premise: you don’t know how this came to be; steven fucking you in front of a mirror. your body and pleasure showcased to marc, to prove a point, to show him steven knows best.
pairing: steven grant x (f)reader
word count: 839
warnings: minors dni please, marc x reader are mentioned and alluded in here but not shown, unprotected sex, literally just smut, dom!steven, teasing, voyeurism in a sense.
etc: this is based on thisandthis ask, i kind of strayed from the initial idea since i plan on writing a version of this, but not quite the same, with marc and other oscar characters, but me writing steven as a dom? shocking i know lmao.
i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!
“Does he do it better than me?” Steven hums, you’ve never heard his voice so deeply coated with jealousy and lust. The dynamic the three of you had was always so well laid out, who spent this time with you one day, or that time another day. Sometimes both of them at once. There had never been any fighting over you, over the moments shared with one of the other. It was an equal playing ground, you adored them both the same as they loved you the same.
Summary: Jake Lockley has gotten a video that you’ve been kidnapped by the cult of Ahipop. He knows he can’t do it by himself and he’s hesitant to call a certain person he hates but Matt Murdocks helps Jake save you while uncovering the plot of the cult.
“I promise, no matter where you are. I will find you, I will continue to find you over and over again.”
—JAKE DIDN’T WANT TO HAVE TO CALL MATT MURDOCK BUT WHAT CHOICE DID HE HAVE? The cult of Apophis was what brought him to you in the first place. The whole mission that started the partnership was because of the cult. But he thought he killed all of them months ago but he was wrong. Matt Murdock helped on the case because they were terrorizing and harming the people of New York, he helped destroy them with you and Jake but they were back. And they kidnapped you.
Jake told Matt to meet him at the old location where they use to meet up. He wasn’t fond of the devil of Hell’s Kitchen for many reasons. There were too many reasons why he hated Matt. The goody-two-shoes hero had a rule of not killing people and that everyone deserved a second chance, redemption. Jake never believed in redemption, he would see through the eyes of Marc how Marc desperately wanted to believe that his mother could change and love him. But not Jake, he knew that she would never change and knew that until her dying breath, she stayed the same.
She had the choice of a second chance after blaming Marc for his brother’s death but she kept going. She kept harming them. Why do people deserve a second chance? Jake wasn’t going to give people the satisfaction of continuing their horrendous actions, he didn’t care if they deserved a second chance.
Another reason he despises Matt Murdock was because of the history Matt had with you. There was too much history there that made Jake’s skin crawl. That burning sensation flooded through his veins every time he thought about it. He knew Matt was still and always will be in love with you.
Jake shook his head at the idea. His fingers curled around the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turned white as his hands shook from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. “Matt Murdock? The man from the photos?” Steven questioned from the reflection tilting his head.
“Isn’t he blind?” Marc questioned from the other side of the window shield, quirking an eyebrow at Jake.
“Yeah but he’s the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Some consider him a hero. Others consider him a terrorizer for how he handles situations.” Jake spoke as he turned on the ignition to the limo and wiped away the crumbled-up tablet off his lap.
— STEVEN GRANT FINALLY HAD TO ADMIT TO HIMSELF THAT HE NEEDED HELP. Professional help that is, it took a while for him to understand that he was at his limit for a mental breakdown. He knew he needed to talk to someone other than the statue man on the street. Someone who would actually respond to when he ranted and well, he searched around for a therapist and found you.
Steven was quite nervous to start therapy, any person was really. To share your vulnerability was scary and Steven only ever been vulnerable with the lively statue by the fountain. His heart pounded in his chest as he shifted on his feet staring at the door with a frosted plane window with your last name on it. Steven was muttering underneath his breath trying to convince himself to go in.
“Don’t be mental, you need this Steven. You just need help.” Steven whispered to himself, staring at the plane, he saw the reflection shift a bit but he didn’t move. He brought the back of his clenched fist to his eyes and rubbed them furiously. “I definitely gone mental.”
With his series of muttering gradually becoming louder, suddenly, the door opened causing him to jump in his spot, taking a step back. Your head peeked out the door with furrowed brows and parted lips. Steven felt his breath caught in his throat staring at you with wide eyes. You were simply breathtaking. The way your [color] eyes stared at him in curiosity but with such softness that made him drown in those hues, losing himself all over again.
The way your hair fell over your face and your plump lips quirking into a soft smile. “Oh! You must be Steven Grant!” You beamed happily, opening the door more and stepping by the door frame. “I heard noises out here and I thought one of my neighbors was disturbing you.”
A/N: This took weeks to write but I enjoyed it immensely. A huge thank you to my co-writer for your hours of help brainstorming, editing, laughing and crying. You’re bloody brilliant and I love you!
Pairing: Steven Grant x Marc Spector x Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader (established relationship)
Word Count: 5k+
CW/TW: Heavy angst, smut, fluff, mentions of mental illness, strong language, mild stalking
Summary: Sick of being on the sidelines all the time, you stir up trouble with a new threat to Moon Knight, and find yourself in the middle of a bad situation. Marc, Steven, and Jake are not pleased when they find out. ~*~*~*~
Abstract: He thinks ten, twenty years into the future, lets his mind wander. A job he’s starting to lose interest in, a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet losing its energy, and him regretting the things he didn’t do all those years gone by. In the midst of it there’s this - a train leaving, you, Vienna. Something so sweet he just missed out of fear.
Words: 2.1K
Content: fluff, meet-cute, please don’t get off the train with strangers
A/N:pictures are not meant to depict the aspect of the reader, i tried to keep it as neutral as possible - june 16th, the day jesse and celine met, could i really pass on the opportunity to write a little au with our beloved steven grant? yes i am aware of the utter irony of ethan hawke playing the male lead, no i absolutely do not care - i wrote this in a rush and it is not edited
It is so incredibly difficult to focus on the book in your hands when the couple sitting across the aisle from you keeps arguing.
They’re speaking German, you’re sure, and he keeps waving his newspaper around to emphasise his words - until she smacks it right out of his hands, the sound so loud it rings in your ears and convinces you to get up at last, recovering your bag and quickly walking away from them.
Row after row you look around until you manage to spot an empty seat across from a man with curly dark hair, his gaze cast down towards the book on his lap. You put down the bag, quickly glancing at the man that returns your gaze - a quick nod of acknowledgement, both of her and of the absurdity of the situation, before returning his attention to his book, allowing you to try and resume your own reading.
It ends in failure once more, as the wife gets up with an angry noise and more muttering and mumbling in German, the man following her shortly to continue their argument across the entirety of the train.
You follow them with your eyes, and notice the man doing the same, eyebrows arched and lips slightly parted - after the couple passes you, he makes another quick eye contact with you, mouth moving in a silent uh-oh at the woman closing the door of the car in her husband’s face. You snort quietly, shaking your head before looking down at last to the page you’d lost your sign.
“Do you have any idea what they were arguing about?” his voice is low, with a strong British accent, and you train your eyes up towards him, temporarily dazed. You see his eyes widen a bit, just a hint of panic in his gaze before he clears his throat, stuttering a bit. “Do you speak English?”
“Yeah,” you reassure quickly, leaning towards him. And then, “no, I’m sorry - my German is not very good,” you confess, and he sighs, nodding slightly before leaning back, his gaze turning towards the window and the scenery outside. You smile to yourself, arm resting on the empty seat at your side. “Have you heard that as couples get older they lose their ability to hear each other?”
He blinks in your direction, fazed, lips parting again.
“No,” he muses, finding a smile starting to bloom on his face. “Really?”
“Supposedly, men lose their ability to hear high-pitched sounds,” you explain, the fact sprouting from your memory out of nowhere. “And women eventually lose hearing on the low end. I guess they sort of nullify each other, don’t they?”
“Must be nature’s way of allowing couples to grow old together and not kill each other, I guess,” he notices you grinning at the corner of his eyes as he takes in the information, and mentally slaps himself for his own words. So he clears his throat, awkwardly shuffling in his seat to face you before tipping his chin up. “What are you reading?” he’s noticed your eyes falling down towards the book, but cannot help himself attempting to salvage this half-conversation, possibly keep it going. There’s something enthralling about you, and he’s spent so long on that train that he just cannot let the opportunity for good company slip past him.
You hold up your book, an old battered copy of a French novel. He nods, humming, and you smile again.
“How about you?” he picks up his book - a textbook, really, the Ennead in gold foil blinking back at you. Your eyebrows arch in curiosity, but you do not comment on his reading choice.
Still, your lips part, and you’re about to ask a question when the door of the car slides open again and the couple comes back, still arguing, still loud. You both cringe at the sound, following their return to their seats with your eyes before once more looking at each other.
“Listen, I was thinking of going to the lounge car sometime soon,” he offers, eyeing the couple. “You wanna go?”
“Yes, please,” you exhale in relief, immediately standing up and stuffing the book in your bag. Then you pause, frowning to yourself before clearing your throat. “Uh, nice to meet you,” you extend your hand in his direction while he’s still getting up, and it takes him a moment to catch on.
“Steven,” he blurts out, holding your hand for a few instants. “Sorry - I’m Steven, nice to meet you, too.”
—
Steven is absolutely mesmerised.
He’s looking at you sitting in front of him and cannot seem to think straight. There’s something in your mannerism, in the way you speak, that has him eating out of the palm of your hand.
And surprisingly enough, he doesn’t feel the need to measure every word he says, to turn the words over and over in his head before actually saying them - he can just talk, and you’re sitting there with your glass of water and empty plate sitting askew on the table listeningto him.
“So, where are you headed?” you ask all of a sudden, and that bright smile of yours leaves him dumbfounded for a moment.
“Ah, back to London - I’m starting working on Monday, so I’ll get a flight from Paris,” he outright beams. “Been visiting a friend in Italy for a few days, borrowed a few books for my lessons, then decided to take the long way home - do some sightseeing from the window.”
“You’re a teacher?” there’s genuine curiosity in your words, head resting on your closed fist. He nods, and you eye the book poking out of his backpack. “Egyptology?”
“Yeah - I used to want to be an archaeologist,” he confesses, and your eyes light up with newfound curiosity. “I’ll have to admit, I’m not made for field work,” he gives a sheepish smile, which you return quickly. “What about you?”
“I just got my PhD and decided it was time to allow myself to travel across Europe for the first time,” you shrug lightly. “I’m not really thinking about work these months - not until I go back home, anyway. Next stop is Vienna.”
“And what do you want to do, then?” he asks, and your eyebrows arch carefully, attempting to not let your smile take over. He mutters something under his breath, quickly shaking his head. “Right - sorry, sorry. No work, got it,” you grin at him, nose scrunching up with the motion. “So why allow yourself? How come you never travelled around Europe before?”
“I just -” you pause, sighing as you drop both hands on the table. “I felt this constant pressure of just doing good, you know? Like -” you pause again, clearing your throat a little as the confession builds up - it’s been so easy to talk to Steven in the past few hours. “My parents have never really spoken of the possibility of my falling in love or getting married or having children. Even when I was young, they wanted me to think about a future career, to focus on what I wanted to do.”
“Did they expect a lot of you?” he frowns lightly, a slight sense of guilt building up in his chest.
“I mean, you did get a PhD,” he points out, his head tilting ever so slightly, causing a curl to fall across his forehead. It makes you want to reach across the table and sweep it back, so you move your hands back and onto your lap. “Andyou’re visiting Europe - isn’t that something someone great would do?”
“No, that’s the thing - it wasn’t demanding, they just assumed I’d be someone great,” you chew on your bottom lip absent-mindedly. “I’d say to my dad I wanted to be a writer and he’d say journalist. I’d say I wanted to have a refuge for stray cats and he’d say veterinarian. I’d say I wanted to be an actor and he’d say TV newscaster. It was this constant conversion of my fanciful ambitions into practical money-making ventures - it was a subtle pressure they probably didn’t even realise was there.”
The laughter leaves you before you can fully register it - he seems to have this ability of making you feel at ease that feels so rare, so difficult to find in such a short time.
“I suppose,” you muse, nodding slightly before taking a slow, deep breath.
“Maybe the problem is that if you have parents that never fully contradict anything you want to do and are basically nice and supportive, it makes it harder to officially complain. Even if they are wrong,” he offers, and you nod again, the smile starting to make your cheeks ache in the most welcomed way.
“Europe is my way out of thinking I owe them - or anybody else, for the matter - anything,” you declare at last, and watch him straighten a little, as if absorbing the pride in your statement. “It’s a slow process, but luckily it’s a big continent,” he grins at your statement, and almost goes in to reply when the train starts to slow down.
“Oh,” he slouches down again, smile faltering. “I think this is Vienna.”
“Yeah, it is,” you rest back on your seat, sighing quietly. “I wish I’d met you earlier - I really like talking to you,” you murmur, and his eyes widen a little as if in surprise.
“It was really nice talking to you, too,” he confesses, voice lower.
“God - I hardly talked to anybody in weeks,” you mutter, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “The perks of travelling solo,” you click your tongue then, and reach over to grab your bag resting on the empty surface of the table between the two of you.
It hits Steven like a flash: he doesn’t want it to end. Not like this. Not right now.
His hand shoots out on its own accord, and he’s resting it over yours over your bag, quickly looking up at you just as you open your mouth to speak again, and for a moment you just stare at each other.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, but doesn’t move his hand.
“I have an admittedly insane thought,” you retort instead, face flushing at the mere idea - because you don’t want it to end, either. “And I know it might come off as absurd, but it’s one of those things that will haunt me forever if I don’t ask you.”
“What?” he’s somewhere between perplexed and concerned, his hand shifting so his palm rests under yours, fingers curling gently around your own.
“I really want to keep talking to you,” you admit, and his quick smile caught him off guard as well. “I mean, I have no idea what your situation is, but I do feel a sort of… connection.”
“Yeah, me too,” he agrees, and you find yourself exhaling in relief.
“Good,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Because I really want to hear about your job, and that book, and how Italy was and -” you shake your head to clear it from the rambling ready to fall from your tongue. “Why don’t you get off here in Vienna with me?”
“What?” he smiles at the thought, but there’s some hesitancy in his expression.
“It’s Thursday, right? You don’t start until Monday, and we can just see the city today and you get the next train for Paris tomorrow,” you explain, shifting a little on the seat as people start to unboard. “You’ll still make it in time for your flight, and we’ll have some extra hours.”
He thinks about it - reallythinks about it.
On one hand it’s outright insane to even consider it: getting off a train with a stranger in a city he doesn’t know, with no plan as to what to do or where to go.
On the other he can’t bear the thought of letting this - you - slip through his fingers, of watching the train leave the platform with you walking away, your back on him, bag slumped over your shoulder.
He thinks ten, twenty years into the future, lets his mind wander. A job he’s starting to lose interest in, a marriage that hasn’t even happened yet losing its energy, and him regretting the things he didn’t do all those years gone by. In the midst of it there’s this - a train leaving, you, Vienna. Something so sweet he just missed out of fear.
You’re still looking at him, eyes wide and expectant, a newfound giddiness as you eye the window and the people still leaving, nibbling at your bottom lip, waiting, waiting.
Steven smiles, his chest lighter, his head clearer.
Pairing: Marc Spector X Fem!Reader / Steven Grant x Fem!reader / Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader
Summary: You move into a new flat with the moon boys and they have their first tastes of domestic bliss.
Warnings: Implied smut: p in v, oral (f receiving). Minors DNI. But mostly it’s fluff. A bit of hurt/comfort. Domesticity but that’s literally in the title. Omniscient pov.
Word count: 3.8K
A/n: I’m very excited about this. I worked really hard on it so please please please let me know if you like it. Thank you to @sugared-tea for proof reading. Dividers by @firefly-graphics reposted because it didnt show up in tags. wtf tumblr.
Marc was terrified.
His heart pounded in his head and it was hard to breathe in the small office he sat in. The stale air choked him, his jaw clenched so tightly it hurt, and his nails dug into the cheap leather of the arm chair. The landlord glanced up at him briefly while explaining the tenancy agreement to you. He sat behind an impressive desk, wore a cheap suit, and smelled like his secretary’s perfume. It made Marc distrust him. You noticed that the landlord had stopped mid sentence and looked up from the documents in front of you. You followed his gaze until it landed on Marc.
Suddenly it was silent, he could breathe again, and all he could smell was the jasmine and honey scent of your perfume. You offered him a knowing smile, reached over and placed your hand on his knee.
A/N- Hello! This is part 2 of fallen from heaven, grown on earth (as you can see in the title, duh). I was writing and realised that it was WAY too long. I finished this part and i still had a few more scenes that were going to be as long as part 2 is (probably) so I figured it would be better to post this part and then post the next one when I’m finished (ill try to be as quick as I can). So yes, this story will have part 3 and an epilogue. I really hope you like this part ❤️ and tysm for reading
A/N - Hello everyone! Long time no see. Here is a story I wrote for @beautifulbows924 ’s writing challenge. Thank you so much for this! <3 Before you start reading I’d like to say I’m very proud of this, even if it’s not as good as I’d like it to be. I had never written such a long story, (and finished it) and obviously not in English. As always, English is not my first language, and this had no beta reader so forgive me and please, laugh out loud if I write something that doesn’t make sense. Also, my first time writing smut, please don’t come at me.
Also, this fic turned out a bit dark near the end, I’m obviously against any type of violence. If you need help, there’s plenty of resources out there for you. You’re not alone.
TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI, eventual smut, graphicdescriptions of sex, blood, mentions of self harm and suicide (they do not happen, they are only mentioned but just in case), dubius consent because DID (?), DID probably not accurate, canon-typical violence, angst, hurt/comfort, nightmares, panic attacks, sleeping disorders, jealousy, alcohol consumption, no beta, probably more warnings but I’ll update if I find more.
PAIRINGS - Steven Grant x fem!reader ; Marc Spector x fem!reader.
WORD COUNT - 25k (yes I know, I started writing a one-shot and this happened)
SUMMARY - The arrangement was to become friends with Steven Grant, that was what you’d promised to your lifelong best friend, Marc Spector; but things quickly get out of hand.
Pairing: Steven Grant x Female!Reader Word Count: 2.5k T/W: angst ? then fluff ☁️ A/N: I kind of just went with this, it was a scene I had in my head, might not be the best, but oh well!
Steven misses a date with you; understanding and thinking that you’ll never want to see to him again, he apologises and leaves…
