i said i was going to write my own asexual reader fic if no one did so i did just that.
feel free to request more fics, but just know that i won’t write any smut
also english is not my first language, and i write my fics all in lower case and then try to add proper capitalization after but usually fail so. um. look out for those
likes and reblogs appreciated!!!
prompt : steven asks you out on a date. you blurt out that you’re asexual. he’s totally chill with it. plus a fluffy ending bc im a sucker for cheesy romance.
word count : 1,241
warnings : slight ooc maybe? this is literally just self indulgent fluff
You and Steven were coworkers, both working together in the little gift shop in the British Museum.
You and him bonded over complaining about Donna’s behavior and the giftshop’s inaccuracies in merch, always laughing and snickering behind Donna’s back whenever she was out of hearing range.
You grew to enjoy his company and also started to develop an embarrassing crush on him. and unbeknownst to you, Steven had felt the same.
[ID: a pencil sketch of Marc Spector of Moon Knight. He’s walking forwards looking back wearing a hoodie, a long coat and a darker vest over it with cargo pants. The style is messy and his features indistinct. End ID.]
warnings: implied smut, angst, mentions of stalking, everyone just being a mess, especially marc, obsessive behavior
summary: Your relationship with Steven is constantly strained by the presence of Marc’s disdain for you.
author’s note: I tried to be careful to be conscious of the presence of DID on this property, but if I wrote anything that is offensive or ignorant, please please please let me know.
The restaurant’s staff did a poor job at masking that they were sending you looks of pity every so often. Much like you, they were wondering when you were going to give up and shamefully admit that you had been stood up. You twiddled with your freshly polished fingers and checked your phone often as you nibbled on cold appetizers. It kept you busy since you had already tried calling thirteen times. Yet, it took the tenth couple eyeing you with concern on their way out for the embarrassment to finally make a bed under your skin. You ordered the first thing you could pronounce, and afterward, left the restaurant gripping your to-go plate as you looked at your phone one last time.
This experience wasn’t new, but you were already tired of having to find a restaurant that hadn’t seen what you looked like when you were in denial. It’s not like Steven didn’t want to come. It was the fact that he and Marc’s schedule clashed, and you were always at the receiving end of Marc’s negligence—you considered it forgetfulness to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I can say with my full chest that I think this is my favorite Moon Knight work I have read by far.
Just- it all seems so in character and I love that. Steven’s habits and actions, Marc’s boldness and whatnot, all of it! And the argument between the reader and Marc oh my gods I am in love with your writing.
Hoping to see a part 2, and please tag me if/ when you write it!
With all the discussion about how Marc killed Steven’s fish by accident, I’m picturing Marc trying to call on Khonshu resurrect Gus. Just Marc and Khonshu in all his mystical aura standing over the fish tank like…
Marc:Come on, you did it for me in the desert. The fish has got to be way easier.
Khonshu: … No.
Marc: Please. Stevens’s going to freak out if Gil… I mean Gus…? Whatever the fish’s name is, he’s going to freak out if it’s gone.
Khonshu:Kill Arthur Harrow. Then perhaps we can negotiate about the fish.
Marc: We don’t have time for that now! Just bring back the…
Khonshu: *has already left*
[Later]
Steven: Don’t do it, Marc!
Marc: Steven, if we kill these people, Khonshu will bring back Guy. I mean Gus. The fish. Think of it like a trade.
Steven: … so you did murder Gus?!?!
Marc: But we can save the fish if we just kill a few people in exchange! Come on, don’t you think Gus deserves to live? Don’t you think he deserves to live more than Arthur?
Steven:You murdered Gus, you bastard. You’re a fish murderer. You’re… you’re like that girl in Finding Nemo. This is why I said you ruin everything.
Arthur: *watching in confusion, wondering what is the story behind this fish* There’s chaos in you…
It has been a while since you saw Steven and Marc, knowing they had unfinished business with Harrow. But the longer they’ve been gone, the more you worry they won’t return. (1.4k)
some mentions of violence, kinda fluff, kinda angst idk
Sitting in the flat, your eyes wandered from the pages in front of you to the lonely goldfish swimming around in his tank. “I know, Gus.” You sigh, closing the book and leaving it on the small coffee table, piling it on top of the various books you’ve been reading in a feeble attempt to keep your mind occupied.
It has been a week since you last saw Steven, and well Marc in turn.
Marc barely told you anything, knowing you’d only worry and rightfully so. He kept Steven at bay, despite his protests when wanting to at least say goodbye, knowing more about what this would entail and that they might not return.
“Come on, Marc. Let me say goodbye to her, at least.” Steven pleads, brows deeply furrowed at the sight of your confused expression.
“So you’re going somewhere, and won’t even let me know where or when you’ll be back?” You question, crossing your arms in annoyance and rightfully so.
You’d known about Marc as long as Steven had, and though it hasn’t been an easy transition in your relationship, you were learning to embrace it as Steven was. Yet, despite this, Marc was still secretive about certain aspects, including his missions with Khonshu.
Marc huffs loudly, turning his back on you and facing Steven in his reflection. “It’s for your own good.” He states to both of you. “I’ll be back soon, just keep Gus alive.”
Without another word or chance for you to see Steven, Marc picks up his bags and places the spare key in your palm. He closes your fingers over it and squeezes lightly before walking out, leaving you alone with a whirlwind of thoughts.
Since that day, you stayed at their flat. Initially, you told yourself it was for Gus’ sake, he was always used to the company and didn’t want him to go without. However, as days turned to nights you realised you just wanted to see them come home safe and more importantly, alive.
Flicking through channels on the small TV, you could barely focus as the moonlight blared through the old windows. “Fuck you, Khonshu.” You mutter, curling up into the arm of the sofa, closing your eyes and imagine it was Steven holding you in his warm embrace, or even Marc on a softer occasion.
A loud scream causes you to stir from your attempt at sleep. You reach for the nearest object, which happens to be a hardback book and hold it up to your chest for defence. “Okay,” Muttering to yourself you try to control how fast your heart is beating from the abrupt awakening.
Another noise sounds, yet it isn’t a scream from the streets below. Instead, it is coming from outside of the flat.
“Shit.” Lowering the book momentarily, you scan the sofa for your phone, hoping that Marc and Steven, wherever they are still have their phones at least.
With shaky hands, you try to type out a message, unsure of what good it’ll do. ’someone’s here.’ Is all you manage to type before sending the message when footsteps approach the front door, that awful creaking floorboard that sits outside of the flat causes your ears to perk in fear.
The doorknob continues to rattle, causing your fear to spike as you desperately search for a potential weapon. “Fuck.” You whisper, tears now forming in your eyes whilst you scramble around toward the kitchen for a knife.
Quickly grabbing one, you freeze at the sound of the lock clicking.
A tear falls from one of your eyes as those hinges creak for a second before slamming open against the doorframe. A series of books fall to the ground, muffling your gasp as you cover your mouth, trying to hide in the corner of the kitchen.
Entering the flat, three men with hoods stand in the doorway. Each of them eyeing the contents, you hear them muttering to one another.
“Search everything.” One speaks up, the other two nodding in agreement as they step further into the flat and begin to pull books from the shelves, bedding from the mattress and inching toward your hiding spot.
With your eyes remaining tightly shut, each ruckus causes you to flinch. ‘Please ignore me.’ Mentally you repeat the sentence, hoping you’re the least of their priorities as they ransack the place.
Then it goes quiet.
Too quiet.
“What do we 'ave here?” One of them pipes up, the other two standing beside with sinister smirks as they spot you quivering, eyes still closed, wishing for it to all be a nightmare.
Stepping toward you, the leader of the trio kneels in front of you. His fingers glide across your cheek, hearing you whimper in fear as you apprehensively open your eyes.
“Hi, beautiful.” He chuckles, quickly noticing the knife in your grip, almost useless. “Now, we don’t wanna cause any harm here, do we boys?” Looking over his shoulder, the others shake their heads teasingly. “We are looking for Marc Spector,” The man leans closer, brushing your hair from your ears and whispers. “know where he is, sweetheart?”
You can’t help but shudder as his breath fans your neck, hating how defenceless you feel. “No.” You answer.
The man rises to his feet with a sharp breath. “Sadly sweetheart, that isn’t the correct answer.”
Before you can even glance upwards, a foot plummets into your ribs, causing you to keel over into a fetal position. “You fucker!” You cry out, the knife you once held discarded beside you.
“Now, wanna try that again?” Another steps forward, cracking his fists in eagerness.
“I don’t know where he is.” Again, answering truthfully.
Bringing your knees closer to your chest, you force yourself upright, leaning against the kitchen cabinets. “He wouldn’t tell me shit, so good luck with whatever you’re trying here.” You laugh weakly, the pain from your ribs increasing by the second.
The leader merely hums. “You’re his womanthough.”
“His woman?” You remark, scoffing. “What decade are you in dude?”
That comment lands you a punch in the face, a searing pain you struggle to comprehend. Silence ensues from you whilst they converse, unaware of your eyes drooping or the sound of the floorboards outside creaking.
*
“Come on, come on, Y/n.” A hand gentle taps your cheek, a voice you know and seek comfort in. “I know you’re in there, come on, please.” He mutters, bringing you into his lap.
Uneasily, you begin to open your eyes. “Marc?” You mumble, groggy from the dull pain in your face and ribs as you shift, only to be shushed in response.
“I wouldn’t move, love.” Steven comments, his soft smile easing your discomfort. “And I wouldn’t look around either, someone got carried away.”
“I didn’t get carried away.” Marc rolls his eyes. “Someone else did.”
Furrowing your brows in confusion, Marc helps bring you closer into his chest, keeping your back turned to the three lifeless bodies strawn the flat. “I’ll explain everything, I promise.” Marc tells you softly, his hand still palmed on your cheek, feeling your tears coated with dried blood.
“We’re really sorry, Y/n.” Steven tells you, tears brimming in his eyes at the sight of you all bloodied up. “Marc knows now, he, he should’ve explained everything.” He stumbles over his words, feeling the lump in his throat rising further up.
Lifting your hand up weakly, you rest it on his cheek with a gentle smile. “I know,” You mutter. “he’s got a lot of explaining to do.” A weak laugh passes through your lips, easing Steven’s pained expression. “Thank you though.”
“You’re our girl, doll.” Marc regards with a light shrug, his hand now resting on your waist lightly, not wanting to risk hurting you. “It’s what we do for the girl we love.” He admits, unable to stop the words from falling.
Feeling Marc tense up, you lean back in his embrace. “You falling for me, Spector?” You tease knowingly, and before he can respond, you lean closer to his lips. “'Cause I might be falling for you too.”
Internally, Steven is clapping his hands in excitement whilst Marc mentally freezes, leaving Jake to front momentarily.
“He’s happy to know, mi amor.” Jake chuckles, watching you tilt back in pure bewilderment. “Allow me to introduce myself, the creator of that mess, Jake Lockley, Princessa.”
