Warnings : Fluff, mild angst, mention of blood, mention of canon style violence, mention of food, some innuendos and spice
Summary : You offer to help Marc and Steven relax a little after a long night
Prompts - “Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.” + “Your back is so tense. Would you like a massage?”
Gif by salome-c
~~~~~~~
The night drags out in the winter, long and dark as you toss and turn in a cold empty bed. It’s not the first night you’ve been alone, and you know it won’t be the last, but every night they are gone ends this way — restless and sleepless. You know eventually the sun will rise, the moon will disappear again for another night, and you hope that then, they will come home to you.
Sitting up, you run your hands over your face, the movement stirring up the lingering familiar scent of them from their sweater. You’d thrown it on as the wind had rattled the window panes, the cold breeze sneaking through the gaps to bite at your skin. The smell brings a soft familiar warmth to you, as though you could imagine them here, their arms wrapped around you.
Technically it’s Marc’s sweater, a point Steven likes to make continually since he hates it, preferring his patterned shirts to Marc’s usual wardrobe of darker colours, but it’s still a comfort that reminds you of them both.
Swinging your legs out of bed, you let the cold wood floor ground you for a moment, pulling you from dark and depressing thoughts. They always came home to you, there’s no reason tonight should be any different, and yet the restlessness won’t cease.
Warnings : Fluff, mild angst, mention of blood, mention of canon style violence, mention of food, some innuendos and spice
Summary : You offer to help Marc and Steven relax a little after a long night
Prompts - “Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.” + “Your back is so tense. Would you like a massage?”
Gif by salome-c
~~~~~~~
The night drags out in the winter, long and dark as you toss and turn in a cold empty bed. It’s not the first night you’ve been alone, and you know it won’t be the last, but every night they are gone ends this way — restless and sleepless. You know eventually the sun will rise, the moon will disappear again for another night, and you hope that then, they will come home to you.
Sitting up, you run your hands over your face, the movement stirring up the lingering familiar scent of them from their sweater. You’d thrown it on as the wind had rattled the window panes, the cold breeze sneaking through the gaps to bite at your skin. The smell brings a soft familiar warmth to you, as though you could imagine them here, their arms wrapped around you.
Technically it’s Marc’s sweater, a point Steven likes to make continually since he hates it, preferring his patterned shirts to Marc’s usual wardrobe of darker colours, but it’s still a comfort that reminds you of them both.
Swinging your legs out of bed, you let the cold wood floor ground you for a moment, pulling you from dark and depressing thoughts. They always came home to you, there’s no reason tonight should be any different, and yet the restlessness won’t cease.
“Yeah, he’s been sitting there for over two hours and nobody showed up. Almost feel for him”
I approach my coworkers trying to figure out what they’re whispering about, I just hate it when they make me feel left out.
“Who are you two talking about?”
“That weirdo at table thirteen. Can you see him?” she asks me pointing her finger at the big window that opens onto the street. I lean a little bit to see better, continuing to dry the glass of wine in my hands as my gaze rests on the figure of a man. His shoulders are curved in a little clumsy posture, from time to time he looks around in the hope of seeing the person who’s waiting for and I can easily feel his frustration when the matron approaches him to ask if he still wants to wait.
“I feel so sorry for him…how do you do that?”
“He must have done something wrong to deserve this.”
I just don’t answer, shaking my head and called back to my work in a full dining room. I do my best not to think about it but from time to time my eyes point back to table thirteen, finding it always occupied by only one person who doesn’t give up, in the embarrassment and comments of the people around him. The bouquet of roses and the chocolate box in the shape of a heart on his table make it all more heartbreaking while the restaurant slowly empties and the chatter becomes more and more feeble. We’re closing, how much longer is he going to wait?
“Honey, I can’t wait to go home to get drunk and smoke some pot, so…someone should go tell that weirdo we’re closing.”
“I think he’ll figure it out on his own.” I answer a bit annoyed “I’m going to change.”
I undo the bun that has picked up my hair all night, loosening my hair that fall light on my back. What a relief.
“Finally…”
Quickly taking off my uniform and putting back on my clothes I suddenly realize that my hurry comes from the fact that, for some reason…I hope the man from table thirteen will still be there when I walk out the door. For no reason, shelving reason, just…gut feeling.
“See you tomorrow, goodnight!” I say out loud waving my hand as I quickly leave the restaurant, looking around immediately and noticing that all tables are now empty. All but one. On the thirteenth table is still the bouquet of red roses, left to wither on the tablecloth like its owner tonight. I take it, and all of a sudden, I think I see him walking in a dimly lit street.
“Hey!”
He doesn’t turn around, keeps walking without distracting and I decide to reach him with a small run.
“Hey! Wait!”
When he turns to me and stops, looking at me with curiosity, my heart skips a beat.
“Hello, what-”
“You forgot these. On the table.”
“Oh,” he says taking them back “thank you. I didn’t really…thank you.”
His dark eyes look at me and then just go down on his feet. He seems so nervous and…tired.
“It was a pity to see them abandoned there, so-”
“Yeah…” he says in a sigh “well, thanks for bringing them back to me.”
For a moment I think I’ve chosen the worst excuse to start a conversation. This man seems to be so bashful and I’m not sure that after the evening he spent he wants to converse with a perfect stranger.
“You…you work at the restaurant, right?” he asks me with furrowed eyebrows.
I nod. Now I can’t pretend anymore that I wasn’t a bystander to his disastrous no-date.
“…it was pretty sad, wasn’t it?” he asks as a sad smile appears on his face and his eyes fall back on the bouquet, embarassed. I know there’s nothing I can say to make him feel any better right now, I just wish he didn’t know I’d seen everything.
“I’m really sorry about your date”
“Yeah, well…it was my fault. I mixed up the days, thought today was Friday and screwed up…”
“You thought today was Friday?”
“Yes, uhm…I have a sleeping disorder, and this makes it really hard for me sometimes.”
I can’t quite figure out what he’s talking about. In what strange way a sleep disorder can affect a person’s life enough to make him lose track of time? But the last thing I want is to make him uncomfortable in any way, I won’t ask any more questions.
“I also have to go this way, so…if you don’t mind we could take a walk together.”
He fakes a smile again and then nods.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I’m Y/N, by the way”
“I’m Steven. With the ‘v’. ”
“Nice to meet you, Steven with the 'v’. ”
He smiles shyly while observing his steps. A strand of black hair falls on his forehead and my heart is lightened seeing the first real smile of the evening.
“What do you do, Steven?”
“Oh, I work at the museum. Just this morning as I was going there I noticed a major blunder on the banner outside, on the Ennead one…the super group of Egyptian Gods…you know, Horus, Osiris, Tefnut…anyway. I tried to tell my superior but she didn’t listen to me at all and it bothers me so much that I’ve been thinking about it all day”
“What kind of blunder?”
“They’ve got seven Gods there, and the Ennead has nine. Can you believe it?”
I listen to him with a half smile on my face, admired and a little amused by all this sudden enthusiasm shown to me. His gaze has changed and he talks about it with so much passion that I would listen to him all night.
“You can tell how much you love what you do. I bet you’re the best tour guide in there”
“No I, uhm…work at the gift shop, actually.”
Steven’s voice releases a small laugh at the end of the sentence, in the embarrassment and difficulty of a man who thinks he’s not enough in this life.
“You know,” I say “the gift shop is always my favorite part in a museum. You don’t want to leave without a memory of that beautiful day, right? You want something to take you back there with your mind, to remember. What would you do without the gift shop?”
When I turn to Steven he’s looking at me. His eyes got softer and I can see his lips curling up in a smile as we walk side by side on this cold London street. His presence makes everything warmer, actually.
In our carefree chatting, in our laughing together, in our discovering small sides of each other the road that was to take us to our respective flats has become longer and longer, making us lose in the streets of London lit only by the dim lights of the street lamps. I don’t even know what time it is. I don’t care.
“Look at the moon,” he says pointing at the sky “it’s beautiful, innit?”
He slows his pace and we stop in the middle of a road I’ve never been on. Looking up I lose myself for a few moments in the beauty of a wonderful full moon that silently peeks at us and, when I look down, I realize that Steven is no longer looking at the sky. He’s looking at me. His big dark eyes flicker on my face without a word like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
I smile.
“What is it?”
“No-nothing,” he stutters “I just…we are here. I live here.”
In an instant I feel a knot in my stomach. Our night is already coming to an end? I didn’t even realize we stopped right outside the front door of a condo.
We’re standing in front of each other, our breaths get faster, my heart is in my throat while his eyes are lost in mine and his body seems to get a little closer.
*Don’t go, Steven*
“Well…thanks for the nice walk, Steven with the 'v’.”
*Please stay with me one moment more*
We look into each other’s eyes for a time that seems infinite and for the first time tonight he doesn’t look down.
“Thank you for being with me tonight. It’s nice to talk to someone who actually listens to you.”
As I look at his face and the shy smile on his lips, I can’t help myself.
“Steven”
“Yes?”
“I really want to kiss you right now.”
“Oh please, do it” and without hesitation finally my mouth is on his, tasting his lips as my fingers sink into those black curls, messing them up a bit. It’s like the first breath of oxygen after a long apnea. I hear the sound of the bouquet of flowers falling on the ground at the same time my tongue caresses his, his hand on my back and the good smell of his aftershave goes right to my head. As I wrap my arms around his neck Steven holds me closer, softly tasting my lips as I can feel his heart beating against my chest and pounding like mad. If I could make one wish in life, I’d wish this kiss would never end.
As we slowly separate our lips to catch our breath, Steven keeps his eyes closed smiling gently. I don’t want this night to end, this moment to end.
“I have some delicious Norwegian chocolates that would be a shame to throw away,” he whispers on my lips “if you’d like, you know…to come up with me…I- I don’t want to sound creepy, I just want to…you know, sometimes the night, for me…sleeping is-”
“I’d love to.”
Steven, smiling, puts a hands in a pocket of his dark jacket before opening the door with a set of keys.
“It might be a little messy, but I’m sure Gus will be happy to meet you”
a lot of these fics have moments or mentions of marc spector x reader, but this is a primarly steven centric list. i will eventually be making another list for marc so stay tuned for that - <3
summary:you have a crush on your sweet neighbor, and after steven’s bad date emotions surface. as the sexual tension between you grows impossible to ignore, a third party joins the chat, so to speak
summary: you and steven work at the museum together. little did he know you had a crush on the man. after getting yourself into trouble, you and steven are both punished with an evening in inventory
summary: you end up on an accidental date with steven, but it ends up being the best date you could’ve asked for. it leads into more, but things aren’t as simple as they appear. with adoration strong for the man, you take a chance on him
summary: being a tour guide at the museum and development a stupid crush on steven, only to have that all crash and burn when you find out about his date
summary: thunderstorms are frightening. she finds herself wound up at her neighbor’s flat- aka her best friend’s residence. surrounded by candlelight and words unspoken. maybe the blown fuse was a blessing in disguise?
summary: steven’s had a lousy day at work, but when he comes home to find you just getting out of the shower, the two of you find another way for him to blow off some steam
summary: you work at a tea shop and you have a crush on one of your regulars, a cute museum worker. you’re convicted that he’s never going to make a move, until a “friend” of his tells you that you’re going to have to make it yourself
summary: only a few hours inside his head and steven managed to annoy marc into making a pit stop before reaching egypt. but maybe marc isn’t as bad as they both think
summary: you and steven have been together for a few months, and every time you reached to take things farther he pushes away. but in reality, it has everything to do with him, not you
Hey guys! So I’ve decided to start a tag list so if you are interested in being on it, please comment below or message me! I hope to restart my two big series again, but they take time since I have to sit down and make sure that they line up with the plot of the show. But I am definitely getting back into the Shadows and Scars mindset so that would probably be written first. As always if you have any requests you can send them in! I also started writing for Steven Grant, Marc Spector, Jake Lockley, and Steve Kemp. (Note: I will try to write DID as well as I can for the moon knight boys, but if you have any tips please send them in!) Now that I finished up my classes, updates should be more regular.
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.
Getting Marc to admit how he felt was an impossible task, you hadn’t realized that hewas trying to tell you through his actions.
Requested by Anon:#70 You’re really close right now FromTHIS prompt list.
A/N:Marc is my favorite Moon Boy and I say that confidently.
Category:Hurt/Comfort - Mutual Pining- Angst to Fluff- Friends to Lovers
Warnings:Swearing, Description of Injury, Suggestive Themes
You threw your head back, stifling a groan.
Sweat dripped down the length of your spine as an indescribable heat simmered beneath your skin. This was your own personal torture. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, it was like a thick fog had settled over your mind and you couldn’t find your way out. The muscles of your core tightened and cramped as your teeth dug into your bruised lips.
You were bleeding out.
Not only that, you were bleeding out all over Marc’s couch.
“I’ve got everything,” Marc muttered, his face solemn as he assessed your wounds. The last of the supplies clattered onto the stained wooden table and you watched as he threw himself into action.
There was an alcohol-doused rag in his hand before you could blink. You were surprised he hadn’t just poured vodka straight into bloodied slice across your leg.
The man was on a mission, leaning in to clean the wound with an urgency that startled you. You couldn’t help but flinch away from him. You knew your life was in danger but the idea of vodka in a gash that size made you unreasonably nervous.
His hand faltered, hovering above your skin.
“Relax,”he comforted, watching you carefully from beneath a hooded gaze. “You don’t need to worry.”
You nodded, your anxiety only rising.
Marc swallowed, “I can’t do this if you’re tense.”
You glared at him, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “I’m bleeding out. Of course, I’m tense.”
His eyebrows raised at the hostility in your words but you didn’t miss the upward quirk of his lips. “Alright,” he shrugged smugly, “have it your way.”
Gently, the rag lowered to your skin and you hissed as it made contact. It felt like someone was raking lava across your thigh and the burning sensation was almost unbearable. Tears were already free-falling from your lashes, that boat had sailed long ago. Through everything you had experienced, you thought that this was by far the most painful injury you’d obtained.
“Fuck,” you groaned, throwing your head back against the couch hard.You were sure that you were dying and all the fantasies you’d had of a peaceful passing were thrown out the window.
“You know,” Marc murmured distractedly, “I’m a little disappointed.”
You barked an indignant cough, glaring at him from beneath your lashes. If he wasn’t tending to your injuries you would have thrown hands by now, undoubtedly.
“You’redisappointed?” You snapped.
“Oh, cut the shit,” The man said with a small grin, “you’re being dramatic, it’s a scratch.”
You would have laughed if you hadn’t seen the sheer terror in his eyes beforehand. The fear in his voice when he had discovered you bleeding was imprinted across the plains of your mind. Marc was usually unshakeable, a snarky but stern character that brushed things off.
The way his voice shook and his hands wavered when he’d set you down with orders to put pressure on the injury. It had made you nervous.
“I’m gonna start stitching now,” he glanced up at you. You gave a curt nod and he sighed through his nose, turning to his make-shift operating table. You almost missed the way he glared at his hands, clenching them hard. They were shaking, despite the fact that he had done this procedure thousands of times. His fingers were stained scarlet with your own blood and you think that’swhat he hated.
It was yourblood.
The stitches went by in a blur, mostly because you were in and out of consciousness. The white-hot pain of the needle was nothing compared to the wound you had managed to achieve.
After washing his hands, Marc set to clean up the rest of your battered body. Armed with a cool, damp rag, he set to work on the small lacerations across your arms. Then your chestand neck, and by the time he had made it to your face, your heart was in overdrive.
He was only inches away, leaning over you to swipe areas along your jaw and hairline. You had never seen him so focused on such a simple task. He didn’t make any eye contact despite your blatant staring, tunnel vision had him ensuring there were no more major injuries that he had missed.
He was terrified.
You could smell the remnants of his cologne, delicately perched beneath the powerful layer of smoke. Tonight had been an absolute shit fight. You couldn’t even remember where the fire had made its entrance, but you’d left that one to your fast-healingfriend.
The rag swiped gently over your brow and you hissed, drawing his attention. Finally, he made eye contact, watching you with a wary gaze.
There was a heavy silence, thick with tension from words that remained unsaid. The cloth stilled against your face as Marc paused his ministrations altogether. You were certain that he could hear your heart beating against your ribs, begging you to say something, begging him to just lean in a little closer.
His thumb lowered to your cheek, dragging along the skin in a soft caress.
He’d almost lost you.
Neither of you had truly spoken about the way you had felt for each other. It was complicated and messy to put labels on anything, and saying it aloud felt like you would only jinx it.
But as he came even closer, you knew Marc showed it through his actions, rather than words.
“You’re really close right now,” you breathed, a whisper against his skin.
A slow smile lifted the corner of his mouth, his hand moving to cup your jaw. It felt like the entire atmosphere shifted.
“Am I?” He asked coyly, his voice barely a murmur. But you had heard it clear as day; as if someone had broadcasted it across the plains of your mind.
You nodded mutely, the tip of your nose almost brushing against his.
Your heart squeezed from within your chest, and you breathed him in as he did the same, both of you frozen in a state of longing. This was the threshold, everything you had both held back on in fear of losing what you already had.
But today, he had realized life was fleeting. And today, you had realized you lovedhim.
A recipe for disaster.
“Are you sure?” The words were sonorous and teasing. Your core tightened at the sound of them falling from his tongue. There was a longing in your chest that felt urgent and desperate, you needed him, now more than ever.
“I’m pretty su-” your words were cut off by his mouth on yours.
He was a patient man, right up until he wasn’t. You had the skill of stripping him of his restrained composure and leaving him bare, open for you to see him, all of him.
Marc’s lips were warm, and his presence was overwhelming. His body caged yours in, enveloping you in an embrace you had only dreamed of for such a long time. His skin was hot, burning every inch of your body with such a delicious sear that you could have gotten easily addicted to the feeling of it.
He was careful not to jostle your wounds, even when he wanted nothing more than to drag you beneath him.
You were drunk off of his touch, the dance of your lips intimate and needy and urgent.
When his tongue swiped across your bottom lip, a gentle request in an otherwise heated moment, you knew that you would never be sated.
He was an addiction and you loved him. You murmured it against his lips, over and over. You said it like a prayer, you didn’t care, he had to have known a long time ago.
“Say it again.”
“I love you.”
His hand drifted across the length of your neck, “again.”
“I love you.”
“Good.”
And when he smiled against your mouth, you knew he loved you too.
A/N:AHH this is my first Moon Knight fic! Let me know how I did!
Category:Hurt/Comfort - Mutual Pining - Fluff
Warnings:Nightmare
There were hands wrapped around your throat.
And not in a hot and heavy type of way, the fingers that pressed deep into your skin were cold, hard, and painful. You could hear himwhispering against your skin, soft lips pressed against the shell of your ear in a way that should have been intimate. You couldn’t breathe.
It was the same monster every night.
Every choked exhale, they inhaled. Any cry that slipped from your lips, they swallowed.
You were so dizzy. You were going to die.
Beg for your life, little bug.
The demand was a gentle hiss, curling against the deepest parts of your soul.
Beg.
And so you did. Who were you to deny them? This creature that held the delicate wisp of your life between its fingers, it terrified you in a way that had every atom in your body tense and taut.
You screamed, wailed, and fought to no avail. Those hands never loosened, no matter how you scratched or clawed, there was nothing there to fight. It was as if you were being suffocated by a spectre.
“You’re okay!”
You choked out a sob, begging every deity, every spirit that listened to spare your life.
“You’re safe!”
Those hands tightened against your throat, and you thought for a brief moment, that somewhere in the darkness there was a glimpse of color.
And when you drew your final breath, your soul falling into death’s awaiting arms, you thought you heard the creature laugh.
“Wake up!”
Your eyes shot open, dazzling beams of light immediately scorching your vision. You groaned, panting heavily as you scrambled up to rest on your elbows. Everything was sore and damp.The room was unfamiliar, there was the smell of male cologne and the blanket draped over you was too soft.
Other than your own hyperventilating, it was quiet. You took a moment to assess your surroundings.
Dark, curly hair obscured the view of the room and you threw yourself back. Your heart raced against your chest, sent right into overdrive.
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry!”
The stammered words were panicked and light and nothinglike the whispers you had just endured. At that moment, you remembered exactly where you were and who you were with.
“Steven!” You gasped, gripping the blankets tightly between your fingers. The soft, golden wash of the room danced across the highlights of his face, illuminating sharp cheekbones and a prominent nose.
“Yes!” He choked on a wary laugh, his chocolate gaze scouring your features. “Yes, that’s me, everything is A-Ok”
You nodded but you didn’t feel’A-Ok.’ You were thinking something more along the lines of being hit by a bus that then stopped to do a burnout on your dead body.
You felt like shit.
“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, humiliation running red along the length of your neck.
It was meant to be a straightforward night: you had come over to discuss new research and have a casual take-out dinner. You had not intended to stay so late, you had not intended to crash for the night and you had most definitely not intended to have a full-fledged night terror in his living room.
You wanted to bury your face in your hands and let the universe swallow you whole.
“Oh goodness,” Steven exclaimed, startling you from your thoughts. He threw his hands up with a soft ‘pfft’, those soft eyes watching you sympathetically from beneath thick lashes. “I’d be a right old hypocrite if I said anything about sleeping habits- or lack of them, I suppose I should say.”
You huffed a soft laugh, the chaotic man had trouble when it came to resting. He had warned you about his sleeping arrangements and you weren’t in the least bit suprised by it. It made sense, the dark circles, the scattered brained ramblings, the confusion over simple things, it was definitely a result of lack of sleep.
Your stomach dropped suddenly, had you woken him up?
Steven watched the abrupt change in your expression with his brows drawn. “What is it?”
“Did I wake you?” You whispered, remorseful already despite not having heard the answer. You would literally curl up in a ball and die if he had been sleeping, a rare occurrence, just to be jolted awake by your screaming.
“Oh, no!” Steven shook his head rapidly, shifting closer to you. “Goodness, no. It’s too early for that.”
You glanced at the mounted clock over his shoulder, it was 2am.
“Actually, I was just thinking about that theory that you mentioned earlier- which, by the way, I have some thoughts on,” the man continued talking, completely off kilter from the question you’d asked him. He was brimming with energy, it seemed. Despite all that he had to say at this ungodly hour of night, you were glad that you hadn’t disturbed him, you’d much rather hear him talk than watch him resent you.
“But, you’ve just had an awful nightmare and I’m talking your ear off,” his words slowed to a sheepish murmur. You watched him raise his hand to rub the back of his neck, curls falling against his brow with the movement.
“What I should be asking,” he breathed, eyes narrowing with a sudden attentiveness that had your heart racing in your chest. “Is if you’re okay?”
“I’m okay,” you lied, nodding your head softly. “It was just a nightmare.”
Steven inhaled deeply, shifting his shoulders against the couch you were both sat upon. He cast his gaze to his lap, “well, nightmares can seem very real at the time. You sounded terrified.”
“I was,” you admitted.
There was a short silence, both of you avoiding eye contact as you reminisced on your separate experiences, your own tortures. Sleeping was a risky thing to do on both ends, one didn’t trust it and the other craved it. It was ironic that you were the two individuals that had decided to have a sleepover.
“Thank you,” you broke the quiet that had settled. “Thank you for pulling me out of it. You didn’t have to.”
There was a quirk of his lips and a shy red hue blossomed over his face. “I’d want someone to do the same for me.”
You nodded. Before you could both fall into another comfortable silence, Steven stood to his feet.
“Well, I better leave you to it,” he coughed awkwardly, “and not linger like a weirdo.”
You said nothing, but your chest wrenched at his words. There was nothing more that you wanted than some company, not so much to talk but the presence of another person always made you feel safe. Especially when there were creatures that lurked in the corners of your mind, waiting impatiently for you to fall asleep.
When your eyes were closed, that’s when they would strike.
Steven waved clumsily, a grimace pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Well, uh, good night then. I’d say 'see you in the morning’, but it’s morning now.”
From the corner of your eye, a shadow moved in the reflection of the window.
Steven turned on his heel, abruptly trying to make a grand escape from the graceless situation, you called his name. You hadn’t meant it to sound so urgent, so desperate, but there was enough fear in your voice to make him freeze. The restless man before you turned slowly like he had been caught in a criminal act.
“Yeah?” He bounced on the balls of his feet lightly, hands fiddling from within the pockets of his sweatpants. When you didn’t reply straight away the anxiety across his expression melted into concern. “Everything okay, love?”
Love.
Your chest tightened.
“Would you mind…” Your voice was a timid rasp, and you were unsure if what you wanted to say would be overstepping. You figured you had both broken the rules already tonight. “Would you mind sticking around for a bit?”
Steven’s mouth opened and closed several times wordlessly. Oh, God. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. You were overstepping, you were friends, and adult friends didn’t do this.
“Of course,” the whisper traveled across the space between you like a gasp. “Of course, I’ll stick around for a bit.”
You stared at him, almost unable to believe he would agree to it. Everyone thought Steven was a pushover, you would beg to differ. You had seen him defend his thoughts and set boundaries many times, whether it came to work or social life, he was quite upfront about his feelings.
The man you had spent many nights thinking about stared right back at you. His eyes softened, and for once, he didn’t look quite as flustered as he usually did. There was a confidence in him when he moved toward you, almost like he knew exactly what he had to do.
The couch jostled as he sat down beside you, shoulder to shoulder. You threw the blanket over his legs, and from your peripheral, you could see scarlet bloom across his neck.
“Is this okay?” He asked quietly, offering a side-long glance.
“This is more than okay,” you said honestly. “I just need to be with someone right now.”
Steven nodded knowingly, humming in agreement. You could feel your breathing calm in your chest, and the shadows of the room didn’t look so daunting anymore.
“The only thing worse than a nightmare is waking up from one alone.” His words were painfully raw and honest. You looked up at him and the muscles in his jaw tightened from beneath the skin. You had never really looked at him this close up before, there was never really a chance to. His features were so unique to him, so expressive in every twitch and quirk of his face, Steven was simply breathtaking.
Your heart leaped into your throat when he turned his head, watching you just as you watched him. His eyes were soft while they washed over your features, over and over.
“Most people run off when I have nightmares,” you stated. You didn’t know what you wanted him to say, and you had no idea why you had even brought it up to begin with. It just felt right. You were vulnerable and you trusted him to not shatter your trust, but talking to Steven had always been easy.
“Well,” Steven sniffed playfully, nudging you with his shoulder. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Your heart stalled.
“I hope not,” you smiled shakily.
Somewhere from beneath the blanket, you felt his fingers tentatively wrap around yours, warm and soft and grounding. His breath whispered against your skin, and at that moment you could have kissed him.
“There’s nowhere I’d rather be, love.”
With the way that his gaze dripped with adoration, and made you feel warm and wanted, you believed him.
My first Moon Knight x Reader fic is due in the next hour, be ready peeps!
I’m 1000% ready for it to flop, as it’s the first non-Star Wars related thing on my blog but if you’re into Moon Knight please let me know how I did (basically please let me know if I should just stick to Din because the other shit I write is horrendous)
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.
synopsis ; jake lockley wasn’t your husband. steven and marc were. jake was just… he was just there. a ghost living in your house.
words ;3.5k
themes ; angst, mild fluff, married au
warnings / includes ; suggestive, implications of sex, jake is a rough kisser e_e, mentions of injury/blood, mild cursing, marc and steven both have appearances, jake is emotionally constipated, jake calls reader peach !! reader is a sweetheart <3
Jake Lockley didn’t like your perfume—it was almost nauseatinglyfresh and its smell permeated through his own clothes so that he’d often walk out smelling like he had doused himself in Febreze.
He didn’t like the way you’d hum to his favorite songs while doing the dishes. Nirvana, Mother Mother, Nothing But Thieves—were you singing them on purpose justto annoy him? Nearly every night, he could hear your faint voice drift into the living room, where he was reading the same three sentences of the daily paper over and over and over again because he couldn’t concentrate on anything but your endearingly inconsistent mutters to the music.
Heespeciallyhated when you’d walk out of the bedroom in nothing but Steven’s shirt loosely draped over your form, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your heavy-lidded eyes. There was just something about seeing you at your most vulnerable. You were comfortable around him, and that made Jake uneasy.
