I'm afraid I'm not gonna last."

Steven watched you lick your lips before shifting to trap his thumb in between your lips and softly suck on it. He couldn't stop the whine that slipped his lips at your action.

You eventually released his thumb from the confines of your mouth and came to stand over him with a smile. "Well then. Tell me what you want to do next. I'm all yours, baby, remember?"

Steven brought his hands to rest on your hips and leaned forward to press a soft kiss against your stomach. "I-uhh," his brows furrowed and he shook his head briefly as if sending away a thought.

"What is it, Steven?"

The man beneath you looked up to meet your eager eyes, suddenly confident enough to say what he wanted. "I really...really want to taste you."

You felt your breath hitch at his request. It was rare for a man to enthusiastically offer to go down on you. Though it was clear to you now that Steven was most definitely a rare man.

"You want to?" you felt your voice come out a lot more unsure than usual.

Steven's brows furrowed once again as a fleeting smile graced his lips at your response. "Of course I do, sweetheart. Do men not usually..."

You harshly exhaled. "I mean some do but I usually have to complain first or they do it cause they want me to return the favor," you admitted.

"They don't deserve you. No one does," Steven softly uttered, gazing up at you with eyes you were growing more fond of by the minute.

You quickly leaned down to meet him in a kiss in response. You didn't deserve him either.

Steven pulled you back into his lap and kissed you back eagerly. But he was the first to pull away, causing you to whine in a way that made his cock jump against your cunt. "I-I really did mean it, love, I need to taste you. Now."

You had never seen Steven so demanding. It had you throbbing in anticipation. You allowed him to lay you on your back and peel away your shorts and panties to reveal the part of you where you needed him most.

Steven looked starstruck as he examined your arousal. He moved closer and closer to your pussy, letting his warm breath fan over your glistening lips.

"Steven please-" you begged, though you couldn't finish your thought before your voice broke into a loud moan when Steven licked a stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit.

Steven closed his eyes, relishing his first taste of you. It was everything he'd quite literally dreamed of and more.

And so, he eagerly dived into your core.

Your hands flew to Steven's head working between your legs as your thighs instinctively closed around his head from the sudden wave of pleasure surging through you.

The feeling of your thighs trapping his head against your pussy was absolute bliss to Steven. He moaned into you as his tongue swirled around your clit sloppily. If he was inexperienced, you couldn't tell because every movement of his tongue brought you closer and closer to your release.

The vibrations of Steven's enjoyment drew a brief scream from your chest before you slapped a hand over your lips to silence it.

Steven finally came up for air, his lips and jaws covered in your slick. His curls were strewn along his forehead by a damp layer of sweat as his dilated pupils met your own. "C'mon. I want to hear those pretty noises you make for me, love," he said before running two of his fingers through your folds to gather some of your wetness and slowly inserting them into you.

"Oh my-STEVEN" your back arched up and off your bed as you felt immediately filled up by Steven's digits.

Steven gauged your reactions as he slowly removed his fingers before pushing them again with no resistance due to your arousal. "I've wanted this for so long, love," he began to speak as he slowly leaned down to press his lips against your clit in a kiss, "Wanted to hear you moaning my name," he sped up his fingers' movements inside you, "Wanted to taste you," he added another finger, now touching that spot inside your walls with every thrust, "You're so beautiful," he ended before fully diving back in with his tongue against your bud.

"Yes—fuck—you're so good to me baby," you finally gathered enough breath to speak while gaining a proper grip on his head. With every sharp lick or nip he'd make, you would tighten your grip on his hair and it would only spur him on further. It was only a matter of seconds from there before...

"Shit, I'm gonna cum, Steven," you called out, looking down to meet where he was already staring up at you, and speeding up his fingers and tongue's ministrations against you.

He held your stare once he felt your walls clench around his fingers and heard your moan melt into a scream.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK," you shouted as your orgasm slammed into you thanks to Steven's eager tongue and fingers.

Steven watched your chest slow its heaving when your climax subsided and removed his fingers but couldn't stop himself from licking the remnants of your release from your folds. It was as if he was trying to work you up to another orgasm.

"Shit Steven wait," you mewled, attempting to close your legs from overstimulation. But Steven used strength you'd never known him to have to shove your legs back open and hold them in place, clearly intent on tasting every bit of what you had to offer.

Your eyes widened. "Holy fuck," you removed both your hands from Steven's head and ran them over your face and boobs. He was driving you absolutely insane. If it weren't for his grip on your legs you would be trembling beneath him.

It wasn't long before a second orgasm crept up on you, one more powerful than the last. Your lips parted in a silent scream as your climax washed over your entire body, from your thighs to your feet, to the base of your fucking spine.

Steven couldn't help but stare as he cleaned you up for the last time with his tongue. He couldn't believe he got to see this. To make you feel like this.

Your high subsided soon after and you released a sharp exhale followed by a laugh of disbelief.

Steven moved from his position on his knees before you to hover above you on your bed. "You okay, love?" he questioned in concern

You responded to his question with a satisfied grin. "I'm great, Stevie," you spoke before meeting his lips in a sweet kiss, "But..."

Steven's face fell at your words. He slowly moved from above you to lay next to you, scared to meet your eyes. "I did something wrong didn't I? Or did I forget to do something? I'm sorry-" he rambled, immediately doubting himself.

But his words died in his throat when you turned and caressed his cheek with a hand, your grin still present on your face. "You did nothing wrong," you insisted, "That was no doubt one of the best orgasms of my entire life."

Steven looked away and laughed at your confession. "You don't have to say that to make me feel better."

"I mean it, Steven," your voice grew stern, "That was fucking incredible."

Steven couldn't even formulate a response.

"What I was going to say was," you broke his silence, "I promised you could do bad things to my body and you haven't done nearly enough for me," you ended with a smirk.

Steven grunted when he felt your fingertips run along his cock.

"Don't you want to fuck me, Steven?" you questioned innocently while completely wrapping your hand around and stroking Steven's dick.

He nodded quickly, his bottom lip held between his teeth as he tried not to react to how soft your hand felt around his painfully hard cock. "I do. So badly, love."

You released him and brought a hand over to grab Steven's neck before using your grip to pull him back to his previous position above you. "Then fuck me, Steven. I need you to fuck me," you whispered.

Steven wasted no time in grabbing his length and lining himself up with your entrance. "Are you sure?" he checked in with you once more.

You jerked your hip in the direction of his cock in an effort to fill yourself up but to no avail. You were so damn desperate you didn't care how you sounded. "Yes Steven, please, I need you to fill me up. Fill me up baby, c'mon," you whined hurriedly.

"Well who am I to deny you of what you want, love?" he replied before slowly guiding himself into you.

He immediately groaned at the feeling of your walls squeezing him. "Heavens, love, you're so—aghh—tight," he grunted.

Your moans were never-ending as he sunk into you inch by inch. The stretch was briefly painful but it hurt so good you didn't care.Steven stopped halfway in and leaned down to press a kiss against your forehead. "You're taking me so well, sweetheart," he praised you.

You bit your lip at his praise. "More, Steven, keep going."

Steven obliged and fully sunk into you with one last push. Your moans mixed in the air at the sudden change. "You feel so good inside me Steven, oh my God-" you cried out.

You nearly choked on air when Steven slowly pulled out of your heat before slamming back into you.

"SHIT," you both cursed together before opening your eyes to look at each other.

"Faster, baby, I can take it I promise," you nodded, bringing your hands up to the sides of Steven's face. You even wrapped your legs around Steven's waist.

Steven took a deep breath before pulling out and rutting into you again, now establishing a pace. Which every thrust inside your cunt, Steven grazed your g-spot, effortlessly. It was as if you were built for his cock.

"Fuckin' love the way you fuck me, Steven," you mumbled as Steven set a brutal pace inside you.

Steven leaned down to press his forehead against yours as he continued to fuck you. Your breathing seemed to sync as he pulled out moan after moan from you.

His hands rested at the sides of your head but you could feel them inching closer to your neck.

Your pussy clenched around him at the thought of him choking you. Steven faltered in his thrusts in response. "Love you're squeezing me so hard I don't think I'm gonna last."

"Do it," you called out, tilting your head toward one of his hands.

"What?"

"I can see you thinking about it. Choke me, baby," your chest heaved as you felt your third orgasm of the night approaching.

Steven hesitated for a second before he stopped his thrusts and brought a shaky hand to wrap around your throat.

"I trust you, Steven," you spoke truthfully, "I want this too," you brought a hand to rest over Steven's briefly in reassurance.

Steven began roughly pounding you again with his hand now squeezing around your neck.

"Fuck yes, holy shit," you breathed out, feeling your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head with the newly added feeling of Steven's large hand wrapped around your throat. making you see stars.

Steven, although shocked by your immediate enjoyment of his secret guilty pleasure, took it as a sign to continue. So he trusted faster but made sure to maintain the same amount of pressure on your neck. He then got the idea to use his free hand to reach down and fiddle with your clit while fucking you.

You were instantly thrown over the edge. You came with as best a scream of Steven's name as you could manage with his hand still choking you. Chills ran down your spine while Steven slowed his thrusts inside you and waited for your orgasm to pass.

Eventually, you felt Steven release your neck and slowly begin to remove his cock from your cunt. You tightened your legs around his waist in protest. "Uh uh, we're not stopping till you come inside me, Steven," you demanded.

Steven loved the way you'd been taking control throughout all of this. He'd do anything you asked without a thought. "That's fine with me love," he nodded with a lopsided grin.

"Good," you deeply inhaled before using your hold on his waist to roll him onto his back, with you now straddling him.

You smiled at his shocked expression, which soon morphed into excitement. "You're bloody amazing," he grinned up at you.

You fought the heat that crawled onto your cheeks at his words and looked away with a smile. "Stop sweet talking me and fuck me, Steven."

He nodded quickly, "Yes ma'am." Steven slipped back into your entrance slowly.

But you grew impatient and fully sat down on his cock, loving how full he made you feel. Steven's cries met your ears soon after.

You grabbed his hands and placed each on one of your breasts before beginning to properly ride him. Steven heeded your directions and pawed at your chest while thrusting up to meet your hips.

His grunts soon became whimpers and whines as you rode him harder and faster, eager to make him cum.

"I'm almost there, love," he cried before sitting up and pulling you into his chest. His hands moved down to grip your waist where he guided you faster along his cock.

"There you go, Steven," you held his face against your own as his pace grew sloppy and his brown eyes slid shut.

"Cum for me, baby," you softly spoke with one last grind of your hips. Steven halted inside you with a broken sob of your name and filled you up with his warm release.

You moaned at the feeling of his spend coating your inner walls and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "You did so good Steven."

"I love you," his eyes finally opened while he panted, looking up at you with vulnerable eyes as if scared that you wouldn't feel the same after what you had just done together.

"I love you too," you replied without hesitation. You gently shoved Steven onto his back and followed suit, laying down on his chest as you gently removed his softening cock from inside you. You felt his hands move to wrap around your body soon after, bringing you further into his body.

Steven was the first to speak after some time. "I think you're the best thing that's happened to me in a really long time," he admitted, turning to look at you, not at all phased by the exhaustion in your features.

You leaned up to meet Steven in a heated kiss. He tightened his hold on you and met your lips with equal fervor. You pulled away reluctantly and looked down at his face with furrowed brows as you used a hand to trace his jaw and swollen lips. "Where have you been hiding my entire life, Steven Grant?"

"Haven't been hiding, love. I've just been here waiting for you."

° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

WHEW! This ABSOLUTELY got away from me holy shit. 6k words? yeah, not the plan at all. But hey it's definitely something considering that I haven't been able to sit down and write anything till tonight.

So I really do hope you enjoyed it.

(Lemme go look back through my requests and see what else I can cook up.)

[jayden-killer]

Just read your Steven headcanons and I’m currently sobbing in the corner. Could I request a headcanon list where he actually has a partner? Like a person who will hold him when he cries and just GIVE HIM THE AFFECTION HE DESERVES 😭😭😭

Anon, OFC U CAN! I'm feeling super romantic today, so consider yourself lucky *winks* now, enjoy your request!^^

STEVEN GRANT WITH A S/O HEADCANONS.

• Dating Steven is like dating Mr. Darcy in real life. He's a gentleman, respectful in your whises and boundaries, and doesn't indulge in things you don't want to. He actually cares. And of course, he loves you. He will do anything to show you how much you mean to him.

• His love language is physical contact and words of affirmation. Both are important to him. He's a very cuddly lover. Always stealing glances, whispering how lovely you are today, while even brushing his calloused thumb on your hand palm.

• In his no moments, he needs to be held. Someone needs to remind him that he matters and that it is okay to let out the bottled-up emotions. We know his childhood and Marc's. Hold him tight next to your chest, let him hear your heartbeat and caress gently his hair. "You're good, Steven, you're good. I'm here. I won't hurt you like the others did."

• You'll share cute moments in the rain, picturing yourselves in a 'La La Land' scene!!

• Or also quiet moments where, the two of you, are cuddling under a warm blanket and reading the books you've bought while being on a "bookstore date".

• Won't mind if you both share your shampoos. So you can smell each other perfume and giggle about it.

• If you are that close to each other and move in his apartment, he'll probably buy another fish and put it in Gus' tank. So now he'll have another companion and won't be alone anymore!

• At the beginning of your relationship, Marc and Jake weren't absolutely fond of you. Don't blame them. They've been backstabbed many times (let's mention the comics too...) and don't want Steven, the most fragile, to experience something like this anymore. Give them time, let them be close to you, and know you, and they will open with each small step.

• If you're a student, he would help you with your assignments/homework. Prepare you your favourite drink. But if you need to be alone and focus on your papers, he'll shush himself up with no hesitations.

• Your guys' official song is: Late Night Talking by Harry Styles.

• He prefers to be held in bed. He is the little spoon. Enjoys your body's warmth and nuzzles his nose in your neck, sometimes leaving pecks on it and smiling at the thought of being so lucky to have found a loyal and loving partner as you.

[sincka]

|| You're not Okay ||

Summary : You come home with a migraine attack and the boys do their best to make you comfortable, because the night is going to be long...

Characters : Steven Grant ; Marc Spector ; Jake Lockley ; You

Notes : it's written for chronic migraine sufferers (and a little bit for me~) but ofc everyone can read it, there's no rules ^^ [English and Spanish aren't my native languages, I apologize for my mistakes. Please tell me when something's wrong in the text, I'll correct it.]

Warnings : depression, pain, anxiety, angst, hurt/confort, trauma, nausea/vomit, suicide is briefly mentioned, medicine also, cursing, (there's some cute and funny scenes tho)

Word count : 8.2K

Completely empty.

This is what you feel as you press the elevator button.

With a deep sigh, the shopping bag that was around your elbow slides into your hand so it touches the floor, easing the weight of the bag as the doors close in front of your bloodshot eyes. During this time of respite, you close your eyelids to protect yourself from the crackling light. Your heart rate accelerating from second to second, you try to keep your breathing regular. Usually it helps control the nausea that turns your stomach and cause your throat to tighten. Unfortunately, you know the routine.

You slowly open your eyes before observing a graffiti on the wall to your left. You try to understand and distinguish this form. Although your eyes receive the image, you guess that your brain no longer makes the effort to process the information. But you don't care, you focus on this thing, trying to ignore the pain that's pounding your skull and making you feel almost lethargic.

Finally, the doors open to reveal the next stage of your challenge. Continuing to inhale and exhale slowly, you leave the elevator with your eyes half closed. You drag your feet in the dimly lit hallways keeping your goal in mind to give you motivation. Just a few more steps and you would finally go home to collapse on the bed. No part of your head is spared, not even your face. The pain is so unbearable that you'd be ready to rip your flesh out, from your chin to the back of your neck. If this is the only way you can ignore the pain in your head, even if you trade one kind of pain for another, then so be it.

Only a few more steps before reaching your destination. With a weak hand, you rummage in your jacket pocket for spare keys that your boyfriend gave you a week ago. A week that you lived together... You wouldn't know how you would react living under the same roof, but all you knew was that you needed to see each other more often and the question arose naturally. It was a new adventure for the two of you, or rather for the four of you. You will always remember your first night together, confessing feelings and secrets like young teenagers in love. This euphoric and slightly ridiculous thought brings a balm to your mind filled with darkness, even if it's only for a few seconds.

The weight of your backpack pulls on the muscles of your shoulders as well as those of your neck, which makes your situation worse. You also try to keep your fingers tight around the shopping bag that you almost dropped several times on the way.

And now a new symptom takes hold of you. Suddenly, you raise your head, breathing hard and fast, the urge to puke your guts out coming without warning. You close your eyes as every cell in your body forces itself to maintain control. Despite this desperate attempt, panic is added to the crowd of emotions that make you lose your composure. Your breathing intensifies, you close your eyes tighter while frowning, these slightest movements heightening your pain as if your skin was covered in bruises.

You weren't going to vomit in the middle of the hallway of the building, were you ? No, you had to contain yourself. It's not the first time it's happened to you, you're able to handle it. You bring the keys to the lock trembling with all your being, nevertheless you are dizzy and your nausea surpasses your courage.

Inhale, exhale... Inhale, exhale...

A sob breaks the barrier of your lips, as you've held it back since the afternoon when your daily headache turned into a violent migraine. While you were working, you kept looking at your watch to count the hours. The time was getting longer as your migraine got worse. At the end of your tether, your shoulder hit the door. You end up lowering your head, a shiver running down your neck to extend your skull to your forehead. So you lean your back against the door before sliding your body down to sit on the cold floor, dropping the bag full of food and produce you've bought as you work harder to read what was written on your list.

Your backpack serving as a cushion between you and the door, your head tilts back while you keep your mouth open, continuing to breathe to calm your nausea. And you choose to keep your eyes closed, too exhausted to do otherwise.

Just a minute. I just need a minute, you silently repeat to yourself...

An hour passes.

Steven walks down the hallway, staring at his phone screen as he holds the strap of his satchel firmly in his hand. Once again, he ends up checking if you had replied to his messages. And once again, he frowned in concern when he saw no response from you.

He sighed, then looked up from his phone.

And he discovers you sitting in front of the door of his flat, your head tilted back with your mouth open and your eyes closed.

"Oh my God !" he exclaims as his face crumpled with fear, rushing over to you.

Steven dropped his bag on the ground and squatted near your body which seems inert to him while he displays an expression distorted by panic. Although terrified by what he sees, he doesn't hesitate to grab your shoulders to shake you slightly.

"Y/n ? Are you with me, love ? Please wake up." he gently encourage you to come out of your torpor.

With difficulty, your eyes barely open as you slowly raise your head.

"I'm okay, don't worry..." you whisper in a tired breath.

Hearing the sound of your voice, Steven closed his eyes in deep relief. For a moment, he had imagined the worst, and he could already see himself holding your hand in an ambulance that would be heading at full speed to the A&E.

"What happened ?" he asks, returning his compassionate gaze to yours.

Your mouth having dried up, you swallow your saliva to be able to speak better.

"I just wanted to... rest for a minute... I..." you try to line up the words, already having trouble lining them up in your own thoughts.

Steven analyzes your face and your way of speaking and he didn't take long to guess. He nodded before considering his next move to help you. He looked around and then he looks at you again.

"Do you think you can get up ?" he asks gently.

You just nod your head briefly while keeping your eyes closed. But you had recognized your Steven as soon as you heard him speak.

Your boyfriend then began to retrieve your shopping bag and he leaned over to put his satchel on one shoulder. At the same time, one of his neighbors decided to show up. Steven looked up in her direction with parted lips. The old lady left the apartment, saying goodbye to her friend before meeting the gaze of the man she had seen before.

Her cheerful smile suddenly disappeared. She discovers this strange man sitting in front of the body of a woman who seems half dead.

Steven raised his eyebrows, his gaze doing a ping-pong motion between you and the old lady.

"She's fine." he assures to keep this poor woman from having a heart attack.

To support Steven, you slowly gave a thumbs up while opening your eyes slightly.

"I-I- I don't want to know anything." she replies with a brief nervous smile as she walks away towards the elevator.

The National Gallery tour guide watched her anxiously.

"She's going to call the police one day..." he said in a worried tone.

"There was no one there until you arrived..." you laugh lightly with exhaustion, closing your eyes again.

"Do I hear mockery ?" Steven notes with a grin.

"Sorry..." your lips curl into a small smile that causes pain to shoot through your jaw.

"You still have your sense of humor, that's a start. Come on. Hold on to me." he stretches out his hands to help you.

You place your hands on his forearms and you manage to get up. But suddenly your nausea gets worse, so you start taking a long breath to control it.

"Come on, let's go inside so you can rest." he tries to motivate you as he pulls the straps of your backpack off your shoulders with great gentleness.

"I can keep it..." you whisper stubbornly.

"I know you can." he responds as he inserts the key into the lock while he helps you stand, carrying your bag with his available arm.

There, he opened the door of his flat before putting his keys in the bowl placed at the entrance. Without waiting, he led you inside and closed the door behind you. Although the boys only witnessed a few of your migraine attacks, they were starting to know the do's and don'ts. So, Steven was careful not to turn on the light, leaving only the streetlights outside and the light from his aquarium to illuminate the room, as well as the light of the moon.

You then take off your jacket, calculating your every move to avoid causing more pounding or pressure in your head. Steven put everything he was holding on the floor and he turned to you, before taking your jacket to put it on the hall cabinet.

"Go sit on the bed, sweetheart, I'll take care of everything." He said kindly.

"Let me help you with the-"

"I don't remember asking you." He replies nonetheless. "Please, go get some rest..."

Although extremely embarrassed, you end up obeying him because you know he's just as stubborn as you are and if neither of you listens, well... You're not out of the woods yet. So you start your steps towards the bed.

When suddenly, you're dizzy again. Everything you see around you begins to spin at breakneck speed. The sensation becoming too realistic, you end up losing your balance and you barely catch up on his old green armchair.

"Y/n ??" he calls you as he turned to you.

Your legs began to shake and your breathing quickened once more. Seeing your unusual state, Steven stops putting away the groceries to close the fridge before joining you.

Your nails dug into the cushion, the impression of falling into an endless whirlwind upsetting all your senses. You would never get used to that feeling despite your years of experience.

"Talk to me, what can I do ?" he asks, laying a hand on your back, his sadness growing as he witnesses your distress.

"You can't help me, everything is spinning, I just have to... I have to wait for it to pass..." You answer before gritting your teeth, your body tensing with this dizzying and uncontrollable feeling.

But you can no longer determine where is the top, the bottom, or even where your left and your right are. Totally disoriented, your legs give out and your knees fall to the ground in hope of finding more stability while Steven follows your movements and kneels in front of you.

Oh, how he hates to see you suffer. But for him the worst part of all this is that he is helpless.

No-- He needs to do something, anything.

"Come here." he said before placing his arms around your waist.

Instinctively, you put your arms around his neck to cling to him, squeezing the fabric of his shirt very tightly between your fingers. To be less unbalanced, you keep your eyes closed in order to ignore the landscape that spins around you.

"That's it, hold on to me. It'll pass, I promise..." he whispers in the hollow of your ear, his words full of tenderness coming to reassure your fears and to console the pains of your head.

"I'm so sorry..." you say in a sob, can't help but feel guilty for putting your own problems on him.

"Shh, stop, don't say that." he whispers back.

He can't stand seeing you beat yourself up like that. Especially when he knows full well that you're not the only one to share what makes you different.

A few tears seep into the fabric of his clothes as you use him as a rock to hold on to through thick and thin. Steven presses you harder against him, closing his eyes, burying his face in your hair. His protective hands hold you with love and determination, because all he wants is to land you so you can come back to him.

Slowly, this feeling of dizziness and intense pain ends up calming down. Hesitantly, you open your eyes. The landscape is stabilizing and it's gladly that you manage to find your bearings. You sigh, finally free from this endless ordeal. Your violent migraine is still making you suffer and your nausea hasn't gone away, but at least you're able to put one foot in front of the other and that's good news.

However, Steven's gesture - totally spontaneous - which surprised you, made you melt from the inside. It's the first time that someone has been so considerate with you, especially during one of your episode.

You don't want to let go, but you can't help but press your lips to his neck, laying them right there with deep affection while his hand rubbed your back in a comforting way.

Kneeling on the floor, holding each other, none of you dare move. In fact, you don't even want to. It's crazy how he manages to soothe you so easily, how he's able to do more than any medicine you've taken in your life. Does he also have a risk of addiction ? You fear you've already found the answer.

After a minute, you end up pulling away from his embrace. For some reason, you hesitated to look up at him. But you could feel his gaze running across your face. So he put his hand on your cheek in order to gently wipe away a tear with his thumb, thus avoiding not applying too much pressure on your fragile and painful face.

Finally, you found yourself sitting on the edge of his bed, which also became yours, while Steven came back with a pile of pillows on his arms.

"Baby, I already told you it was useless, you don't have to do all that." you watch his eyes over the piles of pillows he's carrying as he can't see where he's walking.

"Innoo btt I jst wnt yuu t be az cmmffftbbll az possbl"

"What ?" You frown slightly, smiling.

He let the cushions fall on the bed with a huff, before straightening up to put his curly locks to the side to see more clearly.

"I know but I just want you to be as comfortable as possible." He repeats then with a smile curving his lips. "It's going to last all night, I don't want you to break your back." He continues, wedging the pillows one by one behind you.

More than grateful, you sit comfortably against the pillows before watching Steven heading to the kitchen. After a few seconds, you see him come back with a glass of Coke filled with ice cubes. It was the only drink you could swallow, maybe because it's fizzy and sweet. Sometimes it even calmed your nausea. The sugar and caffeine also probably helps you to have more energy since, in general, you can't eat on migraine attacks days.

You can't believe it, he really knows you by heart. However, you can't help but feel guilty.

"Steven..." you look at him, a little bit bothered by his excess of generosity.

He put the glass down on your nightstand before raising his hands innocently. "That's all. It's the only care you'll get." He says as he walks away. "And don't you dare ask me more, I'll refuse !" He adds sarcastically, pointing at you while he walks away.

Steven manages to make you laugh despite your depressed mood caused by your migraine. And yet, even in these moments, you continue to use humor because it's the only thing that still helps you to hold on. But Steven brought much more. Besides those typical stevenesque sarcastic jokes, he gave you a lot of comfort, joy and hope. The hope that maybe you'll wake up tomorrow without pain, and especially by his side.

Steven went to one of his shelves and you tilted your head slowly to see him. With curiosity, you watched him looking for something special in his DVDs.

Then you end up taking one of the cushions behind you to put it on your legs and thus have more height, before placing your elbows on it and then putting your face into your hands. It was a position you used to take, and you're sure your back will thank your boyfriend for taking care of it. You already tried to lie down feeling nauseous, but it was an impossible task. Each time, you end up sitting until your migraine decides to leave you alone.

Later, you feel the mattress bouncing slightly. Your index and middle finger move aside to reveal a curious eye again. You see him sitting on the end of the bed putting a cd in his player, because obviously he moved his television in front of the bed so you have something to watch on those kinds of rough nights. I don't mind, I just have to fix some cables and that's it, he told you that day. Then your gaze rests on the DVD cover that was placed next to him.

"Are you serious..?" you ask, hiding your smile when you discover your favorite movie, the one that comforts you during your attacks. "You don't have to do this-"

"It's not for you, it's for me. I want to watch it." He answers cleverly as he backs up on the mattress to lay properly next to you, albeit a little awkwardly.

You can't help but stretch a small grin as you see him lie down on his left side, leaning on his elbow with his fingers loosely intertwined.

"Look at this, the main menu alone is a masterpiece on its own." He comments, looking at the TV screen.

You snort as your grin stretches into an amused smile. Then he grabs the remote to play the movie.

"Thank you..." you whisper, casting a loving look at the man of your life. But you keep that to yourself. It was way too soon, however you can't help feeling all those emotions, but you can keep them and cherish them until the time comes.

To your surprise, Steven remains silent and continues to stare at the screen. Nevertheless he ends up stretching a smile that he tries to hold back, satisfied to have achieved his goal.

"Shh, it's starting." He quickly places a finger to his lips before briefly pointing at the television.

Yet you continue to look at him with sweet adoration.

You never thought you'd meet someone like him. In fact, you would never have imagined meeting him, because you haven't found anyone who looks like him, like them. They who accepted you as you were. They who welcomed you into their lives like no other would, especially with your condition. That's how they ask you to call it, because it's the truth. Even if you had a hard time accepting it, having lived for years diminishing the importance of your 'problem' because of what other think of it.

You look away.

Then you begin to sigh with well-being despite the torture your brain is inflicting on you.

After a few minutes of viewing, you end up massaging your face, trying somehow to get rid of this unbearable pain.

"Which side ?" He asks looking up at you.

You turn to him, your fatigue slowing down your ability to notice that you no longer recognize your dear Steven's tone or accent. Nevertheless you manage to realize it after a moment of reflection. Marc, maybe ? You're sure it's Marc, somehow. With time and practice, you were happy to realize that you were getting better and better at determining the transitions between the alters and their host. But you don't care about medical terms, these three people were one thing precious to you. Your future.

And yet you didn't know if you were his...

"...Left." You finally answer.

At your announcement, he straightened up. You open your eyes a little more, wondering what he was planning to do. So you see him imitate your position by sitting cross-legged in front of you. But you see what he's getting at when he brought his hands to your face.

"Marc..." You try to stop him with some embarrassment, not used to getting that much attention. Besides, you were always afraid of bothering him.

"How about you stop pushing us away ?" he suggests as he puts his hands on his thighs, looking straight into your eyes. "What if instead of continuing to pretend that you have to go through this alone, you let us take more space in your life so that we can finally take care of you ?"

His words crushed your chest without warning.

Silent before his requests, your brain stopped working when you were already barely able to think properly.

But he's still there, sitting in front of you, giving a determined gaze that slowly turns into a tender, pleading gaze, raising his eyebrows sympathetically, though with a hint of amusement as he notes the way you're reacting. The former soldier and mercenary couldn't help but be touched by your silence and your big eyes surrounded by dark circles that bear witness to your sleep debt.

"Unless you feel... that I invade your space too much." Marc continues with patience and understanding, afraid that he would bothering you.

Nothing in the world would make you think such a thing.

He has never been too insistent or too demanding.

Besides, his demands are not excessive. On the contrary, it's the minimum for a couple. It's the basis of any solid relationship, caring for each other, accompanying each other in illness. Although nowadays these values ​​have changed for many people. But not for Marc, you realize. For you either, it's just that... you feel-

"I also feel guilty sometimes." He admits softly, lowering his eyes to avoid yours.

You bring all your attention to him. Guilty... Concerning you ? But why ?

"Sometimes I think you wish you were in a much simpler relationship. That you'd rather not have to put up with the three of us, put up with our past, and above all... not have to accept our situation regarding Khonshu. And I would understand all of that." He said looking up at you. "Everyday I'm afraid of losing you."

No, Marc...

Your eyes start to fill with tears. You feel a lump in your throat that you're trying to ignore.

"I admit that even today, I still have a hard time making it a reflex but know one thing : I will always take the hand you hold out to me. No matter how insecure I am." he clenches his jaw, each syllable spoken with pure conviction.

That's it. You give in.

Overwhelmed, you remove your mask of pretense and lower your head to wipe away your tears with the palm of your hand. You didn't know if his words alone were the cause of your hyper-sensitivity or if your migraine was playing tricks on you, anyway you couldn't stop the salty pearls from flowing down your cheeks. You couldn't get over seeing Marc showing so much honesty.

Moved by your flood of emotions, Marc puts his hand on your neck before pressing his lips gently against your forehead, where the source of all your problems is. Then he closed his eyes, swallowing to restrain the sadness that was invading the walls of his throat.

"Take my hand. Please take it..." he whispers against your forehead, desperate for you to accept his help.

You start sniffling like a poor lost child. You hated yourself for putting yourself in this state for a simple migraine... There are so many more diseases that are as terrible and unbearable as each other and at least you will never die of yours. At least if your depression doesn't make you cross a dangerous limit... You try hard to remember that there's so much worse than you in this world. But you can't help thinking that there could also be a better situation than yours. You no longer felt capable of going through this hell every week and almost every day.

And because of that, you haven't even noticed how Marc has been feeling all this time...

"But why would you say that ? You're not a burden, okay ? You'll never lose me... Never... Don't say that again..." you sob.

"Okay, okay, I promise..." he says softly, your words meaning so much to him.

Then you think about Steven. Poor Steven who immediately took care of you right after work.

"I didn't even ask Steven how his day went..." you sniffle again, cherishing the reassuring touch of his soft lips against your forehead.

"You'll ask him when you feel better." he whispers back. "Promise me you'll do anything to feel better ?"

"I promis you." you answer naturally, your hand going to rest on his.

"So please let me help you." He persevere with patience, knowing full well that the only barrier between you and him is your guilt, and nothing else. Otherwise, he would never allow himself to cross this barrier that you have placed for your own discomfort.

You look up at him, his lips gently leaving your forehead. Once again, you look at each other for a few seconds, with love, compassion, and hidden grief.

He opened up to you, he shared his doubts more than he ever have before. Even if he expects nothing in return, you now have the desire and the need to fulfill his wish.

However, there's a catch. You never asked for help from anyone, your lips didn't know how to formulate this request. Marc continues to observe you, noting that you were trying to tell him something and that you hesitated. But your lips remain parted without a sound. It couldn't be pride... Or maybe it was ? You don't even know anymore. You've been on your own for so long...

Luckily for you, he decides to save you from drowning. Marc noted your efforts, and he deciphered your cry for help.

Then, he slowly started to run his hand through your hair and put it on the left side of your extremely painful skull. Grimacing slightly at his contact, you nevertheless notice how his gestures are meticulous and made to be as delicate as possible to prevent your migraine from getting worse through his fault. It's therefore gently that he begins to massage your head. Then, his second hand joined your neck to massage it with a little more firmness.

You sniffle one last time, trying to relax despite your reluctance.

And without you noticing, your shoulders fell, little by little. Slowly your eyelids began to droop despite their struggles to stay open.

"Do your eyes hurt ?" Marc asked in a low voice.

Like him, you decide to forget your insecurity to take the hand he held out to you. You become too engrossed in the comfort he was giving you, your pain becoming a little more bearable by the second.

You just nod your head weakly.

His hand that was on your skull moved close to your face. And his thumb massaged your brow bone in a circular motion that sometimes lifts your eyelid. More and more, he felt the weight of your face grow heavier against his hand, signaling to him that you were finally letting go. For a moment, he wondered if his healing armor was capable of curing the migraines that are ruining your life. If only he could share it with you to find out... But he would also be afraid of certain repercussions that this entails.

"The nose too..." He hears you whisper with tiredness.

He doesn't wait. His hand went down on your cheek and his thumb massaged up and down starting on the bridge of your nose to go down to the corner of your nostril.

"And the cheekbone..." you continue with a sigh.

A smile curved Marc's lips, noting that he had succeeded in making you lower all your barriers. It's the first time you've let him participate in the healing of your migraine. He couldn't be more proud to see you finally cooperating.

He then continues the trajectory of his thumb to your cheekbone and with his available fingers, he massages your jawline by matching his movements with his thumb. While his hand on your neck goes up to the back of your skull.

You're in a trance. The pain is much more bearable and you felt like he was - very slowly but surely - getting that migraine out of your head.

So he continues for an indefinite time.

Meanwhile, he was analyzing your face. Marc has often had painful migraines throughout his life, but he wonders how you put up with them. They seemed so violent, so unstable and so frequent... At times, he wonders how you manage not to go mad. From what he saw and what he had learned, the moments when you really feel good are very rare or even non-existent. He doesn't know what he would do if he had to go to bed every night and wake up every morning with a terrible headache. But if he was able to recover your illness, he would do it without hesitation.

"You can stop now..." you finally warn him, feeling the minutes tick by. It felt like ages.

"Okay." He answers in a low voice. "But that's only because I'm starting to have cramps." He adds, smiling briefly.

He gently pulled his hands away from your face before clenching his fists once or twice to relax the muscles in his fingers as he leaned toward the nightstand.

Then you raise your eyebrows, taking a deep breath. Finally, you blinked your eyes open slowly. You felt like you woke up after a long hibernation, when you saw Marc handing you the glass of Coke Steven gave you earlier. They seems so ready to give you anything you need.

"For your nausea." he said.

Still as unsettled by his thoughtfulness, you take the glass while staring at it, looking dazed.

"Do you need anything else ? Food ? Water..? Or something cold for you head ?" he asks.

"N-no. I'm fine." you stutter as you look up at him.

"You sure ?" he frowns.

"Yeah."

"Okay... Tell me when you need me." he replies before placing a chaste kiss on your cheek, ready to lie down next to you.

Shit, where were they all these years ? You sincerely begin to think that you wasted your time with people who never took your condition into account, all letting you down because you demanded too much attention or often missed outings with friends. While you never asked for attention, nor missed those outings you would have liked to attend.

But you realize tonight thanks to Marc, that you deserve this attention. You deserve to get help. You deserve to be taken care of. And all these things, you had refused them because of the prejudices and criticisms of those around you. But you really deserve it all.

Wow... In fact, you realize how much these three people have changed your life. You realize how beneficial they are to you. You had never held this reasoning before meeting them.

As he watches TV, the light from the screen illuminating your silhouettes to cast your shadows behind you, he brings his hand towards you. On your back, his fingers traced abstract shapes as he focused on the film.

"Thank you, for everything you do... For taking care of me." you say after a moment of silence.

His dark brown eyes left the screen to look at you.

"You know I do it gladly." he answers sincerely.

"Maybe, but... No one else has ever acted like you did."

"I don't know what to tell you... For me it seems normal." he admits, continuing his caresses on your back while keeping his attention on you.

"Exactly." you reply.

Marc take the time to observe you, your tender smile, your raised eyebrows which demonstrates your sincerity and your gratitude, and his heart beats faster when his eyes met yours again. Those looks... Oh, those looks. They always have a way of making him nervous. Every time you look at him like that, with love and adoration, he seems to lose his composure. No one has ever looked at him like you do. Sometimes he's even scared of it, but only because he doesn't understand you. Why would you love him in the first place ? You seemed to have so much affection for him that he doesn't know what to do with it except to give it back to you every day he spends with you. You both needed so much love and you didn't even know it.

Finally, you break eye contact to bring your attention to the film.

In a rather pleasant silence, you watch TV with your conversation still in mind.

"...What a stupid man I would be to abandon you when you need me the most." He ended up answering without even taking the time to think, his arguments seeming totally logical and irrefutable. It wouldn't even occur to him to ignore you when you're in dire straits.

Your smile slowly widens, then you lower your eyes thoughtfully. You've been together for a few months and he still causes as many butterflies in your stomach as on your first date. And the excruciating pain of your migraine won't prevent you from feeling on cloud nine, because the support he gives you is immeasurably effective and you can never thank him enough.

At 4 am you still find yourself sitting with your face in your hands and a pile of DVDs on the TV stand.

Your migraine is starting to show a semblance of pity and your nausea is a little more bearable. How about trying to sleep while you still can ?

You look up, your neck hurting terribly and you wince in pain when it cracks. Then you turn to Marc. And you see that he have fallen asleep, after also noticing that he had put on his pajamas. You didn't even feel him move so much that you were concentrating on your migraine.

You contemplate his face and you take advantage of this moment of calm to print this image inside your eyelids. It's rare to see him so peaceful... He seems so pure, asleep there by your side. You admired his long eyelashes and his curls pulled back despite a few rebellious locks falling on his forehead. He's beautiful.

Yeah... You're so screwed.

After removing a few cushions, you begin to lie down but you change your mind as soon as you feel resistance behind you. A tender smile curves your lips when you see that he had left his hand on your back, as if he was still trying to support you even though he had fallen into Morpheus' arms. With your fingertips, you gently take his wrist to lift it slowly. Praying that he doesn't wake up, you put his arm along his body.

Once you are certain that you're not disturbing him in his sleep, you begin to lie down, taking care not to make the mattress bounce too much under your movements. You then laid your head on your pillow. You feel like you're lying against a brick so much that your head is sensitive, and the aches are already starting to paralyze the muscles in your face.

Suddenly, your belly started to growl loudly. Quickly, you curl up, putting a hand on your stomach while you close your eyes and purse your lips. When it stops, you open one eye hoping Marc's still asleep. You hold back a sigh of relief when you hear him snoring peacefully, and your muscles relax.

You stay like that for a while. The air burns your eyes so much that you have rubbed them and your exhaustion only makes it worse. Nevertheless, you let yourself be lulled into this cocoon, reassured by the presence of your boyfriend. Because there's one thing you know for sure. No matter how bad your migraine is, you're terrified of going through it all alone. For you, nothing is worse than loneliness, especially when you're at your lowest, since that's where all your negative thoughts hide and no one is there to pull you out of all this darkness that consumes you.

That's why living with Marc is so new to you. The mere fact that he is there takes a hell of a weight off your shoulders which were beginning to weaken after these years of fighting alone.

Eventually, fatigue takes over. You manage to fall asleep although you're still in pain, hoping wholeheartedly that you'll wake up tomorrow without any pain to enjoy your day.

And who knows, maybe the migraine will leave you alone for a while...

At 6 am, Jake's sleep is disturbed.

A strange noise wakes him up slowly. He frowned while keeping his eyes closed. But once he becomes fully conscious, that sound comes more clearly to his ears.

Worried, he turned to the noise, opening his tired eyes as he saw daylight seeping into the room.

There, he hears the echo of your jerky breathing bouncing off the walls of the bathroom you had closed. He then recognizes the sound your throat makes when you are about to vomit.

"Mierda." he grunts straightening up as he pulls the blanket off his legs.

Jake got up to walk to the bathroom door before knocking.

"Y/n, are you okay ? Can I come in ?" he asks, placing his ear close to the door to hear your answer, his anxiety increasing as he listens to your struggle against your nausea.

When he suddenly hears you throwing up your guts.

More than worried by this impressive sound you emit, he rushed into the bathroom in panic and he sees you squatting in front of the toilet, your eyes filled with tears and your stomach seized with spasms.

Jake grabbed your hair and quickly brushed it away from your face while you were caught in a fit of coughing. The acid burns your throat and your nostrils as you keep emptying yourself with difficulty.

"That's it, let it all out..." he reassures you, rubbing your back with his available hand.

However, you can no longer catch your breath. And as always, you panic a little trying to get some air.

"Tranquila, take your time..." Jake whispers, slowing down the movements of his hand on your back to help you calm down.

So your vomiting starts to decrease and you manage to get more air.

"You're doing good, stay calm..." He encourages you, observing you carefully, in reality as impatient as you to see your ordeal end.

But since you have nothing in your stomach, you manage to regain control fairly quickly, even if it's with shortness of breath that you finally breathe. Inhale, exhale...

After making sure nothing more could come out, Jake let go of your hair and then you decide to get up, your body still shaking. Under the watchful gaze of your boyfriend, you turned on the tap to clean your mouth. You're still too nauseous to brush your teeth but you can't wait to get that horrible taste out of your mouth.

Then you turn off the tap, before resting your hands on the sink for more stability.

"...I didn't want you to see me like that." You end up confessing. You had managed to keep this veil of mystery over your relationship for months but now that you live together, you can no longer prevent him from seeing the hidden reality. It's not much, but was he ready to see you like this every week ?

"Please, you've seen me covered in blood before and I haven't heard you complain once. I think I can take that." Jake retorts, nodding his head with a smirk.

"You have a great gift for manipulating words, Lockley." You answer sarcastically in an amused tone.

"I know, a real poet..." he said back while sitting down on the floor before leaning his back against the wall.

Jake opened a welcoming arm and you accepted his offer, sitting quietly next to him against the wall. He put his arm around your shoulders then lifted his chin so that you could rest your head on his chest, close to his neck, and you felt safe again in his protective embrace.

"I'm sorry I woke you up." you apologize, knowing that he needed as much sleep as you.

"I was already awake. Don't worry about that, muñeca." Jake assures you before dropping a kiss on the top of your head. "How do you feel now ?"

"I feel like I have a hangover."

"Aw, mi pobre cielo, I'm sorry..." he replies compassionately. "But look, the first night has passed." he encourages you to look at the window by your bed.

Although you're exhausted, you lean forward to see the sun's rays hit the floor as dust particles fly into the light.

"You did the hardest part." he adds as you watch the blue sky from your small bathroom.

Then Jake turns to you, looking at your face for a moment to find half-closed red eyes, chapped lips and very pale skin. And the fact that you haven't eaten anything since yesterday morning and barely drank only makes things worse to lead you into an almost indomitable vicious circle.

Indeed, Marc, Steven and Jake were all very worried about your state of health...

"You're not planning to go back to work today, are you ?" he finally asks.

"Yes, I am." you simply answer.

"Hope you're kidding ?" he pulls away to look you in the eyes, frowning.

"I can't afford to lose another job." you sigh looking at the ground in annoyance.

"Excuse me, but I'd rather you lose a job than your life." He insists, not understanding your point of view.

"Stop, you're exaggerating..." you scoff.

"Y/n, we've only been living together for a week and you've come home like this three times already. And need I remind you that last night you were found almost passed out in front of our door ? You're exhausted, you haven't eaten anything since yesterday and you just threw up. How do you think you can get through this day without breaking down?"

"But I'm okay." You assert, nevertheless you are not very convincing.

"No, you're not okay. Maybe its time you understood that." Jake retorts with more lucidity than you, having an outside view of your situation. "Muñeca, I'm not here to give you orders or to stop you from doing what you think is best for you. If you're sure you're able to go to work then I'm not holding you back. But you have to understand that you want to do things that your body might not be able to keep up with." He explains calmly, not wishing to accentuate your migraine by arguing with you now. "You have your goals and you want to stick to them, it's commendable. You're very brave and I admire you for that. But please promise me to put your health first before taking a decision."

You hesitate for a moment, not seeing yourself going to new job interviews. You were tired of losing your jobs after a few weeks, a month maximum. You were never able to be stable in your schedule and it's an inexplicable frustration not to be able to follow your plans. Especially when it comes to keeping a salary.

"Fine..." you finally say. "I won't go."

It's true. You can't go back to work like this and you can't keep lying to yourself. But Jake knows how much you want to be independent. You need to work, you need to feel useful. He knows this is your ultimate test and you want to win it. And the icing on the cake would be that you could find and keep a job that you actually like.

"I have an idea but you won't like it." He says.

"Go ahead." You say turning to him.

After a few seconds of silence, Jake finally speaks.

"I think you should see a doctor-"

"Oh no !" you exclaim, looking away in annoyance.

"I know, I don't like them either. But if you see a neurologist or something like that, maybe you could get some proper treatment-"

"I already tried, it was hell !" You respond by looking at him again with a pleading gaze. He couldn't ask you such a thing.

"I know."

"I don't want to stuff myself with medicine and be disappointed every time thinking that this one might be the right one. And I'm tired of doctors."

"I know you're mad at them, but they're not all bad or insensitive. Steven read stories of some chronic migraine sufferers on the internet, they all took many years to find the right doctor and the right treatment." He defends his idea with fervor.

You sigh deeply, not liking the turn this conversation is taking.

"It's unfair..." He admits, rubbing your shoulder, saddened to see you reacting so badly to his remark. "But if you want to get a little better, you should give them a chance. And I see you coming, it's not because I advise you to go see a doctor that we are tired of you. It'll never happen. We'll help you, we'll be with you throughout the whole process."

You bring your gaze to him. Maybe he's right... But you're afraid to embark on this lost quest again.

"I'm going to be a little selfish but... If you don't do it for yourself, do it for us." He pronounces the supreme sentence.

How the hell can you say no to that ?

"But you can still refuse..." Jake continues, knowing very well that you would be unable to contradict him.

"Oh, shut up." you answer with that complicity you have with Jake.

But suddenly an idea pops into your head.

Fine. You'll play that game too.

"I would go see a doctor, but on one condition." You raise a finger.

"Which one ?" he asks in a cooperative tone.

Poor guy, he would quickly regret it.

"Go see a therapist."

Oh-- How dare you ?!

"Ahah, very funny. You're feeling smart now, I bet." He nods slowly, squinting suspiciously and amusedly.

"I do."

"I see your migraine has suddenly disappeared."

"Seriously, I remember Marc saying that it'd be good for all three of you." you defend your idea in turn.

"Marc is stupid. And he was drunk, that doesn't count." Jake retorts.

"And whose fault is it ??" you say outrageously.

"Oh, we're not going to bring this up again..." he raises his hand briefly, closing his eyes for a moment.

You hold back a laugh, looking at him tenderly.

"You know... Doctors aren't all bad and insensitive, and I'll be with you throughout the whole process..."

"Okay, fine, I got it." he interrups you and a smile stretches his lips as he hears you turn his own words against him. "Eres a coñazo..."

"I'm too tired to understand your insults, but nice try." you retort with fun although you still feel groggy.

He too, sighs deeply.

You were both stuck with your own struggles to overcome, blackmailing each other for each other's well-being. Of course, it couldn't have happened any other way with you two... None of you had the strength or even the inclination to face your problems. You preferred to play the hypocrite and ignore them as if they didn't exist, yet your demons were going to catch up with you no matter what you did. So, for the other, you might be able to deal with it.

You both felt like a wreck, sitting there by the toilet staring blankly at the opposite wall.

"Fuck migraines." Jake announced suddenly.

"Fuck complicated pasts." you say back.

You then cross your arm on that of Jake to take his hand in yours, then you brought it against your heart. How you wish you could erase all of their bad memories and pain... Instead, all you can do is listen to them and give them all the love they've been missing.

"I love you." You hear him declare.

"I love you too." you say naturally but nevertheless with conviction.

But you realize...

"It's the first time we've said it." you affirme as you frown, although your sentence sounds like a question.

"It seems, yes." he replies, realizing in turn. "In fact, we wanted to tell you last night but you didnt feel well and we didn't want you to have a bad memory of it. And now I admit that... I couldn't help myself."

You think for a moment.

You think back to how Steven reassured you and made you laugh.

You think back to how Marc took care of you physically and mentally.

And you notice the way Jake supports you and roused you to action.

Why would you regret those three little words that mean so much to you ?

"Oh, believe me... This is my fondest memory."

[leviathanspain]

Hi I have an idea I saw this random fluff prompt could you please do this

"Reader gets the hiccups, causing Steven to laugh every time they try to talk until Steven gets the hiccups too."

Thank you<3

don’t laugh at me

steven grant x reader

synopsis: you struggled to speak as hiccups now took over your speech, and steven couldn’t help but laugh until he too had the hiccups

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“hey stev-hic-en.” you paused what you were going to tell steven as he looked up from his novel, leaning on the headboard as he sat up.

“yes?” he let out, confused. but before you could speak, another hiccup rang out and steven laughed slightly.

“i meant to say tha-hic-“ you fumbled as you tried to speak again and steven laughed, a bit louder than last time and you rolled your eyes.

“it’s not funny!” hic.

steven set his book down and looked at you, trying to compose himself, “of course not, darling.”

you saw his expression shifting to a smile and you rolled your eyes, another hiccup.

steven laughed again and you smacked his arm, “stop! it hur-hic”

steven let worry flash over his face, “darling im sor-hic”

you paused, glancing at steven who looked equally as surprised as you. you bit your lip, as you smiled.

steven tried to speak too but another hiccup came from him. you laughed, and steven smiled, a hiccup rolling from both of your throats.

[lieutnt]

can i request overstim and/or edging kink for steven grant? love your work 🙏

not enough/too much

Steven Grant x Male Reader Summary: Sometimes, Steven needs you to make his head feel empty. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only. Edging, overstimulation, handjob, multiple orgasms, some aftercare (I couldn't just leave him a mess).

He arches into your touch, hips desperately chasing your slick hand as you pull away from him. “No, no, no-” he cries, tears beginning to form in his eyes as his orgasm fizzles away, again. 

You pull him back, gently shushing in his ear and moving an arm to wrap around his waist while he sinks into your chest. “You’re doing so well for me Steven,” it was true, he’d been patient while you toyed with him, bringing him to the edge again and again until he was only focused on one thing. Nosing at his temple you keep your free hand still on his leg, waiting for his chest to stop heaving, while with the other around his waist you rub your thumb in soothing circles on his skin.

“Please, please,” he mutters, his abandoned cock flushed red and twitching, aching for release as globs of precum stream from his tip.

“Please what, love? Use your words.” Steven shakes his head, reluctant to say what he wants, and with that you know he hasn’t been pushed far enough. “I can’t help if I don’t know what you want, baby.” 

Your fingers slowly move back to his cock once he’s calmed down, breath hitching as you stroke him with a lethargic pace, his hips desperately rutting up to fuck your fist. Like the previous times, it doesn’t take long for him to come close, whining out a warning.

Taking away your hand his hips buck uselessly into the open air, Steven keening as his orgasm is ripped away, and he finally breaks. “No, please, I was so close.”

Humming in acknowledgment you tease your fingers down his hips. “Close to what?”

“I was so close to cumming, please, I need to cum, I can’t take it anymore,” he begs, chest heaving with breaths as he clings to your arms, desperate for release.

“Ok, ok,” you attempt to calm him, pressing quick kisses into his temple. “You’ve been so good for me Steven, so on this next one you can cum, yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead nodding vigorously. As you grip his cock in your hand he wails, body set alight as you begin a rapid pace, moans erupting from Steven as you bring both hands to him, using one to tease his head and the other to stroke up and down his shaft. 

His orgasm comes on too fast, barrelling through him like a train, Steven desperately panting out, “Wait, I’m gonna cum-”

You encourage him, “That’s alright, cum for me Steven. I want you to cum for me ok?”

Unable to keep his eyes open any longer they slip shut, his groans gradually getting louder and louder until he hoarsely cries, a shiver wracking through his body as he cums in thick white streaks, covering your hand, his abdomen, some even splashing up to his chest.

Gently, you stroke him through his orgasm, whispering praises into his hair while he almost floats away, hand wringing out every last drop of cum as he crumbles under your hands, his body falling completely against yours. You keep going until he’s gently grabbing your wrist, hips beginning to squirm under your pace. He sighs when you let go, barely able to move until you grab his softening cock and begin stroking again, his eyes shooting open while he jerks against your touch, mind hazily scrambling to catch up, “Wait- what are you do-” he cuts himself off when your hand grazes his tip again.

“You can give me another one can’t you?” He looked so pretty in the throes of his orgasm -  you want to see it again.

“No, please, I can’t, not again,” he pleads, but his body says otherwise, cock twitching back to life in your palm.

“Yes you can Steven,” you insist, not letting up as his body disobeys his mouth, hips trying to follow your strokes with a shaky rhythm. With the previous orgasm still fluttering through his body the next one only takes a few minutes to come, cock once again pulsing and jerking as another load joins the first, pooling on his chest.

He slowly falls away, unable to think or feel about anything else other than your hands on him, continuing to stroke him after orgasm after orgasm as your encouragement of another one becomes again, to just one more.

When he cums for the last time, nothing releasing from his tip, you finally let go. Steven whimpers, the rest of his body too tired to react. You don’t want to leave him alone for long, so you whisper that you’re just going to get something to clean him up, although you’re not sure he  heard you when he doesn’t respond. Returning with some wipes you clean where you can reach and then throw them away, climbing into bed and tucking him into your side. He burrows into your neck, seeking out your warmth, something you happily provide as you hold him close to you. 

“Are you ok Steven?” You ask, barely able to feel the slight nod he gives before he goes lax against you.

[uselesssomebody]

𝕓𝕣𝕦𝕚𝕤𝕖𝕤 - jake lockley x reader

complete masterlist | mcu masterlist | moon knight masterlist

words || 𝟚𝕜

moon knight spring '24 bingo prompt + progress || 'bruise'

summary || in which jake gets a little jealous

a/n || so excited to be part of this event by @moonknight-events, my board looks so fun! check out their blog for a shit ton of other moon knight content by a bunch of other creators!

➵ ask if you wanna be added to a taglist

➵ heed the warnings in said masterlist, this series is 18+, and inherently dark

➵ send me requests if you have ‘em. enjoy!

warnings || fluff/smutty, but no sex

jake didn't take fares between 5 to 6 p.m.

he'd postpone his break so late, just to ensure he was always on time to pick her up from work. it annoyed him enough that he couldn't also drop her off, but the smattering of kisses that she'd pepper over his nose and lips before he left early for work made up for some - not all - of the worried thoughts he had of her commuting to work on her crowded subway train.

she finished work everyday at 5:00 on the dot, not hesitating with goodbyes and salutations, knowing who was waiting outside her building, just for her.

he stood outside his cab, hand on the passenger door handle to let her when as she usually bounded out of work, a beam on her face when she saw him. he checked the time, a cigarette almost half-smoked between his bare fingers - he wasn't getting his leather gloves ashy.

5:15.

what was taking her so long?

he hated having to wait for his girl: seeing her face after driving around the city - a somewhat lonely profession - was the best part of his day.

he slumped his shoulders, leaning against the car door, as he peered over the dark, but lively street. it was a row of offices, and other people were also clocking out. bored, he watched the gray cloud of smoke from his mouth, trying to distinguish it from the puffs of his warm breath showing up in the chilly air.

5:20.

5:25.

5:30.

he was starting to get concerned.

finally, after an eternity of waiting - see: 35 minutes - his face relaxes when he sees her hurriedly walking out of her work. immediately after, his brow furrows, at the sight of the man following behind her, a big, stupid smile on his face, mouth moving a mile a minute.

she looks up, noticing jake, and her face breaks into a look of pure relief, finally, a pep in her step as she nears her boyfriend. before she can greet him though, the guy behind her grabs her shoulder, whipping her back around.

jake's eyes widen at the little fucker's audacity.

he's saying some bullshit, holding onto her shoulder so can't turn back to jake, and the steam coming out of his ears leads him to only hear:

"... come out for a drink with me... really pretty... love to take you out-"

it's more than enough.

he calls her name, voice stern, but not to her. never to her. she whipped her head around, not turning as she mumbles a weak goodbye to the man, finally completing the short distance to jake.

she kisses his cheek quickly in greeting,before waiting for him to open the door, but he pulls her a little closer by the waist, pressing her body against his.

"let me kiss you properly, mi amor. i haven't seen you all day." her cheeks heat. he literally never does this, waiting to properly express his love after they got home.

"he's still looking?" she guesses, and his lips quirk in a smile, as he presses his lips to her soft, slightly parted ones, revelling in how she sinks into the comfort of his warmth.

"like a kicked puppy." he murmurs into her lips, and she giggles, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, before pulling away.

"baby, open the door, i'm cold." she whines, and jake obliges her, pulling open the car door so she can sit back against the warm interior and crisp leather that he worked hard to maintain.

she only spares a glance at the other man. he's looking away.

"so, who was that?"

it had taken a couple hours, as well as the both of them reclining to the warmth of the couch - takeout clutched in their hands and a sitcom on the t.v. - for jake to finally ask the question nagging at the back of his mind.

she groans softly, hoping he'd forgotten. a silly wish.

"no one, jake." she murmurs quickly, to his immediate dissatisfaction.

"nuh-uh, amor, you have to give me more than that. he put his hands on you!" he said it like it was some inexcusable crime, and it made her giggle.

"he's just..." she sighs, chewing on her bite, "he's the new guy, y'know?" jake's eyes narrow.

"how long has he-"

"don't ask." she interrupts, knowing he'll be more upset if he found out the new guy's antics had occurred before. jake scowls, and she rolls her eyes, turning in the couch to better face him.

"jake~" she says his name softly, in a sing-song voice, prying the food from his hands and placing them on the coffee table. she cups his cheeks, running her fingers over his hair - messed up by that flat cap he always wore - and the little stubble on his face that he'd begun growing out when she professed she wanted to see him with a beard. she climbs slowly into his lap, guiding his arms to rest on the curve of her hips, "jake?" she finally asks again, as she's settled in.

"yes, mi amor?" his voice is gruff, as he lazily looks up at her. he's not shocked by her movements, happy to have her so close, but is still evidently stingy about the new guy.

"remind me, who did i go home with today?" she asks, rhetorically. jake rolls his eyes as he looks up at her.

"me, amor, but-"

"and who am i most excited to see whenever i leave work?"

"also me, but-"

"and who is the only person who gets to touch every part of me?" her voice drops to a whisper, guiding his warm fingertips under her shirt, to the skin of her midriff.

"me." he breathes out.

"you...?" she prompts.

"only me." satisfied with his answer, she leans down to press a soft kiss to his lips, cupping his scratchy cheeks, and giggling she he squeezes her hips.

"and who do i love?" she whispers, when she breaks away for air.

"i hate when you talk to me like a child." he chides, changing the subject, and it makes her giggle.

"wrong answer, try again." he raises a brow of challenge, before pulling her closer, and then standing up, his palms splayed under and cupping her thighs so he could carry her into their bedroom. she squeaks in shock, clinging onto him, "what're you doing?!"

"showing you why you love me."

falling unceremoniously on the bed, she lets out a small 'oof!', but its cut short by the way his mouth captures hers in a hungry kiss.

"someone's needy," she teases, when he breaks away, but it's cut off my a small moan, as his tongue travels down the length of her jaw, to her neck.

"i'll beat the shit out of him if he touches you again." jake grumbles into her skin.

"are you kidding? he obviously knows i have a boyfriend, he's leaving me alone." jake's head emerges from where he's kissing at her neck.

"hmm..." he looks contemplative, "maybe... he could do with a little reminder."

she's unsure what he's planning, but his devilish grin tips her off that it's going to be an idea she might chastise him for. indeed, it is.

his head sinks back down. finding the flesh of her neck, and rolling it gently between his teeth, before clamping a little harder, and sucking. so enamored by the sensation of the slight pain laved by the tingles of his warm tongue, she doesn't realize what he's doing for a moment.

"jake!" she squeaks when she realizes, "you can't - can't mark me!" his laugh is gruff against her skin.

"why not?" without waiting for an answer, his teeth nip at the skin under her collarbone. she gasps at the feeling, trying to tug at his hair to dissuade him - to no avail.

"oh, baby, it's such a pain in the ass to cover them-"

"then don't." the curt response renders her speechless for a moment, enough time for his teeth to sink into the flesh of her shoulder.

"you want him to see..." he laughs.

"that sure took you a moment, amor." seeing as she doesn't meaningfully try to stop him, he continues his work, teeth sinking into as much of the expanse of her neck and chest as he could reach.

they're blue and purple the next morning. she looked like she'd been attacked by something. her eyes quite literally bugged out of her head at the sight.

groaning, she reaches for her makeup bag. jake peeks his head into the bathroom, immediately taking the bag from her hands.

"jake-?" her brows furrow in confusion, but she's cut off by how his other arm wraps around her waist, looking at her in the mirror to see all the bruises smattered over her skin. she reaches blindly to take back her makeup, but he evades her hands, "jake, i need to do my makeup!" she whines softly, making her laugh and kiss her cheek.

"you're gonna cover them up." she scoffs.

"of course i'm gonna cover them up, i look like i was in an mma fight with a raccoon!" he shakes his head.

"no, you look like you had fantastic, animalistic sex with your boyfriend." she cringes a little, laughing.

"and why do my poor coworkers have to know that?" he deadpans.

"as long as your newbie knows." he murmurs, a little bitter, as a finger goes to trace the bruises.

"are we seriously still on that?" she turns to face him, kissing his cheek, "i thought i told you he's just annoys me a little." she assures.

"oh, trust me, amor. he won't from now on."

he didn't let her put her makeup on - even for her face, not trusting her to not start covering up those beautiful marks. instead, with the time she saved in between waking up and eating breakfast, he pulled her back to bed, kissing over each and every bruise, as their coffee water heated.

"you know i love you, right, jake?" she murmurs softly into his forehead, kissing his hairline.

"of course, mi amor. i love you, too." 'she's being so sweet, isn't she?' he thinks.

"can you tell me where you hid my makeup bag?" he snorts, shushing her with a kiss to the lips.

"fat chance."

he's waiting outside her work again, squishing his cigarette under the toe of his shoes as he sees her walking out. with no fucking newbie chasing after her.

"how was work?" he asks, as she presses her daily greeting kiss on his cheek.

"good." she answered, a big smile on her face, as he slowly opens the passenger door. before she sits down, though, he gestures to her neck and chest.

"show me." he instructs, and she laughs, pulling off her scarf to show that the bruises were still well-pronounced. it makes him smirk, as he nods appreciatively, sitting down.

as he peels away, he glances at her, noticing her happy attitude.

"so, did newbie bother you? should i say 'i told you so'?" he teases, and it makes her a little embarrassed.

"i... no, he didn't bother me." he grins.

"tell me more, come on."

"he... looked horrified, if i'm being honest." she giggles.

"good." his response was curt, but his smug smile spoke 1000 words. as he stopped at a red light, he leans over to peck her lips.

"so, should i say it?" she smiles, indulging him.

"go on."

"i told you so."