#just to come back home and see the finale of moon knight | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sarahghetti · 2 months

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moving day; m.k.

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

summary: how marc and steven learn to live together, how you come to live with them, and how jake finally lets himself live at all.

warnings: basically a BIG character study into our boys, fluff, hurt and comfort, angst, insecurity, mentions of marc's childhood, mentions of violence, suggestive content but nothing explicit.

word count: 9.9k

notes: this one got away from me and might also be the best thing I've ever written (i'm very proud of it 😭). part of the @MOONKNIGHT-EVENTS bingo! prompt: “'is that my shirt?'”

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

Even though it was (and still is) under Marc’s name, the flat was Steven’s first. Marc just helped set it up a little.

He rented out the first decent unit he found in the city and kept every piece of mismatched furniture the previous tenant left behind. The essentials had to be filled in himself—a bed, couch, and desk. A table to go with that rickety stool to eat meals on, a coat rack near the doorway. The only belongings of his own that Marc left behind were his old Egyptology texts, unceremoniously shoved into a corner of one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that he hoped Steven would like.

(The fish was unexpected, though. Steven already had everything he would need, and it was Marc’s mistake to be scrolling through Facebook Marketplace on one of his last days before he handed it all over to his alter. A complete aquarium set was being offered for next to nothing; attached: a photo of the original poster’s late goldfish. Backlit from the tank light, blank faced and innocent.

He just couldn’t move on.)

But it was Steven who then took Marc’s—their—card and ran with it. Every free surface was prime real estate for another journal, another tomb. The used bookstores of London never stood a chance; it was almost impressive to watch him scour the shelves for the most esoteric topics and still come out with his arms full of what he was looking for. Marc would wake up in the body to find Steven’s collection a little bigger than before and ghost his fingers over the spines during those brief moments of respite before having to put on the suit.

It didn’t stop at the books. Of course, it didn’t. Steven’s always had an affinity for oddities. Marc wasn’t the least bit surprised to see the new paper lantern hung over the living room, or the pumpkin-esque footstool that was coloured as though it was plucked off the vine just a tad too early.

The pieces were quaint at best. If there were any psychological meaning as to why his alter gravitated towards dingy, threadbare upholstery instead of an IKEA like a normal person, it was beyond Marc.

However, he couldn’t not admit that it all kind of worked once put together; the clashing mix of materials and colours sort of became its own style when combined under the wooden rafters. Even when the books started overfilling the storage capacity and ended up in piles on the floor—it only added to the charm.

Marc was sure to erase every trace of his presence around the flat to avoid interfering with Steven’s life, but that didn’t stop the sense of longing to return to their—Steven’s—home during missions.

It was still a mess. A mess where everything has its place, yes, but there was no way that Steven could trip over several odds-and-ends in one day and claim that he was any degree of neat or tidy. Marc silently griped to himself about it all the time, but he’d sooner eat that dusty-ass rug Steven got for free before he saw anything get thrown away.

(It was like this back when they were kids, too. Marc’s childhood bedroom in Chicago—a room he never finds himself thinking about outside of his nightmares—was filled with joy. Medals from peewee baseball. Posters from his favourite movies, carefully smoothened out and taped to the walls by his dad. Drawings by him and Randall piled at the corner of his desk.

Right after the—the accident, all his stuff remained, immortalized in place. As if keeping everything the same would somehow also make Marc’s life the same as it was before, and Randall would come bursting through his door at any moment to ask him to come play. It was an overarching belief in their household. Even on her worst days, his mother’s anger never touched their home. Only him.

But then things began to change. His old action figures, collecting dust, would be strewn about the floor, waiting for someone to continue the battle. A collection of particularly smooth rocks began appearing on his windowsill despite the fact that he hadn’t gone outside in days. He’d wake up to grass-stained jeans and a scraped knee which Marc didn’t know how he got, for once.

Steven has always been like a crow, bringing all these little gifts for Marc to enjoy—these signs of life—even when he wasn’t aware of it.)

Coming back from Cairo feels like it should’ve been a bigger deal than it was, but after the dust settled on Harrow and Layla decided to return stateside alone—a decision that seemed a long time coming, if Steven’s being honest—there was nothing else to do other than to go home.

They have one blissful, uninterrupted day of sleep. Steven was the one to wake up sixteen hours later, mouth dry, and instinctively panicked at the thought of losing days again before realizing that Marc was also (and still is) out cold.

When he finally woke up a few hours later, half-asleep even in the reflection of the mirror, Steven couldn’t help himself from asking, “What now, Marc?”

Because Marc was the original. Marc was the one with a real life and legal status. He might never want to walk the streets of Chicago again, but that didn’t change the fact that he only came overseas to run away. Everything around them was a temporary measure.

Marc straightens. “I won’t bother you too much, I promise.”

“You still have your own life,” Steven reminds him.

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

At least they agreed on one thing: they were going to stay in London.

Marc cleans out his storage unit, bringing home an array of bins and duffel bags and that shitty fold-up cot that he still refuses to toss. Steven immediately got him his own dresser when Marc tried to insist that he ‘didn’t have much’; that was a blaring warning that he was about to do something stupid and sacrificial, and Steven had to put his foot down before a nearby charity got a donation of some well-loved button-downs.

It’s almost funny, how predicable Marc was when unpacking. Steven watched as he pushed all their new furniture against the walls then methodically unpacked bin by bin, stacking the empties inside one another like Russian dolls. Like Steven, everything he owned had a place, even after months spent stored away. Marc was just a lot more neat about it.

“Move my stuff if you want,” Steven pipes up. Marc doesn’t react, only continuing to store his notebooks on top of a filing cabinet. “Really, I’ve already read everything on that middle shelf there—we can put them somewhere else.”

Marc glances around the bookshelves. “Aren’t these alphabetized?”

“Well, mostly, but give me an hour or two and I’ll free up some space.”

It’s like a puzzle, and Steven’s always liked puzzles. Marc’s gone quiet in their head, out of excuses as to why he can just shove all his belongings out-of-sight so that Steven wouldn’t have to go through the effort. Now, if he would just believe Steven, then he’d know that reorganizing his books was hardly any effort at all.

And even if it was—he’s been meaning to do this for a while. An alphabetized collection is great until he gets a new book, because then everything has to be shifted over, and—well. There’s a reason why there were so many books languishing on the floor.

They pass off the body like that for the rest of the day, moving things around in the flat in order to accommodate Marc. It looks no less hectic in the end, despite Marc’s best efforts to tidy up a little, but it also doesn’t look any worse, which Steven sees as a win.

There are still so many things they need to talk about. Scheduling, routines, the fact that they’re currently both out of a job—either one would be lying if they said that this new life didn’t make them a bit nervous. But when Marc finally flops down onto their bed, a movement as easy as breathing, the pieces begin to settle into place. The last of his bins have been put away. His jacket hangs beside Steven’s as if it’s always been there.

In the headspace, Steven beams. Whatever comes, however hard—they’ll face it together.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

There are a few minutes more until his alarm goes off, but he turns it off early. The usual grogginess that accompanies him this early is completely absent, and he rolls up to a seated position without a single mental or physical protest. He feels so good, in fact, that he even considers skipping his morning cup of tea.

(He doesn’t, of course. They quickly figured out—well, Steven did, Marc already knew—that they differed in their caffeinated beverages of choice. Steven, a strong cup of Yorkshire Gold with a healthy splash of milk and a teaspoon or two of sugar. Marc, a simple drip coffee, black, made from the most generic-looking brand of medium roast beans.

Not to say that he wishes to be separate from Marc or anything of the sort, but Steven imagines his feelings to be like that of a sibling who was always dressed in matching clothes as his brother. Marc might’ve graced Steven with an interest in Egyptology from his mercenary work and Gus from his—their?—brother’s drawing a lifetime ago, but as far as they know, his preference for tea was just a quirk.

Steven likes having something just for him.)

Marc had the body last night—he must’ve gone to bed early. Must’ve drank camomile tea and avoided blue light the entire time he was fronting because Steven could run a marathon like this and still go into work afterwards. He’s about to ask Marc for his secret when he spots an unfamiliar rumple of fabric on the pillow where he laid his head.

“What’s this now?” Steven murmurs, gathering the soft material in his hands. A woman’s sweater, obviously, with its feminine cut and style and faintly sweet scent that short-circuits his brain for a moment.

It doesn’t take a genius to realize how it got inside their flat, what with how there’s a whole other person living in his head, and it would explain the strange marks he found on his neck the other day—

Heat blooms in his face and Steven nearly drops the sweater back onto the pillow in embarrassment. Distantly, he knows that he should’ve seen this coming. Marc is Marc; Steven’s witnessed the quiet confidence the man extrudes from inside their headspace and the resulting, ah, attention it attracts.

In the corner of his eye, his reflection stills. Steven doesn’t even bother turning around—just holds up the offending sweater and asks, “Fun night?”

Marc, strangely, is quiet. It’s not like he’s one to talk about his romantic pursuits, but Steven at least expected a dry comment or two. He shakes the sweater like a bag of treats until Marc scowls. “Stop that.”

“Not judging,” Steven says, “but don’t suppose you got a number? Should I make a run to the donation bin for you?”

“No.” There’s an edge to Marc’s voice, and he purses his lips when he realizes that he responded a little too fast; Steven’s questioning look is pointedly ignored. “Just leave it on my desk for now.”

“Is she coming back or is this just like a—” Steven makes an ambiguous gesture, full of innuendo “—thing for you?”

“What? No—what?”

“Okay, okay,” Steven finally lets up because the groove between his alter’s eyebrows has become something fierce. He slips out of bed to place the sweater on Marc’s desk as requested, then throws one more comment over his shoulder for good measure, “Bring her home for dinner one day, would you?”

“Steven!”

“Is that my shirt?” You move towards the armchair, a smile tugging at your lips as you pick up the folded garment. It’s been freshly laundered. Marc wouldn’t burden you if he could help it.

“Mhm.” He doesn’t stir from his seat on the couch, tracking your movements with fondness in his eyes. You’ve been to their place plenty over the past few months and quietly, he relishes in the domesticity.

They’re simple things, like knowing your preferred spoon in their drawer or how you like your toast; the ease in which you curl into the cushions next to him—your spot, he can’t help but note—draws a contented little sigh from him.

“You know, if you want me to do your laundry, you can just ask.”

He would. Steven would prod endlessly as he does with all things related to you, but Marc’s managed to get this far with vague explanations and stubborn hand-waving. He’d endure the nosiness if it were for you.

“Although,” he continues, giving you a once-over. His eyebrow quirks at the familiar cotton long-sleeve enveloping your torso. “I’m not even sure you have laundry anymore.”

“Well, maybe if your clothes weren’t so comfortable, I’d stop stealing them,” you tease.

(His clothes aren’t boring, Steven, just—utilitarian. Between Khonshu and his mercenary work, Marc needed plain, flexible pieces; ones that made him blend in anywhere and ready for anything. Nothing that he could get too attached too, either. Everything he wore was at risk of getting ruined by grime and/or blood and/or tearing from various weapons. Of course, he doesn’t own anything ‘nice.’

Not like Steven. Not with his hodgepodge closet filled with colours and patterns, everything just a tad too large on their frame. Marc groans about it every time he takes over in the middle of the day—just a size down, just one. But the issue is that Steven likes it like that, likes the comfort and roominess he finds in his thrifted pieces, and so Marc dropped it as a serious topic, even though he still doesn’t quite get it.)

“This why you had to wear my jacket the other day?”

Steven’s sudden appearances don’t phase Marc anymore, even when you’re around. He just gives him a slight nod without missing a beat. “At this rate, I won’t have any clothes left for you to take.”

“Guess I’ll just have to borrow something from Steven then, hm?”

Before Marc can even begin to think about what to say to that— “I think my white jumper would suit her really well.”

He shoots a glare into a nearby mirror and just barely catches a glimpse of Steven’s grin in the reflection. Part of him wants to tell Steven to stop hitting on his girlfriend, but hesitates when you look at him expectantly, still waiting for his response.

He’s not ashamed of Steven, far from it. Still, a sliver of self-consciousness worms its way into his chest at the thought of talking to him in front of you. He’s done it before, but—he knows how it can look.

You’re more perceptive than he’d like. Marc sees the moment when it clicks in your head. “Is he here right now?”

Excitement bleeds into your voice. You’ve been wanting to meet Steven for a while. Marc showing up to a date with tousled curls and a colourfully-printed button-up instead of his usual streamlined style, a slew of scribbled papers piled onto the armchair you like to lounge on, a sticky note left on one of your books (‘oooh good choice! x’)—all these things that sent panic strumming through his veins were only ever endearing to you, for some reason. It’s lessened his worry by orders of magnitude.

Still. Letting you meet Steven is one step closer to talking about his childhood. His mom. His brother. He’s given you a high- high-level view of things (“It wasn’t great.”), but the thought of going any further makes his throat tighten. There’s a whole failed marriage that proves his inability to be vulnerable.

So, it must truly be a bout of madness that makes him say, “The white one.”

“What?”

“The white sweater,” Marc continues, because he’s already thrown himself off the bridge—there’s no use trying to backtrack now. “He says you’d look good in his white sweater.”

Your face slowly morphs into an expression of pure joy; you do nothing short of jump off the couch to bolt to their bedroom. Steven chatters excitedly in his ear, only pausing momentarily when you slip off Marc’s shirt.

“Oh! Um! She’s—she’s very—wow—" Marc feels the strangest urge to punch himself in the face again—

—And then you reappear into their field of view, a dream in fine knit. Steven’s sweater be damned, your beaming smile is more than enough to render them both speechless.

“How do I look?”

The sweater isn’t his, but it stirs the same syrupy feelings in Marc anyway. You’ve spoken about it before—and him privately with Steven—where Steven stands in your relationship with Marc. All he’s ever let himself hope for was for you and Steven to be cordial, maybe even friends. Of course, he’d have to actually let you guys speak to each other for any of that to be possible, but you two seem to have grown comfortable with each other regardless.

Now, he sees you in Steven’s clothes and his thoughts run rampant. Ours. He tests out the word and his heart skips a beat. It’s always been a possibility; one you all were open to if it ever happened. But he could never ask either of you to try to love each other on his behalf.

God, that word does something stupid to his brain—Steven’s rattling off compliments and other things of his you should try on and invites to go thrifting—and Marc just sits there, dumbfounded by his own hypothetical scenario. “Come on, Marc, say something!”

You move to stand in front of him, and his thighs part automatically to have you close. It takes your hand on his cheek, gentle as you stroke your thumb over his skin, to pull him back to reality. “You okay?”

“You look incredible.” His voice dips in the way he knowsmakes your stomach swoop, and is promptly rewarded with your flustered smile. The moment doesn’t last—not with Steven cooing in his ear over you.

A pang of possessiveness runs through Marc. That smile was for him, thank you very much.

His mouth works faster than his brain. “Steven has something to tell you.”

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

Steven splutters, nerves coming on in full force. Marc bites his tongue to keep a straight face. “Well, now, hang on a minute—”

Steven’s introduction was always going to be a well-thought-out but casual event, as to not make a circus out of it. It was just who they were, after all. They wouldn’t switch in front of you—Steven would change into his wardrobe and ‘do’ his hair beforehand; Marc worried it might be too much for you to see him but hear Steven. He would’ve prepped you both plenty in the preceding days, regardless of how necessary it was.

It definitely would not be the stunt he’s pulling right now.

Your eyes narrow at the placid look on his face, too casual to not be suspicious, but meeting Steven must outweigh the want to catch Marc in the act of whatever he’s planning because you don’t call him out, hands frozen on his face. It’s cute, watching you struggle between overt enthusiasm and not wanting to pressure them into anything.

Marc would even enjoy it a little longer if it weren’t for the confused and alarmed word vomit spilling out in his head.

“Stop messing about—I mean, it’s not—not odd, yeah? For me to front a little? Just a little chat, can’t be all that bad. Please be messing with me, but I can do it, s’not a big deal. Yeah, yeah, it’s whatever—oh, boy."

Taking pity on the poor guy, Marc quiets him with a steady glance into the mirror. “You sure, buddy?”

Slightly shrill but no less serious, “Are you sure, Marc?”

And then Marc’s fun little charade teeters on its head—is he ready for this? You and Steven wouldn’t hold it against him if he pulled the plug on it all right now, but this is the closest he’s ever gotten. The band-aid has to come off, lest he lets this fester for the length of another relationship.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, his flare of panic comforted by the patience in your eyes. More confidently this time, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Steven’s smile is clear in his voice. It mirrors your own.

“About time, innit?”

Moving into their flat isn’t a decision you make all at once, but rather a slow, steady conclusion that you’ve been unintentionally working towards ever since you first visited.

The clothes were just the start. It’s not like you didn’t have perfectly good clothes before you met Marc, but his were just better somehow. Soft and simple, all in that neutral colour scheme he seemed to gravitate towards. The warm, woodsy scent of his aftershave clings to the fabric, making you want to bury your nose into the garments and go right back to the source—

You just couldn’t help yourself from borrowing something whenever you came over.

(That pleased, half-lidded gaze you receive each time you slip on his shirt, or his heated touch whenever he drapes his jacket over your shoulders during chilly morning afters—well. Those are just a bonus.)

So, maybe you left a shirt or two behind in the process. And maybe you realized that you should probably have a pair of sweatpants there as well, and a good book to read during quiet nights in. Once, you forgot your toothbrush only for Marc to pull out an extra from their medicine cabinet; now you have a toothbrush in their bathroom.

After you finally met Steven and his adorable, eclectic self—all bets were off. You bond while scouring vintage shops and finding new pieces for the flat. A little basket of throw blankets gets added to the living room (always neatly sorted by Marc, without fail). Candles—tall and stout, festive and fruity and spiced—start to litter the shelves. A particularly good haul at a used bookstore, a bit heavy for you to carry home, is instead slotted amongst their collection; the contemporary fonts and colourful covers are a stark contrast against the yellowing older texts, and you love it.

Your fingerprints are all over the place by the time Marc officially empties some space in his dresser for you, uncharacteristically avoiding your eyes as he speaks, “Just in case you wanted to keep some more stuff here.”

You were already using their closets before then (in both the storing-your-clothes sense and the stealing-their-clothes sense); you’ve practically taken over one of his drawers. But to give you one outright, to admit that he’s carved out some space just for you instead of silently accommodating your things as he always has—

“Thank you, Marc,” you whisper, brimming with emotion that you wonder if you’ll ever be able to fully express. He’ll flit about and clean and care for you because words will never capture the depth of his feelings. You see this for what it is, like all the gestures that have come before: a declaration.

“Thank you,” you repeat, and press a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth. “I love you, too.”

It’s not much long after when Steven comes home from work grinning like a madman, one hand held behind his back. He beelines towards you, not even bothering to put his bag down.

“Hey, you.” You peck his lips and feel his smile stretch impossibly wider. “What’s got you all riled up?”

The words come out in a rush. “Havesomethingforyou.”

“Oh?”

“Close your eyes.” You can’t help but laugh a little as you follow the direction; Steven’s excitement is utterly infectious. “Okay, now hold out your hand.”

“If you give me a bug, I swear to God—”

“I would never.” His seriousness is a bit too heavy-handed, and you get a feeling you’re going to need to be on guard for a while.

You’re distracted, however, by the brush of his skin as he places something small and rigid into your palm. The metal is warm from being clasped inside his hand, but the shape is so familiar that you recognize what it is immediately.

“You can open—”

You’re already looking down—at the silver key to the flat nestled in your hand. Lonesome without the Koala plushie on Steven’s keyring, without the little charm you got for Marc’s—no, it’s meant to be your copy.

“We were thinking, right,” he starts before your heart has the opportunity to beat right out your chest, “Marc and I—well, you’re here with us most of the time. You should have your own key. Beats having to come grab mine from the museum, right?”

You let out a choked little laugh, too caught up to remind him that the only reason why you went to the museum was because else he would’ve dropped everything to deliver the keys himself. Spent his entire break and then some to commute back home so that you wouldn’t have to wait for his shift to be over, even though you could’ve amused yourself just fine outside until then.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to get out before stepping forward, burying your face in his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso. Steven’s love is unbridled; he holds you close, going on about how glad he is—how glad they both are—to have you, how he was practically bouncing off the walls at the locksmith, waiting for the key to be cut.

They’ve been your home for so long now that while the new addition onto your keyring makes you giddy and smile stupidly whenever you get to use it, it also just feels right. You go grocery shopping with Marc and watch him scrutinize apples like they personally offended him. Steven tangles your legs together as you wind down in the evenings, and always always smiles whenever he catches you looking at him. You rank the restaurants around the neighbourhood and line your favourite mugs beside each other on the shelf; you sit in the comforting quiet of the flat and wonder how you got so lucky.

When it’s eventually time to renew your lease, there’s no decision to be made. You’re relieved from dinner prep to write the email to your landlord on their couch. It’s sent off with no fanfare and quickly forgotten about when Marc’s voice rings out, asking what you want to eat.

“Anything,” you say, the ghost of a smile on your lips; he hates it when you say that. Marc grumbles a little, but you mean it this time. You have them and they have you. Curled up in one of Steven’s sweaters, Marc’s playlist on low in the background—anything is just fine by you.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

First, you meet Marc. Terrible. Khonshu is riding his ass about a mission in Liverpool—they’ve now been geolocked to stay under the radar—and Marc plans a date. An actual, Godforsaken date with a set time, throwing a wrench into their plans because Steven’s been scheduled to work on the surrounding days as well. How is he supposed to sneak off to the other side of the country now?

Even worse, you stick around. There are more dates between the two of you. For how much he hates texting, Marc responds promptly whenever you send him something. He frets over what to wear before picking you up. You stay over at the flat and he holds you in his sleep like he’s afraid you’ll disappear; Jake has been unluckily enough to wake up in the middle of the night, planning to slip away, only to be hit with the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Then—and then—Marc has the bright idea to introduce you to Steven. The hope that this is just a casual, temporary thing is dashed away the second Jake sees that lovesick expression on the idiota. It’s more overt than Marc’s, but still the same blaring warning sign that Jake’s life is only about to get harder from here.

Keeping a low profile has become incredibly difficult since the others decided to be normal. Marc never questioned whenever Jake took over in a tight spot, too hyped up on adrenaline and too stubborn about their condition to follow up on his blackouts after the fight was done. Steven was clueless about everything for those first few months, then just blamed his blackouts on Marc.

But now? They talk to each other. They have a year-long calendar on the fridge with a magnetic pen holder to keep track of their schedules, colour-coded blue (for Marc) and green (for Steven). They’ve gotten distracted and added another consciousness for Jake to deceive in order to do his thing. He can’t take the body for more than a few hours, and certainly not by force, without drawing suspicion.

Jake’s happy for them. Really, he is. They’ve finally begun to move on from the trauma of their childhood into something that resembles a normal life. Steven’s gotten rehired at the museum as a tour guide. Marc’s taken up security consulting. And despite their respective anxiousness and ten-foot-walls, you bring them peace.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s Khonshu’s avatar now. That a lifetime ago, when the work began to wear down on Marc in all the worst ways, Jake was the one who cut a deal with the god for his release. All he had to do was take his place.

(Foresight might not be his strong suit, but he refuses to take responsibility for what happened next. He could never have imagined all the puppetry that’d occur with Layla in the mix, or that they’d actually divorce one of these days and end up with someone new.

Except this time, you know about their system and not about Khonshu. He wonders how well you’d take that whole mess.)

In short—Marc and Steven still need him. He can’t just up and disappear into the recesses of their mind; he has a job to do.

So, when Steven presses that fucking key into your hand, Jake’s so frustrated he could scream. Unfettered access to the flat—as if you weren’t there enough already. As if he weren’t already jumping through every hoop imaginable, just to keep his existence a secret. He would’ve made them drop the copy down the nearest gutter on the way home if he didn’t know that they would simply go right back to the locksmith and ask for another.

Steven watches as you slip it onto your keychain; that all-encompassing, vibrant burst of joy in their chest be damned—you are the worst thing to ever happen to Jake, even if you might be the best thing to ever happen to them.

Steven had the flat, Marc had his storage unit, and Jake?

Jake has his car.

Multiple, actually, but the limousine is the legal one (thanks for your identity, Marc) and serves as his homebase. Supplies are stashed in compartments around the cabin—weapons, clothes, cash—and with its heavily tinted windows, he can do anything he wants inside and passersby would be none the wiser. When Khonshu’s booming voice echoes around his brain about some new target, at least Jake can recline into a soft leather seat.

The only issue is that he can’t keep everything there. No, the parking garage is a fair distance away from the flat and sometimes, he doesn’t have the opportunity to make the trip before setting off. This means that he has to keep a change of clothes in the flat to avoid accidentally ruining some of Steven’s or Marc’s. He’d never actually wear anything of Steven’s to begin with (at least, not on a mission), but Marc’s wardrobe is minimal by choice—if something went missing or got a new, unexplained hole in it, he’d notice.

That’s why Jake is currently slinking through their living room, ready to change back into Steven’s pajamas before hiding his clothes on the loft above their bed. Nothing up there but empty bins and poster tubes. Marc regularly dusts the area during his monthly deep cleans, so Jake doesn’t even have to worry about leaving behind any tracks.

It was an easy job tonight, done in little less than an hour and not a speck on Jake to show for it. He could take a shower if he wanted—you’re staying over at a friend’s place right now, as noted in red on the calendar. But he shouldn’t keep the body for longer than necessary; they still need sleep, after all.

He slips off his flat cap, groaning as he runs a hand through his hair. God, they’re getting old. Even this stolen hour will be felt by whoever wakes up in the morning, slightly slower and groggier than usual.

(Jake doesn’t think about the future—has never needed to. The only future that exists to him is the next minute, and the minute after that, and what he has to do to ensure the body makes it there. Him and Marc were similar in that aspect for a long, long time.

That calendar on the fridge, while helpful to his vigilantism, stirs something uncomfortable in his gut. He’s seen them flip through the months to mark down birthdays and reservations. Vacations, work events—Marc’s going on a completely normal, non-violent work trip, which Jake still can’t quite wrap his head around—and it’s all so far ahead.

How can they be so sure that nothing will change between now and then? That their life won’t blow up again, and force them on the run? Everything they add is just another handful of salt to be pressed into the wound when it all goes to hell. But they still write things on that stupid calendar. Confident, excited even, about the plans they think will come to pass.

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

You shift a little under the covers, trying to peer at him through the darkness. Jake’s never been more grateful for Marc’s sensible taste in fashion; with only a silhouette to go by, of course you’d mistake him for Marc—straight-cut jeans, a collared jacket. His flat cap would tip you off though, and he presses it into his chest to hide it from your line of sight. Marc would never wear a flat cap.

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

A small sigh of relief escapes you as your head falls back onto the pillow. Still watching him, though, you mumble, “Bad dream?”

You know about Marc’s time in the military and as a mercenary. Not everything, obviously, but enough. Jake nods, and can imagine the worried purse of your lips in the shadows. In the best impression he can manage, his accent turns Chicagoan. “Just had to take a walk.”

If he were really Marc, he’d already be in bed by now, letting you brush curls away from his face and press a kiss against the furrow of his brow. If he were really Marc, he’d ask you why you were back here instead of with your friends as expected, and you’d talk things out until dozing off in a tangle of limbs, comforted by each other’s presence.

But Jake’s not Marc. He brushes off the subtle tightening of his chest as just a lingering remnant from his alters. The body knows you, even if Jake doesn’t. It doesn’t mean anything to him.

You whine, a sleepy and pitiful but inviting noise from the back of your throat as he continues to stand in the living room. Alarm bells go off in his head; he has to placate you before you get up and try to drag him over yourself.

“Just need to change,” he says, soft and low, warmth injected into every word. Nausea courses through him, to his own confusion, as he continues to play Marc. This should be easier—he’s been hiding for as long as he can remember. This is probably the tamest thing he’s done to keep his cover. “Go back to sleep, I’ll be there in a second, okay?”

He takes two steps towards the kitchen then stops, feigning—feigning something, fuck if he knows—waiting for your breathing to level out again. Silence falls over the flat, but Jake’s mouth runs dry.

There’s no way you don’t bring this up to them in the morning, and there’s no way they won’t immediately suspect another alter. They know he exists, have seen the aftermath of when he fronts. It’s only his secrecy that has kept them off his back for this long, and it will all come crashing down in a few hours.

For better or for worse, he’ll have to meet the others soon.

Marc will never tire of waking up beside you. Even though there’s a heaviness weighing him down, body aching for just a few more minutes, he pushes through because you’re already awake. With one hand on his chest, the other tracing over his jaw—the small, lazy smile on your face has already made his day.

You turned over while he was asleep, but his arm is still slung over your waist; he pulls you closer to press a kiss onto your forehead. Lips moving against your skin, “Morning, baby.”

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

Mind hazy from sleep, Marc doesn’t question the odd wording. He just let’s himself settle into the lingering fatigue, leaning into your touch as his eyes flutter shut again. “M’tired. Stay with me a little longer?”

Concern laces your tone. “Was the dream that bad?”

That breaks through to him. He peers at you curiously, more alert than before. “What do you mean?”

You blink, confused. “Your nightmare last night. You left to take a walk?”

Marc sits up, furrowing his brow. Reality seeps in, and he checks the date on his phone. Aren’t you supposed to be—? “I thought you were staying over at a friend’s place.”

“I was going to, but she had a family emergency—I came back here around three. Don’t worry, they walked me home,” you explain with a soft pat of your hand at the end. That—that is one mystery solved, and he is glad to hear that you weren’t walking alone at night, but his shoulders remain taut with tension. His mind gets caught on a detail.

“Three?” He’s a light sleeper, he would’ve woken up when you came into bed. But—your words replay in his mind. He wasn’t here when that happened, was he? “I went on a walk?”

His stress begins to spill over to you, and you prop yourself up on an elbow, fiddling at the blankets. “Um, yeah. We spoke a little when you came back—I was already in bed, remember?”

A pit opens up in his stomach, and the words die in this throat. Marc does not, in fact, remember. He apparently went outside in the middle of the night, long enough for you to come home and settle in without him, then had a whole conversation upon return—and none of it is familiar to him. Not even a hint of déjà vu.

He throws off the covers, on his feet in seconds despite your protests. All hisblackouts, the ones he thought were finished after traversing the Duat—

That third sarcophagus—

Is this what it was like for Steven? To wake up, not knowing what your body has done, where it’s been—if it’s hurt someone?

Marc might actually puke if he thinks about it for too long. And God, you live with them now: him, Steven, and what Marc wishes was a complete unknown. But the truth is—they aren’t an unknown. No, Marc is fully aware of what this alter is capable of.

“Oh, bugger, what’s going on?” Steven must feel his panic, reflects it in kind. He must be expecting bloodshed with how fast their heart is racing.

Marc says nothing and flings open the tri-mirror on the wall, bracing himself with both hands on the sink below. He sees himself in the center, a bull primed to fight. Steven’s to the left, so fearful he’s nearly frozen still. And to the right—

To the right—

So. Jake hasn’t really prepared for this situation, to be honest.

He’ll face anything head-on to keep the body safe, but imagining himself as the threat? Never crossed his mind. There’s anger in their blood, and Marc’s liable to cracking the porcelain with his grip. If looks could kill, Jake would be dead ten times over.

The few times he wondered what it would be like to actually meet Marc and Steven, the worst that could happen was that they disliked him. Unfortunate, but he’d live. He didn’t need their approval to do his job.

But through the blood rushing in their ears, he can hear you; still in bed, barely breathing as you watch everything unfold. And that’s when he remembers—

You are the bane of his existence.

Because Marc and Steven aren’t just thinking about their own self-preservation. No, now they have you to protect, and the lengths that they would go to do that, well—Jake begrudgingly has to admit that they might rival some of his own efforts for them.

He’d let them stare at themselves forever in the mirror if it weren’t for that fact. They would never give up on trying to talk to him. Steven was clever enough with the sand and tape and ankle restraint; he doesn’t want to think about what sort of traps they’d create with Marc in the mix. Jake would probably still evade them all, but they’d drive themselves crazy in their attempts.

They’ve really left him no choice. For the first time, he lets himself be seen.

You’ve watched Marc and Steven talk to each other plenty of times. It’s really no big deal. They’re just normal conversations where you can only hear one side, and usually taken through the nearest reflective surface.

But this? This is an interrogation. Marc slackens his jaw for just a moment before everything in him tenses again. He speaks through clenched teeth, as if barely controlling the severity of his thoughts—you can’t help but brace yourself for impact. “Who are you?”

The pause as he waits for the other alter, whoever they are, to respond is maddening. It wasn’t quite fear that gripped you when you realized that it wasn’t Marc last night—to be honest, you don’t know what to feel—but the scene in front of you has you reevaluating your initial reaction.

That initial reaction being, well—the same thing you felt when you Marc told you about Steven: curiosity. You wanted to meet Steven. Almost begged for the chance near the end. Whoever this is—

“Jake.”

The name grates itself out of Marc’s throat, and you cling to the information like a life raft.

“Jake.” You can’t help but test it out on your tongue, squinting a little as you look at your boyfriend and try to see yourself calling him that. Marc looks towards you. There’s a storm of emotions in his eyes, but there’s no time to decipher any of them—a moment later, he turns back towards the mirror with a scowl.

“Why should I believe you?” The lines on his face deepen; Marc grits his teeth so hard you yearn to hold him, but you’re frozen to the spot.

“I don’t know that. After you—” his eyes dart between you and his reflection so fast, you might’ve imagined it “—after what you’ve done?”

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

No, Marc—Marc has interacted with Jake before, and whatever happened must’ve crossed a line. Must’ve crossed several lines because of how he’s acting right now, and you want to bury yourself under the covers, still fisted tightly in your hands.

He laughs bitterly. The sound rakes through your ears. “You call that protecting us?”

Your blood runs cold. With no real context and spiked with adrenaline, your mind runs rampant with the possibilities, connects all the worst dots.

There’s no way—

“Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

You want to run and you want to hide and you want their arms around you, assuring you of—of anything. You need to leave this building and also never go outside again, because your head begins to pound with each thought that passes through.

You can still see the worry flare in Marc’s eyes when you accidentally grabbed the handle of a hot pan, the dutiful and tender way he held your hand under the tap for no less than fifteen minutes—

You can still hear Steven’s babbling when your new shoes rubbed your ankles red and raw while on a walk, distracting you from the pain the best he could until you got back home—

You are just so acutely aware of their love—that Marc and Steven would never dare hurt you. It’s impossible to reconcile your memories of them with the picture that’s being painted of Jake right now.

No. You can’t believe it.

You’re not even hearing their conversation anymore, your heartbeat is too loud. Breathing returns to you in a rush—you never even realized you stopped—and your vision swims with light-headedness.

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

The mattress dips beside you, but you barely feel it. Someone’s cupping your cheeks, grounding you back into the flat, your home, and you know these hands. You know this voice, soothing in your ear, even as you shut your eyes.

They say that they’re sorry. They say that you’ll be okay.

They call you princesa.

It feels strange walking around the flat, knowing that he’s welcome there now.

Jake’s seen every nook and cranny through Marc and Steven, but to actually be able to explore the place himself—he’s like a kid in a toy store. He can’t help but run his fingers over everything. The spines on the bookshelves, the mismatched dishware in the cabinets. That velvet throw pillow, which you are so fond of playing with during movies—yeah, he gets it.

He’s not going to be talking to you for a while, though. After his rocky first meeting with Marc and Steven, which also coincides with the absolute worst possible first meeting with you—

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

Jake let the other two do the explaining. He watched silently as Marc told you about his past—told you about why he was discharged from the Marines and the scenes he’d wake up to after Jake had fronted—hands shaking as they held onto yours. He watched as Steven took over when it got to be too much, adding in the finer details and clarifications, steadier but no less genuine than Marc. Their arms were gentle as Steven held you in their lap, patient as you stumbled through how you felt.

“Marc seemed so mad at Jake.” You clutched at Steven’s shirt, sniffling into his neck. “I didn’t know what was happening, I—I was scared.”

No. Jake furiously shakes his head as if it would jostle the memory out of his brain. Just thinking about it threatens to unravel him, and he has to keep it together. He’s on thin ice as is.

You had been the one to temper their emotions—the sight of you panicking on their bed grinding all other issues to a halt. The conversation couldn’t continue until you were okay, and this time, Steven kept you in the loop.

Steven is wary. Steven needles him about what he’s been doing all this time, asks him what he’s going to do now with short little mhms. Steven is also the one to buy a new set of pens (because black is already used for non-individual specific events) and designates him as orange.

Marc doesn’t trust Jake at all and admits it outright. It’s—it stings more than he thought it would, but he understands. He always knew that Marc would take a while to come around, especially with you to consider—

Jake doesn’t know why he worries so much about your opinion. Protecting you is an extension of protecting the body, but he never used to care about what Marc or Steven had to say. He hates the caution in your voice when you talk about him and can’t help but appreciate you trying anyways.

He pinches himself. You’re not his to think about, period.

Acknowledging his existence also, sort of, comes with accepting it. Steven somehow finds the space for another dresser in their already cramped bedroom. Jake doesn’t even have enough possessions in general to fill that thing—not counting all the weapons and ammo that Marc would definitely have their head for if he brought them into the flat.

It’s an olive branch on both sides, though. They’re committing to having him around. He’s committing to being around, instead of lurking in the background of their lives.

His clothes only fill up the first drawer but—it’s nice. Jake stares at the thing a lot more than a used, scratched-up piece of furniture probably warrants. He can barely admit it to himself but this, all of it—going outside during the day, eating a freshly-cooked meal, even just relaxing in bed without immediately trying to go to sleep in order to Protect the Body—it really is just nice.

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

Jake hits the eject button so fast, Steven’s probably going to get whiplash.

“Nice reflexes,” he grumbles as you enter the flat. It was funny the first few dozen times. Now? That twat’s just being a coward.

“I’m home!” You call out as Steven rounds the corner to greet you, tote bag nearly bulging in your hand. He pecks your lips as he helps you out of your jacket, then hangs it up beside the three others on the rack. “There was a little creators’ market in the park—you should’ve seen it!”

“Think I’m seeing it now,” he chuckles, moving to help you with your tote. You slink past him at the last second, grinning. “Come on, love, show us what you got!”

“They’re gifts! Just hang on.” You place the bag on the dining table and enraptured, he pulls up a stool. His head rests on his chin as he waits for you to unpack. “Okay, first, for Marc—”

You reach your hand inside and reveal a pair of black leather gloves. Not driving gloves like Jake’s—there’re far less embellishments all around. But they’re warm and flexible, perfect for colder weather. Inside, the lining is made with a material so soft that when trying one on, Steven can’t help but laugh a little in disbelief.

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

Marc snipes back, “Like you own a monopoly on leather gloves.”

Steven lets Marc pull to the front. An easy smile spreads on his face as he flexes his hand, testing his movement. “Thanks, baby. I really like them.”

He takes your chin into his gloved hand to thank you properly, slotting his lips against yours with no shortage of appreciation. His grip is an anchor, holding you in place as he kisses you, deep and languid. Like you have all the time in the world despite the heat flickering across his skin. When Marc gets like this, it’s not long before you start squirming under him, and your hands paw at his neck for something more.

That’s his cue to finally pull away, smirking as he traces your bottom lip with his thumb. Whether it’s the leather or him or both, he can see the effect on you, the dazed look you give him when you bat your eyes open.

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

Marc sighs. Drops his forehead to yours and reluctantly doesn’t continue any further. “Steven wants his gift now.”

“Oh,” you laugh a little, realizing the situation you’ve put yourself in. “Maybe I should’ve done Steven’s first.”

Marc steals one more kiss before retreating again, and Steven is back, clearly eager for many different reasons now. After putting Marc’s new gloves to the side, you don’t make him wait a second longer; you pull out a stunning new button-up, deep navy with a pattern of large teal palm leaves and hints of salmon accents all over.

All traces of joy disappear from Marc’s voice. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“She’s an enabler. I can’t believe it.”

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

“I had to go digging,” you admit, gesturing widely. “There were so many racks, we need to go back! I only had my one bag!”

“There’s no way people actually buy this stuff.”

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

Ignoring the fashion police in his head, Steven immediately switches shirts and tosses the old one somewhere behind him. Based on Marc’s grunt, he missed the couch, but also can hardly find himself to care.

He doesn’t even bother doing up the buttons, because he knows where you’ll put your hands when he descends upon your face. Kiss after kiss on your cheeks, forehead, and nose, and soon enough you’re giggling loudly into the air. Your hands are warm against his bare torso, pulling him closer even as their stubble tickles your skin.

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

He’s not letting you off that easily, though, and finally captures your lips with his. That does buy him a few more blissful seconds until you manage to push him away; breathing heavily, you point sternly in his direction—behave.

Steven schools his expression into one of perfect obedience, teasing, but you barely even react. With one glance back down at the table, it’s like the tote bag sucked away your excitement, leaving shy uncertainty in its wake. You’re biting your lip as you reach for the last gift, quiet.

Marc hums, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Steven offers you an encouraging little smile and is about to say something when you produce the last gift in a rush, still not meeting their eyes.

It’s a simple wool scarf, colour-blocked in soft browns and greys. He waits as you fiddle with it in your hands, trying to find the words.

“He doesn’t have a scarf,” you blurt out. When Steven doesn’t respond immediately, you continue. “Jake, I mean—I don’t think he has one. I thought it would be nice.”

He follows your gaze to the coat rack near the door, filled with four sets of outerwear. It clearly doesn’t fit all the jackets owned in the household, but his favourite is hung up next to Marc’s, which is hung up beside your overcoat and Jake’s collared jacket. Various cold weather accessories are layered onto the hooks as well, multiple pairs of gloves, hats—but there are only three scarves.

Come to think of it, Steven hasn’t seen Jake ever wear a scarf either. “You’re right, love. Doesn’t his neck get cold? I know our neck gets cold.”

The corners of your mouth tug up a little and he grins, triumphant. He tunes into his head, making sure he doesn’t miss any of Jake’s reaction, but nothing comes. That’s odd. It doesn’t feel like he’s gone, more like—holding his breath.

“Think he’ll like it?” You tilt your head, though your true question is clear on your face.

The words can’t come out of Jake fast enough. “I’m not here right now.”

“Jesus, man.”

Steven huffs but covers for his alter; they’ll press him about it another time. “Once he sees it, I don’t think he’ll ever take it off.”

The gloves and scarf are added to the coat rack, which is liable to falling over one of these days due to the heavy load it’s carrying. With no shortage of complaining from Marc, Steven picks up his discarded shirt and tosses it into the laundry basket. It’s almost full—he makes a note to do a load later this week.

He must look ridiculous, parading around in an undone button-up, but you have nothing but fondness for him when he returns to cuddle with you on the couch. You’ve changed into Marc’s sweater and have to move no less than five decorative pillows in order to make enough space.

Marc makes a distressed noise when Steven throws one of them to the side. “It’s fine—”

It hits the standing lamp and you both freeze as you watch it teeter on its base, creaking ominously. After a moment, it steadies again.

“It’s only fine because of your weak throw.”

Steven splutters as he pulls you into his side. “We have the same arm!”

They bicker about the mechanics of their body, whether muscle memory crosses over when they switch or not. Marc is squarely of the opinion: No. Steven reminds him of when he punched the Jackal, and the conversation continues to devolve. Jake refrains from getting involved but spurs them on regardless with a well-placed snicker here and there.

It’s an aimless argument that has you burying your face in your hands because you’re laughing too hard; one of many that have taken place and one of many that have yet to occur.

In the morning, Marc will cook you breakfast and throw an eggshell into the bin from across the kitchen just to prove a point. Steven will go back to the market with you to buy armfuls of his favourite clothing and home goods, and he’ll add one more to his bag for every snide comment Marc makes. And Jake—

Jake will take a little while longer until he feels ready to speak to you, but you see the scarf gather raindrops and the warm, woodsy smell of their aftershave as he wears it every time he goes outside. Always see it hung up neatly on the rack, on top of his jacket so it can properly dry.

And with all four of you settled in, their cluttered little flat in London—long overflowing with books and clothes, your favourite comforts and some truly unique furniture—finally started to feel complete.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing #mk bingo 2024

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foreverinadais · 7 months

Text

forehead kisses: mk system

summary: how and when the moon knight system give you forehead kisses.

warnings: fluff (i swear this was therapy to write), tiny bit of angst but not between the reader and the boys :)

word count: 1.8k

~STEVEN~

The tears had gathered in your waterline as soon as you reached the door. Something about this place, this flat, offered a sense of home you had never had. The familiarity alone made you feel safe enough to cry.

You tapped the door, a weak attempt of a knock, but Steven heard, had been waiting by the door since you had messaged you had left. A bright beam was on his face, a soft glisten in his eyes as he swung the door open, ready to bear hug you into his arms. But his expression faltered at the sight of yours; watery eyes, lip trembling, body hunched in defeat.

He didn’t say anything as he took your hand in his own, leading you through the doorway, nudging the door shut with his foot. You followed meekly; his hand soft, warm. Your grip tightened. He noticed immediately.

“D’you want to talk about?” He asked, voice so soft, so gentle, it made you want to crumble. You shook your head, not a no, just a not yet. He nodded in understanding, taking your work bag off you, placing it on the side, before getting to work on ridding you of your jacket. All in a silence so comfortable, it made the thoughts begin to dissipate in your head.

He led you to the sofa, sitting down and leading you to do the same- you did. “C’mere,” he whispered, “need’t hold you. Can I hold you, my love?” You nodded, and as soon as your body met his, the dam broke. He tutted, but not at you; at whatever it was that had caused you any kind of pain. One hand stroked up your back, the other cradled your head into his shoulder.

“ ‘s okay, let it all out, there you go.” You did, all the pent up emotion of the day, week, coming out all at once to him. And when your sobs subsided to sniffles, he was there, still.

“ ‘m sorry.” You croaked, releasing yourself from his grip, only slightly, only to wipe at your eyes. He was already there, swiping a stray tear away with his thumb, a concerned look evident in the lines between his eyes.

“Whatever for?”

“I didn’t want to cry, not to you. I didn’t want to ruin your day and now I have and ‘s not fair-”

“Don’t be silly, baby. You didn’t ruin anythin’, you never have, ever. I want you to cry to me. I would do anythin’ to be the one you cry too for the rest of time, ’kay?” You sniffled, looking down from his gaze, nodding hesitantly. “Hey, lemme see your wonderful face. Missed you.” He demanded, but his tone was light, cheeky.

You obliged, the first smile since entering his flat appearing on your lips. He grinned in triumph, pulling you in for a kiss, then another, and another. You giggled, his name leaving your lips with a laugh. “I love you.” You whispered, and he could swear his heart reinvented itself every time those words left your lips.

“I love you more. Promise.” You hit his chest in joke protest, but he caught your hand in his, pulling you back into his body. His breath fanned over your head, and you swore your heart sang as he pressed a firm, sure, loving kiss onto your forehead. A sigh of contentment left you, and you felt your body finally relax. “Now, tell me about your day, sweetheart.”

~MARC~

You had looked after him plenty of times before. Cleaned up his wounds, bandaged his cuts, leaving affirmations and soft touches in your path. Marc accepted it, though he would never admit just how much he needed your touch. He would never ask for it.

Especially not today.

When Marc had stumbled through the door at a late hour, muttering under his breath with irritation, you knew instantly the type of day he had. You put the bookmark in your book, placing it on the side before swinging out of bed. You never slept until you knew he was safe, until he was back with you.

Marc had his back turned away from you, lost in thought, or argument, struggling with his jacket before hanging it up. You called his name softly, enough to break through the wall in his mind, and he turned instantly.

“Oh, baby.” You whispered at the sight of his bruised eye and bust lip. He shrugged, laughing, but you could tell it wasn’t in humour. “What happened?” Marc sighed, shaking his head, coming close to you, but not close enough. You filled the gap immediately, running a hand through his curls before cupping his jaw.

“You should see the other guy.” You smiled, rolling your eyes.

“You say that every time.”

“ ‘s true.” You rose an eyebrow, a silent encouragement to get him to continue, to be serious. He sighed again, dropping his gaze form your own. “Got jumped by three of Harrow’s guys. Fought them off alright, but they managed to get a few hits.”

“You fought them off? You did good, why are you feeling bad?” He knew you didn’t mean physically.

“Cause I almost didn’t! ‘s, I don’t know, embarrassing. Konshu would be pissed off and…” he trailed off, but you encouraged him with a gentle grab of his hand. “Don’t wanna bother you.”

“What?” He seemed exasperated, and you ran your thumb over the skin of his palm, feeling his heartbeat increase.

“When I come back… hurt, or whatever, it’s you that has to deal with it. ‘s not fair, not for you. I just, I wanna give you the best, baby. Feel like I don’t do that.”

“Oh, Marc.” You whispered, sympathy and care dripping off your tone. “You could never bother me, ever. I hate seeing you hurt, but I love caring for you, I’ll do it happily. Because I love you.” He didn’t seem convinced, and you tipped is gaze up to meet yours. It was rare you were in charge of such intimate actions, and it made his heart skip a beat, his mouth run dry. “You give me the best every day. Promise.”

“Don’t deserve you.” He muttered quietly, but you caught it, crumpled it up, threw it away.

“ s’not true at all.” He sighed once more, playing with your fingers, yearning for your touch. You heard him silently, tugging his hand toward the bed. “Let’s lie down, yeah?” He nodded, stifling a yawn as you got comfy under the covers, him not far behind.

He didn’t reach for you like he normally did, not when he felt so vulnerable. No, you reached for him, pulling him to you. He gripped your waist tightly; afraid you’d vanish if he let go for even a millisecond.

“How’s your head, baby?” You asked, and he hummed.

“ ‘s fine. Hurts a little, but ‘m fine now.” You smiled, reaching down, moving the stray curls out the way before planting a kiss on his forehead. His skin flushed, heart stopping at the action. You repeated it once, twice more for good measure, repeating ‘I love you’ so it stuck.

Marc felt his eyes shut, consumed by your love, finally feeling at peace.

~JAKE~

Jake had been anxiously awaiting for you in his car for well over an hour. He had dropped you off with a kiss and soft words of praise, and you had told him he didn’t need to hang around, that you’d call when you were finished. But after you had left, he found himself staying. Not wanting to miss as you came out, so he could be there for any and every reaction you had.

So that he could celebrate you or comfort you- he didn’t think for a minute it would be the latter.

But your nerves had transferred over to him, leaving a pit in his chest. He knew you should get this job; you had worked your ass off ever since he had known you. He was ready to march in and show or tell that to anyone who didn’t agree.

He glanced at the clock again, a profanity leaving his mouth at the time. He felt such an intense urge for you, to see you and kiss you and know you were okay. He wished for your success well over his own. Like, it only mattered if you were happy, if you got your dreams- you had scolded him for thinking that more times than he could count.

Jake jumped at the sound of the passenger door opening. Fuck, he had zoned out, lost in the thoughts of you, like he usually was. You were there now, scrambling into the passenger seat, eyes lit up and wild. He didn’t have to ask because you were already exclaiming - “I got it! I got the job!”

A sound of utter happiness and pride left Jake, and he felt his heart beam as you practically leapt into his arms, ignoring the way the gear shift dug into your thighs as you settled in his lap. Jake held you close to him, praise and love falling from his lips as though it was all he could ever say to you. Your body radiated warmth- as though you were the sun personified.

Jake pulled away, kissing all over your face; your cheeks, your jaw, your eyelids, eventually your lips. You laughed, happily accepting, feeling dizzy all over again. “ ‘m so fucking proud of you.” He said, pulling away, a look of sincerity etched into his features you had never seen before. You smiled gratefully, emotion rising in your throat as you thanked him, hands in his hair. “Seriously. Tan orgulloso- so proud.”

“Thank you, Jake. I couldn’t have done any of this without your support-”

“Na-uh, this was all you. All you, mi amor.” He kissed you again, and you sighed with joy.

“Love you.” You murmured, and he grinned, face heating as if he had never heard you say it before.

“Te amo. Love you so much.” You spent a moment, then, staring at each other, taking in the serene moment. His eyes scanned every inch of your face, desperate to keep this memory of you forever. Smiling, proud of yourself, thighs squeezing his legs, hands in his hair. Fuck, it was everything he could ever wish for.

Lost in the thought, he cupped the back of your neck, bringing you down softly so that your forehead was level with his lips. He kissed the skin, lips lingering, taking in the moment. Your breath hitched. You had kissed him countless times, even just in the car, but somehow, this moment felt so intimate, you could hardly breathe.

He noted your flustered expression as he pulled away, tipping your chin up with his fingers. “Now, how should we celebrate?” You grinned, wasting no time before capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. “Good plan.”

#steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #moon knight headcanon #moon knight fluff #jake lockley fluff #marc spector fluff #steven grant fluff

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spicyllewyn · 8 months

Text

Roleplaying with them.

(NSFW) Headcanons. - Moon system x reader. (+18)

Marc.

You had been feeling observed for about 15 minutes during your walk.

You were heading back home, as usual, too late for your own safety.

Nothing had happened to you so far, so what could you lose?

It wasn't until the whitish glow behind you appeared, combined with the shadow from the ground, that your attention finally turned to your back.

A few days ago, you had seen more than one moon painted on the streets.

You weren't surprised to come across him.

"How long have you been there?" He didn't speak, just shrugged.

"I can see my house from here, your job is done."

When you turned around, you heard him clear his throat. "Don't people thank superheroes more?"

He was no longer wearing the mask. His tousled curls fell over his forehead, and the tight ceremonial suit of Khonshu allowed you to see every detail on his body.

"I thought they did it only out of love for their fellow beings."

Another step, and you felt your breath catch in your chest.

"Does anyone do things for free nowadays?"

He was right. And by the way his eyes wandered over your body, you didn't need to think much to guess what he was referring to.

His gaze was scorching you and you wanted to kiss his jaw until your lips hurt.

And you gave in, because who else was there to thank the masked vigilante who protected the nighttime travelers?

One step closer.

You were still in the middle of the deserted street, in plain sight of anyone who decided to take a nighttime stroll.

You didn't care much, not even when the cold concrete of the sidewalk made your knees ache.

His suit vanished in front of you, your eyes locked onto the pair of dark jeans that now filled your entire field of vision.

You licked on the fabric when you realized that he was already hard under his clothing.

And although the cold did not cause anything in him, your tongue did make him tremble.

A little more of force and you would have yanked the button off his jeans.

You were both clumsy, desperate.

Before you could object, the tip of his cock was pushing against your throat.

"Just like that, sweetie." And just when you thought her voice couldn't get any deeper.

Turns out, the terrifying Moon Knight was also a fan of encouraging his partners during sex.

He kept complimenting you, reminding you how well you were doing.

Although his moans spoke for him.

He had no compassion for you, when his hands were placed in your hair you knew you were no longer in control.

He rammed into your mouth with the brutality with which you had saw him punch people before.

You could only hear the gurgling of your saliva every time it slid down your tongue.

And your eyes filled up with tears as your nose bumped against the veil of his abdomen, you could feel him push you further.

Until you ran out of oxygen.

With two touches on his thigh he understood what you needed, finally letting go.

Your hand had to take care of the job, your saliva made it easier to stroke his already sensitive cock.

He looked at you, and you looked back at him.

"Thanks for taking care of me." Your smile was mocking, and Marc could only think about how cute your little face looked destroyed by him.

A chill ran through him from head to toe as the heat in his abdomen began to rise.

He was so close. "Just like that. Don't stop, -ah, fuck, please." His pleas confirmed the obvious to you.

You stuck out your tongue for him, and the mere image was too much for him.

It was obscene, he could see in you how much you wanted to swallow every drop he had to give you.

He came on your tongue. Actually, he came on your whole face.

And you squeezed anything that was left on him with your hand.

“Shit, I love you.” He said with a breathy, broken voice.

“Marc, don't get out of character!”

Steven.

"Sorry for the hour! Are there still tours available?" "Oh, Gods. You are just in time for the last one! But I'm afraid it will be just you and me, we're about to close."

At least this way you could ask anything that crossed your mind.

Steven was… dreamy.

You weren't the biggest fan of museums, but the guy was really doing his job for society.

You probably learned more there than in months of history classes.

And he made it so… enjoyable. So easy to understand, so much fun.

His eyes were shining as he spoke, and the 2-hour tour felt like 15 minutes.

"This is the least visited part of the museum." "Why?" "Many people are afraid of the ocean."

Both of you whispered, squinting your eyes to gaze at each other in the middle of the dark room.

A soft blue light gave the perfect tone to Steven's face as he looked at the exhibits as if it were the first time.

You leaned in to read the plaque in front of a representation of a shark skeleton.

And within seconds, a body positioned itself behind you. His chest against your back, one of his arms slid under yours, and he made you raise your hand.

His fingers guided yours to touch the fake skeleton.

"They don't have bones, you know?" A breathy moan escaped from his mouth when you pushed yourself towards him. "Oh no?" You played dumb. "It's, ah… gristle."

You tortured him by continuing to see the figure for extra seconds.

And when you turned around, Steven was on his knees

You smiled.

“I think it's my favorite room.” And in one jump you climbed onto a kind of high step that supported some other figures.

As if his lips had a magnet towards you, he began to kiss between your thighs.

Because of course, the first thing you did was spread your legs for him.

He kissed on top of the fabric until he got desperate.

You never thought that the shy museum guide in the baggy clothes would have the strength to pull your skinny jeans down in one fell swoop.

You've been wanting to mess up those soft curls ever since you laid eyes on him.

Right now, with his tongue working on you, it was the perfect opportunity.

"Oh shit." Your voice echoed through the empty room as you pushed him harder between your legs.

Steven refused to pull away for air, and you happily kept him between your legs.

He looked like a hungry man, you could feel his saliva running between your legs.

"Y-You do an amazing job." “Well, I always wanted to be a museum guide.” oh so innocent

"Steven!" It resounded so loudly in the room that you feared someone would discover you.

But not enough to shut you up.

It goes without saying that you finished sooner than expected, the adrenaline rush of being caught was always a fetish for you.

And when you looked down, you almost fainted.

His huge chocolate brown eyes were staring at you, barely parted enough for you to see his glossy lips full of you.

He had the expression of someone about to get into some mischief.

"No." "Yeah." "Steven, no." “How are you going to rate my good work in the suggestion and complaint box if I don't please you?”

Before you protested, his mouth was on you again.

2 orgasms were not enough for him.

Not even with 3, you lost count after 4, and he only stopped when your legs threatened to no longer support your weight.

You trembled, your vision was blurred and you couldn't bear the suffocating heat that you were feeling on your face.

“Did you like the tour?” He asked innocently as he adjusted your pants and finally faced you.

His face full of saliva and your fluids.

"You're awful at roleplay." "I know." He kissed you and you cleaned his mouth area with your tongue.

He looked at you with more wonder than at his favorite pieces in the museum.

"Let me take you to dinner, okay?"

Jake.

The honking of a car made you rush out of your house.

Your furrowed brow and your lips forming a pout gave you away as you got into the taxi.

Apparently, you were having a terrible day. You didn't even greet the driver as you got in.

"Bad day?" His accent did catch your attention. "Bad life." You replied with a nostalgic smile.

You could feel him looking at you constantly in the rearview mirror.

"Who would allow a beauty like you to get into a stranger's car at this hour?" "My fiancé is an idiot."

You made him scoff.

"I bet I can make you forget about him in seconds." "Seconds is quite ambitious."

He winked at you.

And you felt butterflies in your stomach.

The teasing way you turned your back on him made Jake accept the challenge.

Only God knows where he parked the car; you had never been in this part of the city before.

Him talking about seconds wasn't him being ambitious.

It was him being realistic.

Because before you could react you had the words stuck in your throat because his cock was deeply buried in you.

You were turning your back on him once again, this time by his choice.

You swore you could hear the screeching of the car with every movement of his hip.

"Does he fuck you like this, cariño?" He growled in your ear.

His questions made you dizzy, his thick accent and his hot breath hitting your ear.

"I bet he's never made you moan like that before." “Aw, look at you, honey. All cock-drunk and whiney.” "Pídeme más, amor, pídeme que te destroce."

You were staining the leather seat with saliva.

And Jake would pull on your hair to try and lift your face up a bit.

He didn't want you to keep quieting your whining like that, you knew it.

"More." It came out broken from your lips.

And he complied.

You could never think of another man like that, although to be fair, you didn't mean to.

“That fucking death-grip.” And while Jake seemed in control, he wasn't immune to your tricks, your way of taking the bull by the horns. “Amor, no, please, no… You are going to…”

He came inside of you.

And you shivered, keeping him inside.

"Look at that, cielo." After a few seconds, he pulled out, staring. “Do you think he will take you back now that I marked you as mine like this?”

And you made him laugh by cursing him out loud.

"Amor?" "Uh?" "You're going to clean that up." He poked you on the nose. Your cheek felt wet against the seat, your saliva making you groan.

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redeyerhaenyra · 7 months

Text

Ain't no sunshine when she's gone

Summary: It's been a month since you've broken up with the moon knight system, and you start to notice someone.. watching you

Warnings: Stalking, breaking and entering, kidnapping, yandere themes, angst, no beta we die like harrow

Notes: So after all the positive responses on this post I just had to create in headcanon form- for those who want to listen to the song that inspired this fic, here :)

Breaking up with the moon boys was the hardest thing you'd ever had to do, but it did need to be done.

With the near constant dissappearing to do Khonshu's bidding, sometimes for weeks on end, with only a note or a text to tell you where they were and then radio silence, it was just too much for you. Your heart couldn't take waiting for them, worrying that they would never return, even if Khonshu was protecting them.

And so, you had begun the process of moving out during the time they were away on a mission.

Marc had come home to find your clothes, trinkets, anything that would indicate your presence gone.

You were there though.

Normally you'd be so happy to see him again, running up to him and kissing him with all your might.

Today, instead, you sadly smiled at him.

"Baby, what's up?" Marc had asked, gently holding your forearms after you had rejected his hug. He could tell you were upset.

"Baby?" "I'm leaving, Marc. I'm sorry."

He had stared at you, dumbfounded. You swallowed down your tears- "I can't do this anymore." You didn't have to explain, you knew what he meant.

You waited anxiously for his response, instead spying his eyes roll back into his head, and now you were faced with Steven and oh god, his eyes, they were already tearing up.

Coward, you thought of Marc, which was admittedly a little harsh but breaking up with them would be so much harder facing Steven's sorrowful gaze.

Steven looked terrified, moving to cup your face in his hands and you had to physically move back to stop him.

"D-darlin', please, what'cha talkin' about?" "I'm sorry steven-" "Please don't leave us love, please, 'can't do it without you please-"

"Stop it." You'd said firmly, Steven sobbed. You couldn't help but take his hands in yours, ever wanting to comfort him.

"Steven.. I will always love you," "Then why'd you have to leave!?" "Because I can't do this anymore!!"

You were both crying now. "I-i can't take waiting for you to never come home to me anymore, Steven, I can't do it."

Steven's gazed was fixed on the ground, his tears dripping onto the floorboards. You gave his hands one final squeeze, before pulling away.

"I will always love you, all of you, but my heart cannot take it anymore.. goodbye."

The strength with which it took to pull yourself away from Steven should have won you a medal, and you couldn't stop yourself from crying even more as you left him.

That was a month ago- with the help of a few friends you'd found yourself a decently priced flat for rent on the other side of London. Far enough away, you hoped.

It wasn't far enough. Jake had found out where you lived within days of you leaving. He knew it was wrong, but the part of him that didn't care grew and grew into something monstrous. At this stage the other boys weren't saying anything to disapprove of his actions, and so he continued to watch you.

He'd drive circles around your block to relearn your new routine, and you hadn't yet realised it was his cab you kept seeing.

The one person you actually hadn't said goodbye to was Jake- he hadn't fronted when you'd left, and you would always wonder if he was there, just choosing not to show himself. But if he wasn't? He'd have woken up to the discovery that you weren't together anymore and you'd always feel guilty for that.

But... you tried to move on with your life, as best you could.

It felt wrong to start dating again, but your friends had urged you to, even if it was a one night thing.

The guy you'd matched with on bumble was nice enough, smart, good looking- he wasn't them though. While he was polite and friendly during your dinner date, he wasn't your boys.

He'd walked you home, and you'd set up a second date. All things considered it was successful- but you just felt.. wrong about the whole thing. Like you were cheating, even though you weren't.

You'd guessed it wasn't all that successful, as he'd ghosted you a day or so after your date.

It was a week or so later that you'd seen the news report of his body having turned up in the Thames. God how awful! He hadn't ghosted you- the poor guy had been murdered.

Jake had really earned a bollocking off of Steven and Marc for that one, but he knew they were relieved you wouldn't be seeing that man again.

You'd decided to halt the dating game after that, for a while at least.

You were lonely though, there was no denying. Having no one to cuddle up to in bed sucked.

And so.. the logical conclusion was a pet, no?

Eventually, you found a young, ginger tomcat named "Franklin" in a nearby animal shelter and you just fell in love, you brought him home the same day.

He was great, not exactly filling the whole in your heart left by three men but you certainly adored him, and who wouldn't say no to curling up in bed with a cat every evening? Certainly not you.

One day, you'd left work for your lunch break only for the horrifying realisation to hit you: You'd forgot to feed Franklin that morning! You rushed home as fast you could- only to discover that, you had fed him, even when you were sure you hadn't.

And yet there he was, munching on his bowl of kibble.

Something squeaked under your foot- you looked down- oh, it was one of Franklin's toys. You threw it across the room for him to play with but- hang on... you didn't remember buying him that toy.

You shook your head free of thoughts that you were going mad- everyone forgets things, even buying specific cat toys. Or maybe one of your friends had left it when they'd been over- it didn't matter.

You moved to leave your flat and return to work- only to find your door lock jammed.

The locksmith you'd hurriedly called in was able to fix it in a jiffy, though advised that the jam was probably due to a break in, and that you should change your locks.

A chill ran down your spine- you checked and double checked, nothing of value had been stolen, but someone had been in your home! Is that who had fed Franklin? Who'd left him the toy?

You changed the locks, and threw out the strange toy.

Jake couldn't stop watching you. It was becoming more and more of a problem.

He was ignoring Khonshu and actively pushing Marc and Steven out when they tried to front, knowing they'd put and end to his antics.

But none of them could deny that they wanted, needed you back. Jake just considered himself the only one with the balls to get you back.

There was no warmth in his life now that you weren't there. Steven's flat no longer felt like home without your t-shirts in the laundry, or the brand of coffee you love but Marc hates in the cupboards.

He knew he ought to leave his little girl alone, but the fact remained you were his little girl. Jake would stop at nothing to have his bebita back.

Now it was two months since you'd broken up with the system. Life wasn't perfect, but you were chugging along.

You turned the lights on in your flat, yawning. Work was tough today, but it was Friday, and you had some left over popcorn in the cupboard. Film night~!

"Franklin? Baby? Mummy's home~!" You cooed, knowing that he always came bounding up and purring whenever you came home.

But.. he didn't. Your flat was silent. No distant meowing or the jingle of the bell on his collar. Nothing.

"Franklin?" You stepped further into your flat, worry seeping through you.

"Franklin..?!" Your tone became more and more erratic with the realisation that Franklin wasn't home- and then someone had covered your eyes with their hand, and pressed a strange scented cloth to your mouth. You kicked and screamed and struggled but it was no use- the chloroform had knocked you out in seconds.

Jake held you tenderly to his chest as you faded into unconsciousness. Steven had earlier expressed his distaste at this plan, but neither him or Marc said anything now, so close to having you again.

You woke the next day, nauseous and tired. The distant meowing you heard gave you comfort- it had all been a bad dream.

But when you opened your eyes, you were met with the horrifying scene of Steven's flat, not your own. So familiar, in any other situation you would have been glad to be here.

You shifted to sit up, eyes working their way down to notice your ankle tied to the bed with the restraint normally reserved for Steven.

You choked back a sob- a hum ripping your gaze to the other end of the room.

There lay Franklin, enjoying some pets from the man who's lap he laid on.

Jake Lockley stared back at you, you could tell it was him, you could always tell between them.

"Buenos dias, hermosa." His voice was rich like coffee, normally so comforting but now? It sent a shudder down your spine.

"You and I have some things to discuss, sí?"

#jake lockley moonknight #jake lockely x reader #jake lockley #jake lockely x you #jake lockely imagine #jake lockley angst #jake lockley headcanon #moon knight x reader #moon knight #moon knight angst

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hellsburners · 9 months

Text

maybe the night

summary: you miss jake lockley. pairing: jake lockley x male reader word count: 1.5k warnings: 18+ warning, unrpotected s3x, shower s3x, top!jake, l-bombs a/n: sorry for being ia i was very sick (still a bit sick) wanted to post something but i dont have anything finished so i made this to update u guys [still working on your requests i promise!!]

masterlist | more moon knight

Jake comes home after a normal night. Taking in cab passengers gaining new information from the streets of London that Marc can use. He arrives in your shared flat finding you snuggled up in your bed, the blue sheets covering your toes up to your nose.

He sat next to you, removing his leather gloves so he can run his fingers through your hair and touch your warm cheeks. You slept so peacefully, Jake wanted to wrap his arms around you as you two shared the bed but he knew how much you hated it when he slept in with his outside clothes.

Out of the three of them, Jake was the most romantic when it comes to gifts but the least you spent time with. He’s usually out at night, barely saying goodbye, and on the off chance you see each other it’s when you were already preparing for bed, but the moment you wake up there would always be flowers on the kitchen counter.

“–Jake?” you turned, eyes fluttering.

“Shit, sorry for waking you sweets,” he whispered. “Was gonna get ready for bed.”

“Want me to draw you a bath?” you asked.

“No it’s alright, you should go back to sleep,” he said, drawing the sheets back to your shoulders, but you insisted. Jake rolled his eyes but you pouted, come on I can’t go back to sleep easily anyway, you pleaded. After the back and forth he finally gave in.

You made sure the water was a bit hot, his preference, and used a clean-smelling bath bomb. You helped unbutton his white shirt and his tie, his eyes glued to you as you finished the task. Your fingers were cold when they touched his almost feverish skin, Jake shuddered from the contact.

Jake hopped onto the tub sinking into the soapy water. Sat behind the tub as you put shampoo on his hair. You massaged your fingers through his scalp over and over as suds foamed around your fingers. Jake’s eyes rolled back from the calming sensation of your fingers.

“How’s your night?” you asked.

“Tiring,” he said. “Barely any news regarding those disappearances.”

“I heard that the cops don’t have intel on it too,” you said as you scooped water to his hair. “Marc speculates it's those vampire gangs.”

Whenever the two of you talked it was always Steven who said this, Marc said that, never really just about the two of you. Jake knew it was about time he sparked a conversation that didn’t involve the other two—no offense.

“I love it when you use this shampoo on me,” he smiled.

“Why?” you furrowed your brows, he always asked you to use it on him but you had never asked why.

“Cause it smells like you.”

You chuckled under your breath. Jake, always flirting. You felt sad that you haven’t spent that much time lately, but maybe tonight you could have something for yourselves. You rinse his hair free of the suds, his curls clinging onto his forehead. He just lets you wash his hair, Jake took the moment of solemnity and closed his eyes to relax. He was surprised when you left a kiss on his cheek, your warm lips on his face.

You stand to grab a towel before he takes your wrist. He gestured for you to join him, fine, you said. Gently undressing, his eyes gazed all over your nakedness, taking in the sight. He guides you to the tub and the two of you lay down in the water, your back to his chest. His arms wrap around your torso, securing him to you. He places kisses all over your shoulders while his hand traces circles all over your belly.

“Thanks for the bath, sweets,” he whispered in between kisses.

“I figured we don’t usually spend much time with each other,” you said. “I wanted to spend some time with just us.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he said.

You turned around to straddle his thighs. His hands guide your hips under the water. You bent down to kiss him on the lips, his wet curls sticking to your forehead, his mustache tickling your face. Your hands trace his smooth chest, down to his soft belly.

He sits up so your ass is on his sex, slowly hardening underneath your touch. Your hands wrap around his neck to gather some stability, your fingers peering through the hair on his nape. He leaves kisses all over your neck, sucking on the skin lightly. You feel yourself harden under his touch as well, his fingers forming a ring around your sex.

His cock hits the crease in between your ass, achingly hard. You shift your body so that your cocks are parallel to each other. You wrap both your hands around the hardness to form a tightness. You stroke your cocks, water splashing on your torsos.

Your cocks start to leak pre cum from the stroking, your lips glued to each other getting more languid by the second, the room filling with the sounds of moaning and water splashing. Jake’s back started to sore from the porcelain tub.

“I don’t think this tub is built for fucking,” he said. You chuckled in agreement. You two stand when he pulls you toward the shower. He pins you to the tiled wall, turning on the shower in the process. Hot water trickles down his back as he spits on his cock, lubing it in preparation. You turn around to present your hole to him, your hands pressed on the wall with your back arched for him.

He kneels to spit on your ass, tracing his wet fingers on the rim of your hole before he presses the digit inside you. He inserts another to stretch you, his cock was quite girthy so the preparations would help greatly. He stands up and lines his sex to your hole, slowly entering the member into you.

You feel the tightness envelop his girth as his hands clench on your waist, hot water sprinkling on your back before he thrusts forward. You cry from the pressure before he pulls back out and enters you again. His hips moved slowly at first, taking in the feeling of your warm walls on his aching cock.

“You’re so tight, sweets,” he groaned, pushing and pulling on your waist. He lets out curses and sounds of pleasure. He takes his hand to your cock, stroking it in the same rhythm as his hips. You cry out when he hits your sensitive spot, your knees weakening.

“Fuck you’re so good, Jake,” you moan, this arouses him more, quickening his pace. You let out moans from the sudden shift in pace, tears of pleasure forming in your eyes.

“You can take it, sweets, I know you can,” he coos.

He suddenly pulls out, and you gasp from the sudden emptiness. He turns you around to face him, he looks at you, cheeks flushed, and kisses your swollen lips. He takes your thighs and lords you up to the wall, your legs wrapped around him. He continues to thrust into you again, your back rising and falling against the tiled wall.

“Jake—fuck,” you moaned. You take his face so he’s looking up at you, your thumb caressing his cheeks. You kiss him with saliva dripping down the side of your lip. You gasped from his fast pace, his head going to your neck placing hickeys.

“You’re so pretty, sweets,” he moans. His hips slap onto your skin. “So beautiful.”

His hips thrust faster even more, your eyes watering as you cry out. Your nails dig into the skin on his back as he fucks his fill into you. You’d think with the water you’d start to slip, but Jake’s hands on your thighs were gripping tight, steadily holding you as his cock drills into your hole.

“I’m—close,” you gasp.

Jake thrusts a few more, his hips hard-hitting your skin before his cum empties into your hole, his grunts filling the small space. You let out a cry before you cum too, shooting in between your bellies.

He puts you down gently, your legs like jelly. You two kiss as you begin to shower. You helped him lather the soap all over your bodies, he took extra care in cleaning up your behind. After you shower, you get ready for bed. Always taking time for your skincare routine in front of the vanity. Jake was doing his routine thanks to Steven, who made it a rule that skincare is a must no matter who is in control.

“I love you, sweets,” he said, smiling through the mirror. “Like a lot actually, I hope you don’t forget that whenever I’m busy.”

You stood up to hug his back, arms wrapped around his torso. “Of course, I love you too Jake,” you kiss his cheek. “A lot."

interactions are greatly appreciated btw if u liked this fic and want more send me a prompt and i'd gladly make something from it :>

#moon knight x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight x male reader #steven grant x male reader #marc spector x male reader #jake lockley x male reader #moon knight smut #steven grant smut #marc spector smut #jake lockley smut

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8siangemini · 10 months

Text

You Sly Cat Pt 4 (Miles Morales x Black Cat!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Summary: After finding the identity of the great Spider-Man you have been planning your great heist with your father. The night has finally come, the dance and the heist.

WARNINGS: Intense kissing, makeout, hickies

Author’s Note: Hiii pookies!! There is a plan to have either one or two more chapters to You Sly Cat butttt before the finale I hope y’all enjoy this chapter :)

That night you immediately ran home in disbelief and maybe even heartbreak but also shock. You went home with so many confusing emotions. In your head you kept on having the image of Miles and Spider-Man in your head side by side. Those times where you were on top of him, when he pressed against you from the back on your debut, it was all Miles. The image of plain Miles in all of those situations made you feel flustered.

But something about knowing Spider-Man’s identity and knowing that it was someone that you are becoming involved with gave you a thrill.

Throughout the whole week of the dance you were excited and over the moon for Friday. You would be going to the dance with the guy that you like and you would be pulling one of the most important heists in your family.

Today was Thursday and you had no school tomorrow due to the dance being tomorrow night. You were currently in your studio art class with Miles sitting next to you with your guys’ easels in front of you. After the teacher gave you instructions everyone went to work and began painting. It was sort of a free day so you were allowed to paint what you wished.

You knew what you were going to paint, who you were going to paint. You pushed out black and red paints and began to paint the person next to you. Just in a different alias.

As you began painting you see that in the corner of your eye you see Miles painting while keeping an eye on you. You look back at your painting with a smirk.

“May I help you Miles?” You ask as you look over at him with a smile.

“Nah I just can’t wait to see you tomorrow night.” He answers.

He smiles at you as a small blush comes to your face. He has been making you more flustered recently due to your discovery last Friday. You could not get the image of him, Miles, pinning you down and being so close to your neck like how he was just last Monday.

He leans closer to your easel to see an outline of black paint of a person in an acrobatic swinging pose. It was a rough outline but he knew who you were painting.

“Whatcu paintin’?” He asks.

Your hand continues to smooth the brush on the canvas as you fill in the figure with black paint.

“Brooklyn’s knight in shining armor.” You answer without taking your eyes off of the painting.

You knew what you were doing. You were going to press his buttons about him without him even knowing.

“O-oh,” Miles says as he goes back to his painting. “Spider-Man huh? Great guy!”

“Hmm I guess so.” You shrug off. Now you have Miles’ attention.

He looks at you with shock and confusion. In your head you knew you were being devious.

“He’s just… an amateur,” In the corner of your eye you see Miles looking at you in shock as his paintbrush in hand stays still against the canvas.

“An amateur?” Miles scoffs. “He’s been Spider-Man for like over a year now. What is he an amateur in?”

You knew how to press his buttons now.

“In acrobatics, like I was doing stuff like that when I was seven.” You scoff.

At the corner of your eye you see Miles looking at you, waiting for you to continue. He was fuming, fuming that the girl he likes made fun of him without realizing it. But in reality you did know. It may be messed up but the way you were playing aand teasing about his alias was fun to you.

“But,” Miles’ expression changes to hope. “I do have to say he is smooth with it.” You set your hands on your thighs with a smiles as you look at your painting.

“What do you mean?” Miles continues painting. “You say he’s an amatuer but then you say he’s smooth.”

“Even though he is an amatuer in his ability he makes it up with his style.” You begin to explain. “Let’s say he was a fighter with his same abilities but without his playful nature, he would be so boring. So I have to give that to him.”

Miles finally takes his eyes off of you and looks at his painting with a smirk he tried his hardest to hide, but couldn’t.

The rest of class went off in silence as you listened to music. The bell finally rang and you put away your supplies in the designated spots in the classroom. As you pack your bag you feel a large hand gently place itself on your upper arm.

You look up and smile seeing that it is Miles. He was so close to you it almost felt like he was towering over you.

“See you tomorrow chica linda. (pretty girl)” Miles smirked.

He planted a kiss on your cheek and you happily smiled as his nose slightly tickled your cheekbone. This sort of public affection, the small touches, the nicknames, you loved it. The way Miles made you feel like you were his and he was yours made you happy. But you would be happier if you two actually made it offical.

You pat his chest and fix his tie slightly until you bring your hand up to his chin and carressed it slightly. He began to blush profusely, this being the first time you are showing PDA.

“Better be ready handsome.” You say before planting a small kiss on his cheek.

You pull away and laugh as you see a small print of brown lip liner and lip gloss on his cheek. Before he could do anything you pulled away from him and walked out of the class.

——

Miles waited anxiously in front of your door with his parents behind him. He was appauled by your big grand house spanning about a whole block and beautiful folliage. He was slightly scared and intimidated by your home alone.

“Do I look fine?” He heard his father ask his mom behind him.

“Bigger question is do I look fine? She’s my date.” Miles said nervously.

“You look handsome mi hijo.” Rio says as she places a kiss on Miles’ cheek which made him feel slightly better.

But he was soon frightened by who he saw through the double doors that were opened by your doorman. Your father stood in the center of the clear marble floor with a pair of staircases going down both of his sides.

They all walked into the cold and clean home with a shining chandelier on the ceiling. Miles walked up to your father as he trembled slightly. Miles reached his hand out and your father shook his hand.

“Hello Mr. (L/n). I’m Miles Morales.” Miles stook to the script that his dad made him practice with him to meet your father.

“Ahh the lucky man.” Your father commented with a smile.

Your father then looked at Miles’ parents.

“This is my dad-“

“Officer Jefferson.” Your father interrupted. Jeff looked at your father in shock as they shook hands. He then looks at Rio and shakes her hand. “You must be Rio.”

Both of them were surprised that he knew of them.

“(Y/n) could not stop talking about you guys.” Your father said with a smile.

“Dad!” You say embarresly.

You finally looked down and meet eye with Miles. Miles wore a beautiful and clean all white suit with a simple black tie. He looked handsome as he looked up at you. Miles felt as if he was looking up at a goddess. The way you made the simple yet elegant black dress look so graceful with black Louboutins heels and long tight black velvet gloves with silver chrome nails that looked like claws.

You walked down the stairs as Miles looked at you in awe. He walked towards the bottom of the stairs almost like a robot and held his hand up for you. You reached for his hand and he helped you the rest of the way down the stairs.

You came to Miles’ side while your hand was still in his. You then lean into his ear.

“Hello don’t you look handsome.” You whisper.

You look at Miles with a smile and he looks at you up and down and smile too.

“Well look at you hermosa (beautiful).” He compliments and you begin to blush as you smile.

——

You and Miles walked into the museum and the main lobby was decorated with elegant crystal chandeliers and hanging jewels. Music was playing and a few students stood around talking to their friends before the dance actually started.

But it seemed that had all changed when you and Miles walked in. It was like time had stopped and everyone now had their eyes on you two. You and Miles walking in with you arms linked together.

“Everyone is staring.” Miles whispered to you as you guided him to try and find Roxie. “What if they think of stuff, what if they start talkin-“

“Miles,” You stop and you two meet eyes while still having arms linked together. “Let them stare.”

You smirk and Miles’ worry melted away.

——

You were overjoyed at how the night was going. You were dancing till your feet hurt and your face hurt by the amount of you smiling. And what made it better was that yourhand was in Miles’ the whole night.

The music died down from upbeat and turned into a slow song, a romantic song, Perfect by Ed Sheeran. Your heart began to race but then you felt a tug on your hand. Miles pulled you into his chest and placed his hands on your waist. Your hands made its way to his neck and you rubbed it slightly as you two swayed back and forth.

Your eyes stared into each other, getting lost in each others. You two were so close you could feel Miles’ heartbeat against your chest. All you could do was smile at Miles and his smile matched yours.

As the song began to end you finally got the light signal as you peeked out the window behind Miles’ shoulder. It was now or never. Just as the song ended you gave a quick kiss on Miles’ cheek.

“I need to go to the restroom real quick.” And before Miles could answer you went out of one of the exits.

You followed the route your father planned out for you and the whole heist was as easy as child’s play. You finally made it to the door of the Delvadian Spider. It was a large sliding door but there was a flat dial lock in the center. You crouched down to it and pressed your ear against it as you turned the dial.

Click. Click. Click.

You were in. The door slid into the wall and across the room stood the display. The Delvadian Spider.

The gold idol shined in the moonlight as it was displayed in the glass. A round oval shaped gold spider with rubies and sapphires on it. Your family’s next biggest heist. Behind it was a window that you had just carved out a circle with your clawed glove.

The setup and security was pathetic. As security knew that it was only teenagers coming into the museum at this time there was no security besides the cameras. Which you father has altered by this point as he sat in the car down the street waiting for the prize to come out of the window.

You touched your gloved hand to the glass and pressed your index nail firmly on the glass. You scratched a circle on the glass and and pushed the glass into the display. Your heart raced and pounded as you touched the idol. Just then the fangs of the spider clamped down on your hand and piecered your hand through the glove.

“Fucking a.” You muttered as you grasped the spider but yanked it out of the glass case suddenly.

You looked around nervously, hoping that a signal or alarm won’t go off. None did.

You all of a sudden felt like you could hear everyone in the building. Your face began to feel hot but somehow not like how it felt when you were sick. Your sense of smell also became more lively. Your head began to ring profusely too.

“(Y/n)?” You snap your head towards the door in fear but see none other the your date. Miles looked at you with confusion but also heartbreak.

“Shit.” You mutter underneath your breath.

“W-what are you doing?” He asks as he takes a few steps towards you.

As he tries to walk towards you you put your hand up while the other stayed on the Delvadian Spider. Miles stops in his tracks and puts his hands to his sides with his chest high. His eyes went from you to the relic and then back and forth. He was piecing it together and after a couple of seconds he finally understood. The hair, your mouth, your touch, it was all so familiar. Familiar from those nights where you two had interactions, fights, flirts. He was hurt and you knew it.

“You lied to me, Black Cat.” Miles spoke with his chest. Your eyes narrowed as a smirk came to your face.

“Now come on darling. I know that I am not the only one keeping secrets, Spider-Man.” You say with a wide smirk.

Black Cat was coming out.

Miles’ eyes widen as you two stand across the empty moonlit room, just you two. You walk up to him as your heels clicked against the marble floor with the relic in your hand. You came up to him and lifted your free hand up to his chin as you two were eye to eye with one another. With or without the masks he was Spider-Man and you were Black Cat. A smirk came to your face as you gloved nails caressed his chin gently.

“Miles, you were drawn to me as a civilian because I was seen as untouchable. Correct?”

He does not respond but the way his shoulders fell as ease gave you an answer. You looked down at his chest and your hand traveled down from his chin, to his neck, to rest at his chest.

“And Spider-Man, you were drawn to Black Cat because of her cunningness and confidence. Correct?”

Miles did not respond again but you did not need him to. You began circling around him slowly as your dress trailed behind you. Your hand stayed up near his neck and placed itself on the nape of it as you plant yourself in front of him again. You two were close, you were chest to chest close like how you were when you two danced. Your heartbeats beat against each other.

“Well Miles, with me you get both.” You look at his eyes and then his lips and he looks at your eyes and lips too. “Not many have noticed but both me and Black Cat are both untouchable in ways. I cannot be touched due to my status and Black Cat cannot be touched due to her reputation.” You begin to explain as Miles comes closer, if that was even possible. “We are both confident. Black Cat is confident in her abilities and decisions and I am confident in my being.”

Miles hands come up to your waist and pulls your waist closer to him until there is no space between you two.

“Then let me tell you about me and Spider-Man.” Miles whispers. “I am clumsy lucky mother fucker that somehow bagged the golden girl.” Miles says as he looks at you up and down. You let out a small laugh and Miles returns it. Miles then meets back to your eyes.

“And Spider-Man is the knight in shining armor of Brooklyn that has been entranced by Brooklyn’s top rising villain.” One of Miles’ fingers begins to trace up and down at your spin. Miles stares at you as you shiver underneath his touch. A smirk covers your face as you stare at Miles’ lips then his eyes.

“So tell me Miles,” Your lips are just a couple inches away. You two switch between from looking at each other’s eyes to each other’s lips. “Are you willing to dance with an angel and the devil?”

Miles tilts his head to the side slightly and you follow suit. Both of your guys’ eyes narrow as your lips get closer. A smirk comes to Miles’ face.

“You’re gonna be the death of me.” He whispers with a smirk against your lips.

“Then I promise I’ll bring you to heaven and hell.” You respond with a smirk.

Miles’ lips finally crash into yours. You smirked into the kiss and kissed back. It was slow and smooth until you opened your mouth and his tongue darts in. That is when everything became hot and fast. Your hands began to wonder around his neck and his chest and his hands gripped your hips and waist tightly and he pressed himself against you.

You head began to ring so profusely and your heartbeats began intense with Miles. Almost like you and Miles were syncing up to the same breath and heartbeat. Everything began to go so fast. Miles wrapped his arms completely around your waist and your arms wrapped around his neck as you fingers tug at his coils slightly. You both leaned into each other, still trying to fight for dominance.

Grunts and groans mixed into the kiss as you two turned your heads back and forth. One of Miles’ hands make it to the back of your neck and his lips slowly lowered down to your neck. Back to where they were last Monday but they finally connected to your neck with deep wet kisses. Miles’ tongue escapes his mouth and begins sucking and nipping at your neck. Your eyes slowly fall shut and your mouth opens as gasps escape your lips.

And you knew for a fact that Miles would be leaving this room with part of your burgundy lipstick smirred on his lips and you would be leaving with a hickey on your neck.

But what Miles forgot was that he was still Spider-Man and you were still Black Cat. And in the middle of the kiss Black Cat had thrown out the Delvadian Spider out of the open window for her father to find and run off with.

Taglist

@sakura-onesan @potato-studez-hungryformore @midnight-fairee @nightshxdex @nana-luvsyu @sukisprettyface @itszzmoon @gabiilyyy @kaisersloyalservant @horologiumwise @heyitsissyx @hana-1235 @capybaraisa @solecitoszn @silly-norman @bassdafox @brittney69 @tammyslove @laylasbunbunny @earth2auka @irizss @cosmiic-7 @ella34435

#miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #spider man across the spider verse #spider man #spiderman #miles morales #across the spiderverse #into the spider verse #miles morales x black cat! reader

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storiesforallfandoms · 11 months

Text

how things are now ~ marc spector & steven grant;moon knight

word count: 2436

request?: yes!

“Hi hi hi sweetness!! I am here to humbly request a Marc Spector and Steven Grant x reader. The basis of it is kinda just what life is like after the finale. We saw how Marc was towards Stevens feelings for Layla and I kinda wanted that. The reader (Marc’s wife) starting a conversation with Marc about how things are now then going into how it works with Steven and all three of them talking about it. Fluffy asf please with maybe a steamy ending. Thank you so so very much🤍”

description: now that they’ve learned how to share the body, they must come to terms with the fact that they also have to share their wife

pairing: marc spector x female!reader x steven grant

warnings: swearing, a small sad moment but only small, the boys are fighting again

masterlist (one, two, three)

Meeting Steven Grant, the second personality that lived in your husband’s head, was one of the many surprises you learned about Marc after his time working for the God Khonshu. It was probably the better of all the other surprises, but still a surprise nonetheless. It was also a surprise that came with some complications in the marriage that you knew needed to be addressed.

See, Marc and Steven had figured out a way to evenly share “the body” and to get along with one another, until it came to wanting to spend time with you. Marc loved you to the moon and back and was relieved that everything with Khonshu had ended so that he could finally be with you without the fear of putting you in danger. However, Steven had also grown very fond of you. He was over the moon to find out that “both he and Marc had such a lovely wife” (his words). You’d be lying if you said you didn’t also love Steven as much as you loved Marc.

With that being said, this was where the complications lie: Steven kept trying to take hold of the body over Marc whenever you were with him. Despite having figured out a way to peacefully co-inhabit the body, Marc felt like he was back to struggling for control of himself because of how often Steven tried to take over so he could be with you.

You couldn’t fully blame Steven, though, as Marc had openly voiced his jealousy towards you and Steven, to a point where he wanted to deny Steven any time with you and wanted you all to himself.

You let this go on for a few weeks before you decided it was time to put an end to it. You were going to lay down the ground rules of this new way your marriage was going to work, and if the men didn’t like that, then that was too bad.

You arrived home from work to find Marc hunched over his laptop. You had come to learn which one of them had control of the body due to their body language: standing wise, Marc had the better posture and held himself with more confidence than Steven, but when they were sitting Marc tended to hunch or basically lay across wherever he was sitting.

He looked up at you and smiled.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “How was your day?”

“Oh, you know, same old same old,” you responded. “Dealt with shitty people who don’t know what manners are, restrained myself from slapping said stupid people because an assault charge really isn’t worth it.”

Marc chuckled and pulled you into his arms as you sat down next to him. He leaned down to kiss you. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, feeling the familiar warmth running through your body that Marc’s presence usually brought.

You pulled away from the kiss to look up into his eyes. You could see that it was still Marc in control, so you decided to just get to the point.

“I want to talk to you about something,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Depends on how you take what I’m gonna say.” You pulled away from his embrace and took his hands in yours. You smoothed down his calloused knuckles with your thumbs as your gaze stayed on your joined hands. “I want to talk about Steven.”

You could feel him tense up beside you. “Why?”

“Marc, we can’t just keep acting like everything is the same now,” you said. “Besides the obvious that my husband was the hitman for an Egyptian God and apparently is a superhero now, there’s also a new person that’s been introduced in our marriage.”

“He’s not involved in our marriage.”

You finally looked up at him so that you could give him a stern look. His face was twisted in annoyance.

“You can say that all you want, but the truth is, Steven is just as involved as you and me,” you said. “You love me, I love you. But we both know that Steven also loves me, and I love him, too. I love you both equally.”

“He’s a fucking parasite,” Marc growled, tugging his hands free from you so he could stand.

“Marc!” you scolded. “Don’t you dare say that. We both know that’s not how you feel.”

“It’s how I feel when that fucker is getting between me and my wife. You’ve been my wife for longer, (Y/N). It’s not fair for him to come along and think he can just wedge his way into something he was never involved in before just because he and I have finally figured out how to share the body.”

You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. You were starting to realize this was probably a bad idea. There was obviously no getting through to Marc about the issue, and you were certain now that he wasn’t about to happily follow along with the ground rules you were trying to set. The last thing you wanted was to continue on like this in your marriage, but you really weren’t sure what else to do anymore.

“Is he upsetting you, love?”

You looked up to see Marc’s entire demeanor had changed. Anyone who didn’t know Marc well enough probably wouldn’t pick up on it, but you had come to learn the tells between Marc and Steven so well that even the slightest of change tipped you off as to who was in control. You knew your angry husband had been forced back into the body, replaced with the kindhearted Brit who also resided in Marc’s head.

“Steven, now really is not a good time for you to take over,” you said. “We’re kind of...discussing you.”

“Oh, I heard,” Steve said. “I also heard that he wasn’t listening and was just making you upset.”

“Steven, give me back the body right now. This doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“I believe this has everything to do with me, since it’s literally about me.”

“This is between me and my wife, Steven. Regardless of who we’re talking about, you’re not part of the conversation.”

“We share a body, Marc, she’s not just your wife anymore.”

“Will both of you shut the fuck up!”

He looked at you so startled that you weren’t sure which of them currently had control of the body. Not that you even really cared at that moment. You were tired of the fighting. You were finally taking this moment to say what was on your mind, which was what you had been trying to do since you had gotten home. They were going to listen, whether they liked it or not, and they were going to accept your terms.

You stood from the couch and approached whichever one of them had control. You took his hand and looked up into his eyes, searching to figure out which of the two personalities was there. He squeezed your hand a little as you recognized that Steven was the one still in control.

“Steven,” you started. He nodded, confirming what you already knew. “I need you to listen to me, okay? And once I’m done talking, I need you to give me Marc back for a little while?”

He nodded again. You brought him back to the couch and sat him down. Steven looked at you with wide, attentive eyes; the brown eyes that you had fallen in love with all those years ago when you first met Marc. That was one thing that you wished Marc could understand about the new dynamic of your marriage including Steven - the fact that you were basically getting to fall in love with your husband for the first time all over again.

“Marc, I know you’re listening,” you started. “But I need you to also control yourself so I can talk to Steven, okay?” You didn’t wait for a response you knew you weren’t going to get. “Steven, I love you.”

He couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at his lips. “I love you, too, (Y/N).”

“But you understand that I love Marc, too, right? He was my husband first, before I met you. He was my first real love. He’s special to me in a different way.”

Steven nodded. “I know. I understand that. I could never dream of you feeling any other way for him.”

“You say you understand, but you do tend to block Marc and I from spending time together. Case in point, you taking over just then in the middle of our conversation.”

“You were fighting - ”

“We weren’t fighting, we were talking. Even if we were fighting, though, that happens sometimes. Couples argue. It’s normal. You don’t always have to come to my rescue if Marc and I are fighting. And it’s not just when we’re fighting. You take control a lot when we’re trying to spend time together, on date nights especially. I understand that you love me, and that you want to get to spend time with me, too, but Marc did come first. You have to let him have his time with me, too. Okay?”

Steven nodded, looking down at his lap. You reached out to put a finger under his chin, lifting his head to look at you. You gave him a soft smile. “Don’t be upset. I do love the time we spend together.”

Steven smiled, shyly. You leaned forward to kiss him. He seemed shocked at first, which was when you realized it was the first time you had really kissed Steven. All the time you had spent together, all the date nights and lazy Sundays he had hijacked, and you had never truly kissed him before. It almost didn’t seem right for this to be the first time.

You could feel his hand twitch as you kissed. You kept a firm hold of it, knowing it was likely Marc trying to intervene, or trying to hit Steven for kissing you. When you pulled away, Steven pouted, which caused you to giggle.

“We had a deal,” you reminded him. “Can I speak to my husband please?”

Steven sighed, but didn’t put up a fight. You watched his demeanor change as Marc took control again. His pouty face turned to a scowl and he quickly pulled his hands away from you as he fully regained control. You rolled your eyes. Yep, there was your husband alright.

“That was kind of you,” his said. “To give him that speech and to kiss him like that. Wasn’t shitty at all to have to witness another man kissing my wife.”

“Marc,” you said in a warning voice. “We’re talking about this, too.”

“What else is there to talk about? You love Steven. I already knew that. Big fucking deal.”

“But I love you, too. Did you miss that part? The whole giant chunk of conversation where I told Steven that he has to understand that our relationship comes first to me?”

“I heard you tell him you love spending time with him, and that he has to share you. I’m not sharing you, (Y/N), so don’t even think about asking.”

“We don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, Marc. Whether you like it or not, you’re not the only one who has control of your body. You can’t just shove Steven down inside of you and never let him out again.”

“Worked for me once, didn’t it?”

You grabbed his face and forced him to look at you. You could see he was trying to seem angry, but there was something in his eyes that gave him away; sadness.

“Baby, you know heard what I said to Steven,” you said. “I love you. You. I love Steven, too, but you were in my heart first. You’re the man I married, not Steven. Why are you so worried about my feelings for him so much? I can love you both equally, and I do.”

Being forced to look at you and finally being asked the question he dreaded the most caused tears to start to form in Marc’s eyes. You don’t think you had ever seen him cry in years. The last time was probably when you both got married. You could remember his misty eyes as you walked down the aisle that day, but that was the only time you could remember seeing him cry. It took you by surprise to see him getting so emotional over this.

“What if you start to love him more than you love me?” he asked, his voice soft. “What if you realize he’s better than I am?”

“I won’t, because that’s not true.”

Marc laughed, humorlessly. “Isn’t it? I mean, he’s nicer for sure. A little annoying, but people like him. He’s not abrasive or aggressive like I am. He’s the type of guy a woman like you was supposed to end up with, not an asshole like me.”

You took his hand in yours and gave it a slight squeeze. “And yet you’re the one I fell in love with. You’re the one I married. And you’re the one I intend to spend the rest of my life with, whether Steven is in the picture or not. You can be a bit of an asshole, I’m not going to deny that - ” His chuckle had some humor behind it this time. “ - but I love that about you. I love that you are you. I’m not going to end our marriage because of a nice guy with a cute accent. I mean, I’m here trying to negotiate that the three of us have equal standing in this marriage, for God’s sake. Would I be doing that if I loved Steven more than I loved you?”

Marc shook his head. “I guess not.”

You leaned forward to kiss him, too. Just as much love and passion exploded from your kiss with Marc as it did with Steven. If you needed any further evidence that you loved them both equally, that was it.

You rested your forehead against his and looked into his eyes. Those eyes, you loved them more than you could’ve ever loved anything else.

“He doesn’t get to have the best part with you, though,” Marc said.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “The best part?”

You screamed in surprise as Marc suddenly lifted you off your feet and carried you off to the bedroom. “The part where we both get naked and I get to feel you all over. That’s not his, that part is mine.”

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bonbon-bonny · 3 months

Text

I don't usually write a whole lot but I wanted to talk about this for a moment

Ahem. *flips through notes*

So I loooove Sailor Moon. Specifically the 90s version. It was my favorite show growing up. My home life was difficult and to see someone like Usagi with a perfect family, a perfect boyfriend etc. getting to live her best life despite the fact she herself wasn't perfect was too easy to become a bit obsessive over ^_^;

well, let's just say I wanted to be Usagi just a bit too much because my world, my family (Side note: I looove my family! They did the best they could to take care of me growing up, but we had to deal with an unusual circumstance that made it hard for all of us), heck just even being myself didn't feel good enough and frankly it left me having to confront a lot of issues just to be okay with who I am now.

And of course ,naturally, I looooved Tuxedo Kamen XD. On the outside to me, he seemed perfect; a knight in shining armor.

But I always kept running into a particular conversation which is "why do you like him so much tho? He seems like a jerk. He seems so different from her. He never shows her affection. She'd be better off with someone like Seiya who's more on her level. He's useless. He's bad for trying to help her because she's a girl boss and doesn't need to be rescued." Like, seriously the amount of criticism I've heard towards this character is wild and he literally gets attacked no matter what he does.

And you know I get it. If you just look at it from a surface level it's easy to maybe get that impression of him but after one particular conversation I was having with a friend of mine about it I stopped and asked myself why. Why does she like him? why does he like her? how can two people who outwardly look so different from each other ever be in a healthy relationship? what could the two of them possibly have in common?

So I did what I do best and I watched the show I grew up with carefully. I observed him. I watched the things he said and did. And in the end I reached several conclusions.

Mamoru isn't perfect, at least in the beginning, but he's always trying to do his best to be. With almost anyone else in the show he's usually calm, collected and somewhat reserved. The only person besides Motoki he seems to act out a bit with if you can call it that IS Usagi and half of the time it's not even that he's actually being mean.

[IF you watch the Japanese version with subtitles, because in the English dub? Ooph! they changed so much of his dialogue and gave him such a smirky voice it's hard to listen to him without wanting to punch him in the face imo.]

It's that the way she perceives him is off. Also, sometimes it's not even HIM that starts the arguments.

Sometimes SHE'S the one who starts their spats and he snaps back at her. Sometimes she hits him with shoes and papers and doesn't seem to care.

One episode that comes to mind is the Dreamland episode where the toy train stops and she rams into him. All he did was look at her and say hi and immediately she got defensive and started making fun of him.

Making fun of an orphan sitting on a toy train who most likely was just trying to do something fun that he never got to because he didn't HAVE a family to take him as a kid.

Seriously. If you were to be in his place, going through this world, it's rather scary, stressful, terrifying, and uncertain.

He didn't get a magical talking cat to walk him through his powers. Instead he got seizures and psychic visions, and a past life version of himself that took over his body without consent until he finally got the rainbow crystal and understood what was happening around him.

He gets amnesia not once but twice, kidnapped several times, and gets trapped in his own mind twice ala brainwashing by beryl and Nehelenia and by stars I wouldn't be surprised if half of the reason he went to study abroad instead of staying with Usagi is because he was afraid if he did he'd only continue to be a burden for her, because the man hardly has any dialogue and seems almost catatonic.

Also let's be real here. As amazing as it was for him to meet and talk with his future self it probably scared him. The responsibility of literally being King of the world, of making decisions that could impact the lives of everyone in tremendous ways. Of being the kind of partner and provider he thinks Usagi deserves or being a good father for Chibi-Usa when he didn't get to have parents to show him what those things looked like.

He didn't get a loving family to support him or tell him that they loved him, he was an orphan who probably hoped someone would eventually rescue him but no one ever did.

He probably feels in his heart that he doesn't deserve to be loved by anyone, and even if someone were to pursue him romantically he probably couldn't reciprocate in any meaningful way because he's most likely too closed off emotionally to be in a healthy relationship with anyone.

Heck the guy only for the most part has only two best friends. Motoki and Saori and frankly I'd hardly even call Saori a best friend since she literally just shows up in an episode in Super S as "Romantic competition" for Usagi and then just ups and vanishes and is never mentioned ever ever again.

So how does someone like him see Usagi and wind up constantly sacrificing his life over and over again for her?

Three words:

She. Sees. Him.

Once she starts to look at him a bit differently instead of seeing him as some tall guy running around with his stupid green jacket with his prickly personality, once she realizes that it was him trying to rescue her when she was so close to the brink of death on occasions and getting injured in the process, once he opens up to her about his struggles she sees him. Not just because he's a hero, but because even if it's hard for him he still tries to help her. A lot of times he even gives her really sound advice that she winds up listening to even if at the time he tells her she doesn't seem to understand him and takes it the wrong way.

He probably also deep down worries that he truly doesn't deserve someone like her.

Even if we don't always see it from the outside he adores Usagi because she sees him for who he is and doesn't ask him to be more outgoing or different.

Usagi adores him because he doesn't ask her to be anything other than who she really is.

Both of them accept the other as they truly are inside. THAT is true love.

You don't really get the chance to see what their relationship looks like from the outside. But he smiles a lot when he's with her which is certainly not something he really ever did with Rei or anyone else from what I could tell. And I bet when he does take her out on dates he's embarrassed and flustered and stumbles but he also probably takes off his mask and tries to make her happy and have a good time.

Also I'd like to add some notes on King Endymion and the violet. Why so much violet? Like....an overwhelming amount of violet XD I never understood why when I was younger but as I've grown up I've spent some time delving into subjects such as Psychology, Spirituality, and Philosophy.

Ladies and gentlemen, Violet is the color of the crown chakra.

https://www.chakras.info/crown-chakra/

Crown chakras deal with the mental and the spiritual. They are a gateway to enlightenment and in my opinion perhaps one could even say that the journey of mental health and enlightenment are two sides of the same coin.

So I'd like to think that for as much as Mamoru might struggle with his mental health, he also walked the path towards true enlightenment. Such a man truly should be King of the World and is more than deserving of being Usagi's partner.

And I'd die for a relationship with a man who is brave enough to confront the things which makes him suffer because I'd know that he'd have the clarity of mind to be a good partner, to treat me with kindness and compassion and show me the kind of love I've always dreamed of having, and that's something only someone who has love for themselves and others could ever possibly be able to give. He doesn't need to be perfect, because perfection is unattainable. He just needs to be brave enough to try even if it makes him deeply uncomfortable at times.

So,

To the men who truly and deeply identify with Mamoru, know I'd marry you in a heartbeat if you asked. That if you showered me in chocolate and flowers I'd do the exact same thing for you because you deserve it. Anyone who is brave enough to do the work necessary to heal and grow, to have kindness and compassion for others, to show me that even if I'm not perfect that it's still okay to be myself around you deserves every happiness in the world.

Not everyone is brave enough to do such a thing and I've come to a point in my life where I'm not interested in what someone can give me externally as much as I am in the kind of person they choose to be and what their values are.

Maybe some people might look at someone like Mamoru and judge him, but Usagi most certainly never would once she got to know him; and considering I've always wanted to be her I'll die on this hill defending him. Out of everyone, Usagi WOULD defend him from the judgement, from the criticism, of the need to be perfect and wear masks, or be something other than what he truly is on the inside.

Mamoru is more than just a knight in shining armor,

He's beautiful imperfection; and I'd choose that over anything else any day.

@heavyheartedprinceofearth

#sailor moon #heavyheartedprinceofearth #tuxedo kamen #mamoru chiba #usagi tsukino #prettyguardiansailormoon #usagi x mamoru #mamoru x usagi #tuxedo mask

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dollfaced-erin · 9 months

Note

do you mean like requested scenarios in dragon's cradle? i do have one in mind though

cuz i was thinking what if dan jia (yes we going for the past setting) who likes to make use of her tail at it's fullest like poking someone, waving, comforting someone but instead of a back rub using hands, she uses her tail, it's like a third arm without fingers lmao

like imagine seeing the high cloud quintet finally coming home after a long arduous battle with the denizens of abundance and she just ran to dan feng for a hug after seeing him safe and sound but with the addition of her tail also wrapping around him so it's an extra tight hug i think it's just so cute 🥺

though if you do have other plans or dislike this idea you can just ignore this no pressure

sure !! i can do this one !! i dont mind if you want to use the past setting, i can always change dan jia's name to (y/n) because its a scenario, not part of the original plot. plus, it makes it more comfortable for readers !!

This honestly is very interesting for me to read ! Thank you for the suggestion anon !!

So lets get on with it !!

Taglist ! : -

@rebeccawinters , @nayukiyukihira , @pix-stuff , @fluffy-koalala , @swivy123 , @starxao , @kaoyamamegami , @kimura-uzuri , @rsvye , @seikouryuu , @just-here-reading

Reminder ! This is set in the past setting ! But instead of using Dan Jia, I would be using (Y/n) as an easier way for you to immerse yourselves ! I would also be renaming Blade to Yingxing ! But if you want me to change that, i can do that too !

Like Dan Feng, (Y/n) does have her tail which she keeps hidden. but from time to time, she does let it out for funsies ! It was a pretty blue color, like the color of her horns on her head and the fur is the same (h/c) color ! But she prefers to keep it hidden because its hard for her to sit down, and walk without realizing the presence of the darn extra limb. It even drapes to the floor !

Poor (Y/n)'s always so worried when the High Cloud Quintet go out to fight against the Denizens of Abundance. And as she is a healer, she is required to stay back and help with the numerous Cloud Knights that had retreated to seek medical attention from her.

Her worries usually intensifies whenever Jing Yuan comes back from battle, looking horribly injured and scratched up, bleeding here and there. Even for a general, he can still fall in battle, and that worries her alot ! She would push him to lay down on the stretchers she had prepared on the ground as she goes get some ointment.

But when she returns, he lays there perfectly fine, his hands behind his head and that playful and lazy ass smirk on his face. Jing Yuan would tell her the wounds were fake, even getting up and stretching to show her. (Y/n) would grip at her qi pao, trying to contain her anger, with a kind smile on her face when she was seething inside. Though she can hide her emotions from her face, her tail would pop out and give him a good smack in the side to show her annoyance.

Of course, Jing Yuan would merely laugh and apologize to her.

In a similar situation, Dan Feng would return to the battle unscathed. He didn't want to worry his sister unlike that jerk Jing Yuan who loved teasing (Y/n). After a long and arduous battle against the Denizens of Abundance, there was nothing more relaxing then just spending the night, staring at the moon.

Dan Feng would bring (Y/n) along, holding her hand tenderly as he lead her up the grassy hills, finding the perfect spot to admire the moon in silence while the others were wasting themselves away with alcohol. He loved that (Y/n) shared the same interest of watching the moon in silence, as they pointed out constellations of the stars.

They would then begin to talk while sitting up, to remove the sleepiness. It wasn't always that they had time like this, since Dan Feng is a High Elder and is always on the battlefield, while (Y/n) is in the backlines, healing the casualties of war. And as he told her he missed these peaceful and tranquil moments between siblings, he couldn't help but tear up.

(Y/n) would of course be saddened too. This was all stressful for the two of them. Since birth they have been burdened with heavy responsibilities, there was little to no time they had to spend on themselves. It was understandable why Dan Feng would breakdown from time to time.

Her little hands would hold his larger and calloused own, while her tail would gently wipe away Dan Feng's tears and rub at his back, earning a soft giggle from the latter.

During days when he wasn't at war, Yingxing would stay by the fire of the furnace he had installed is his home. He was indeed adept at creating weapons of war, sacrificing day and night as he shaped the weapons tirelessly. He never complained, but rather found his passion in creating such arts.

But whenever he wanted to take it easy, Yingxing would resort to making little things he adored. And that was beautiful little glass art or making accessories out of crystals. He always found them to be beautiful whenever they would shine like rainbows when hit with light from certain angles.

Once, he had invited (Y/n) out to hangout, Yingxing brought a little surprise with him. As she walked out of her home, he held her hand tenderly as he brought her to a beautiful lake, beneath the moonlight. And he surprised her with a bouquet of glass flowers that shone beautifully beneath the soft gaze of the moon, shining in different color.

(Y/n) eyes would immediately widen as she took the bouquet carefully in her hands, as if they were as fragile as glass (which they were, by the way), and set them aside tenderly. Then she would wrap her arms around the short-lived mortal tightly in her arms.

Yingxing would laugh as he looked down at the smaller dragon woman in his arms, wrapping his arms around her form. His aging grey hair began to cascade to the front of his face, obstructing his vision a little.

But Yingxing would closed his eyes and held the dragon lady close in his arms, chuckling, loving the warmth she exuded. The addition to the tail that slithered around his form wrapping him tighter to his beloved.

Outside of war and training, even Jingliu had a life of her own. She was a much more laxed individual. Some would even say she was too relaxed. She would stroll the streets, going on shopping sprees every so often, go cafe hunting, and trying out food. Of course, she would drag along the little princess of the Vidyadhara clan with her.

Jingliu loved bringing her to walk around the Exalting Sanctum. especially when there was a hot sale for dresses and shoes. Every time there was a new opening, or a new sale, Jingliu would be the first out of the five of them to pay a visit with beaming eyes and a large dreamy smile on her lips. She was the trendiest out of all of them, like, even her battle dresses are so elegant !

During the weekends, vendors would open up little stalls around the plaza and leading all around the area, lighting them up with friendly paper lanterns. Children would run around happily and couples would walk around, filling the night market with chatter and laughter, bringing warmth all around. And Jingliu loved bringing (Y/n) around every time they could, just for a little relaxation.

She was relieved that the uptight Imbibator Lunae would allow his little sister to go out for fun with her friend every once in a while, with the same old condition. Never let (Y/n) out of sight. And Jingliu was tired of hearing the same thing over and over again even though she was sure (Y/n) was able to take care of herself pretty well.

With their hands full of purchases from the market, ranging from snacks and delicacies to clothing and accessories, they had no hands free told hold hands in case they got separated. Every so often Jingliu would look next to her, just to make sure (Y/n) was there beside her.

But with the tail wrapped firmly around the sword master's waist, Jingliu had nothing to worry about. She was just looking to admire the soft smile and the gleam of happiness in (Y/n)'s eyes.

Starskiff watching...how she loved to roam the galaxy once more. This was a constant thought of the Foxian with purple hair that laid on the lap of her friend. Baiheng would bring (Y/n) starskiff watching every now and then to unwind, finding the latter's presence to be quite soothing.

Was this the effect of all healers ? To be this warm and nurturing ? Baiheng didn't know. But she did like the feeling of (Y/n)'s hands running through her fluffy purple hair.

Once in a while, Baiheng would even sneak (Y/n) out to bring her starskiff flying. She knew that the grumpy older brother would never let (Y/n) out to play in the sky because as he said, 'It was too dangerous for her ! What if she gets hurt?' she would mimic. And (Y/n) would laugh along, and follow her to the jetty.

All Foxians were a little daring to their short lives compared to Vidyadharas, and Baiheng was no exception !

But one time they snuck out successfully, both of them were already seated in the airship, excited for their little fly in the sky. Baiheng would show her a toothy grin, revealing her sharp canines, excited to bring (Y/n) on a wild ride. They soon landed perfectly after showcasing a number of tricks, yelling in excitement and thrill.

That was, until someone knocked on Baiheng's side of the starskiff, only to be met with the furious eyes of teal.

The two were seated on the wooden floor with Dan Feng lecturing them to no end. Despite their heads bowed in shame, they were actually trying to hide the happy smiles on their faces. No one could remove them of those gleeful smiles as they experienced the endeavors in the blue sky.

The wagging of Baiheng's fluffy purple tail and the constant slithering of (Y/n)'s own did nothing to cover up for them. Dan Feng just sighed in return, finding it futile to reason with the two girls in front of him.

End note : THIS WAS REALLY FUN TO WRITE ! i honestly dont mind if you guys want a past setting, present setting without the fights, modern day AU, or separate scenarios ! just specify them, and I'll try my best to fulfil your requests !

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sarahghetti · 8 months

Text

it's time for bed; m.k.

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

summary: the boys help out when you have trouble falling asleep.

warnings: none, just fluff all the way through.

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

steven

out of the three of them, steven’s the one who stays up the most. between late night inventory shifts at the museum and getting sucked into a new thousand-page tomb he picked up at a bookstore, he’s the one who tends to bid you goodnight with a sheepish smile, promising that he’ll join you in just a minute, love—I’m almost done.

of course he gets carried away—how couldn’t he? you can’t leave a book halfway through a chapter, after all. but the next chapter is only a dozen or so pages, he can get through that in a jiffy.

repeat that ad infinitum and then it’s late late, which makes him immediately embarrassed when you scuffle out of bed to where he’s seated on the couch.

“sorry, darling—lost track of time.” he slots a bookmark into his current page, giving you a warm smile as he stands. “I’ll come join you now—”

you shake your head, and steven frowns. “everything alright?”

“can’t sleep, s’all.” you mumble and he hums, pulling you down onto the couch with him. you lay your head in his lap, and he covers you with a throw blanket.

“you’re in for a treat tonight,” he says, voice soft as he picks up where he left off. “just started the part on conflicts during the first intermediate period of egypt.”

he starts reading again, out loud this time. steven keeps one hand in your hair, the other tracing over the words as he goes.

“Stable eras of Egyptian history are referred to as 'kingdoms' while eras of political strife or instability are known as 'intermediate periods.' this period has long been labeled a 'dark age'—oh, those are always fun, hm?” he raises his eyebrows and you can’t help but snort softly before he continues. “…When the central government of the old kingdom, which had been built on the model of the early dynastic period in Egypt…”

steven’s always had a nice voice but it’s gentler now, accent rolling over each syllable as he reads. his fingers lightly scratch your scalp and combined with the soothing sound of him speaking, you feel your eyelids grow heavy with each page he turns.

the first time you fell asleep while he read to you, it was on accident.

you just… couldn’t help it. there’s nothing more relaxing than listening to steven animate words on paper, injecting his comments here and there whenever he found something particularly interesting.

but even when you’d flushed red upon waking, steven wasn’t offended in the slightest.

why would he be? he glances down at you now and smiles. there’s a smidge of pride in his chest as you finally doze off in his lap.

he couldn’t care less about the book with you here, finding comfort in him.

steven doesn’t dare try to move you to the bed—not when you’ve finally fallen asleep—and only shifts his position to recline a bit further down the couch.

he can sleep like this. with you, steven could sleep anywhere.

jake

when jake stays up, it’s because he’s out late at night, working his cab shifts. he always lets you and the others know his schedule the minute it comes out so that there are no surprises between you all, and so you don’t worry when he doesn’t come home before you go to bed.

he makes sure to give you a little kiss and an I love you before he leaves, and even texts you around your bedtime as well: good night, princesa. sleep well.

you responded to him hours ago yet here you are, sinking into the mattress with not a wink of sleep to show for it.

it’s not a surprise when you end up hearing the turn of a key in the front door. then, the careful shuffling of someone trying to be quiet as jake comes back from work.

he clicks his tongue, thinking that you’ve left the light on when you fell asleep, but is quickly proven wrong when he sees you’re still awake.

“what are you doing up, baby?” he frowns at the clock, coming to kneel one knee beside you on the bed.

“can’t sleep.” you groan into a pillow, exhausted, and he sighs as brushes the hair back from your face.

“eat with me?”

jaek tends to have a quick bite after a shift before getting ready for bed—either leftovers from dinner or something quick he can scrounge up in the kitchen without making too much noise.

but you’re not asleep this time, eliminating the need to be quiet, and so he hums as he leads you to sit down at the dining table before he goes to search the fridge. he pulls out a container of pasta.

“who made this?”

“steven.”

it immediately gets tossed back on a shelf and you harumph on your poor boy’s behalf, though you know it’s just because jake hates vegan cheese.

the next thing he grabs is a saran-wrapped bundle, one which you recognize as the cookie dough marc made a few days back.

that makes you perk up. “you wanna bake some cookies?”

“who said anything about baking, princesa?”

so that’s how you end up curled around each other on the couch, picking at cookie dough with your hands as jake queues up a movie.

you raise an eyebrow at the runtime. “there’s no way I’m staying awake during all this, you know.”

“of course you are, this is one of my favourites.” he gives you a look, one that implies that you’ll break his heart if you don’t, and you splutter.

“you can’t—you can’t reverse-psychology me into falling asleep.”

“I’m not,” he claims, like a liar.

to his (faked) disappointment, you start to doze off about halfway through the movie, sugar still lingering on your tongue. for all the ribbing he might’ve done before, all he does is press a kiss to the top of your head from where it lays on his chest.

he’ll go to sleep when he’s ready. for now? jake’s got you in his arms and his alter’s baking to eat—it’s a good night.

marc

marc tries to go to bed when you do. no matter if they have to go out to patrol that night, he likes to lay with you as you fall asleep, feeling your breath slow in his arms as he embraces you against his chest.

it’s impossible to stay awake for long when marc’s holding you, not with the gentle way he plays with your hair and grazes his fingers over your skin.

but tonight is different. no matter how much you try, you just. can’t. fall asleep. you shift around in his arms, and he patiently allows you to rearrange your positions as you try to find something comfortable, but nothing sticks.

you grumble, frustrated, and he laughs softly. “can’t sleep?”

“no.” you press your face into his chest, as if you’d find the answer for sleep enveloped in the scent of him. you sigh. “you should just go on patrol, I’ll be fine.”

above you, marc stills, and tilts your head up to give you a stern look.

“none of that, now.” he lightly flicks your nose. “khonshu can wait.”

can he? you wonder, watching marc’s gaze flicker to an empty spot in the room for a moment. he doesn’t move however, only settling in even more beside you, almost pointedly.

you can’t help but grin. “are we antagonizing the bird tonight?”

“only a little.”

marc stays with you as long as you need, talking and joking around with you in bed. he might not say it, but these conversations are some of his favourites—just you and him in the dark, giggling softly as if you’ll wake the city up if you’re too loud.

he can stay up later than you, too, so he especially likes it when you finally start to drift off to sleep and your speech becomes nonsensical.

“don’t put that there,” you mumble out of the blue, eyes long since closed. you’ve practically melted in his arms, and he’s gentle with his touch as to not disturb you.

“my bad,” he whispers, fighting off a laugh. “where does it go?”

“’s simple… it’s…”

you let one last sigh and he knows that you’ve fallen asleep now, nuzzling into him like a cat.

marc wants nothing more than to curl up around you and go to sleep himself, but khonshu makes a snide remark and he knows that he’s pushed the god enough.

he does take one last moment to appreciate you though, admiring you in what little light streams in from the gaps in the curtains.

as much as he loathes to leave you each time, it’s a good motivator—the image of you in their bed, peaceful and safe. cleaning up the streets of crime is just one way for him to help keep you that way, and the faster he works, the sooner he can come home to you.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fanfic #my writing

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atlasscrumpit · 9 months

Text

Moon Knight x Reader

Any day that Steven worked with you was a good day, he loved seeing you smile and even more loved hearing you talk about things you loved.

Your little rambles always kept his day brightened.

But, one day you weren't there.

He asked around and everyone said they hadn't heard from you, he was starting to get worried and planning to look for you before you finally arrived at work.

You ran up to Steven, panting.

"I'm so sorry! I had a fight with my roommate and he kicked me out so I had to pack all of my stuff into my car. I'm so sorry, Steven." You muttered as he looked at you with worry.

"It's alright, love. Are you okay?" He asked noticing you were on the verge of tears.

"Yeah... Well, no. I'm homeless and..." You whispered as you began to cry.

"Can I give you a hug?" He asked as you nodded, he smiled softly and wrapped his arms around you as you cried into his shirt.

"You can come stay with me if you'd like. I've got a pretty big apartment and it's only me a-and my other personalities..." He muttered making you chuckle softly.

"Are you sure? Wouldn't Marc and Jake be angry?" You asked as he looked down at you and gently wiped away your tears.

"Well, if they are angry I'll deal with them. But, I don't think they'll mind. Plus, it'll make getting to work a lot easier." He said as you smiled and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you so much, Steven. You're a hero." You said making him smile in return.

"Here, I'll give you my key. You go get settled in and I'll cover for you here." He said as you looked at him in shock.

"Really? Are you sure, Steven?" You asked making him nod.

"Of course, you've had a hard day and you need time to rest."

When Steven's shift was over it was almost 6pm and he decided to bring some take out home with him.

When he got back to his apartment he found you fast asleep in his bed.

"I might be able to get used to this." He heard Marc say as he placed the dinner down.

"No romancing her, Marc. She's fragile right now." Steven said as he walked over to you and gently shook you awake.

"Love, I've got some dinner if you're hungry." Steven said as you slowly woke up and looked at him, he felt himself blush when you looked so happy to see him.

"Oh, thank you, Steven." You muttered before getting out of bed.

"I hope you don't mind that I slept in your bed... I probably should've asked." You said as he smiled softly.

"I don't mind one bit, love. Come on let's have some dinner." He said as you joined him at the small dining table, he brought out your favourite take away.

"Hell yes!" You said making him chuckle.

"I always made a point to remember your favourite food." He replied making you blush a little.

"You're so kind to me."

It wasn't long until you met Marc, he seemed to have feelings for you.

"So, I was thinking. Instead of you finding an apartment, why don't you just permanently live with us? I mean it's pretty dangerous to look for a new apartment and a new roommate, the last thing I'd want is for you to be in any danger." Marc said as you sat next to him on the couch.

"I don't know, Marc. I don't want to intrude on your lives." You muttered as he turned to full face you.

"You aren't intruding, Y/N. We all want you to stay here." He replied, placing his hand on your thigh as you moved away a little.

"Sorry... I just don't like touching. But, maybe it could be a good idea to stay here." You muttered as he felt a streak of jealousy.

Whenever Steven touched you, you blushed and moved closer.

"It's okay, it's just a subconscious thing I do. I should've asked." He replied as you smiled at him.

"What about the sleeping situation? You've been very kind letting me have your bed, but you guys can't sleep on the couch all the time." You muttered making Marc pause and think for a moment.

"Well, we could always get a bigger bed and share it. We could get one of those California king beds or whatever they call it." He suggested as you looked at him.

"That wouldn't be a bad idea. Are you sure you would be okay being in the same bed all the time? I mean, I used to sleep with two brothers in a double bed so sharing is in my blood." You replied making him chuckle softly.

"I don't mind one bit."

Two weeks had passed and everything was going surpringly well, you all fell into a good routine.

But, Marc and Jake were slowly getting a bit forceful with you.

You loved being affectionate with Steven, you even cuddled him in bed, but whenever it was Marc or Jake you would back away.

Marc had had enough of it one day and he snapped.

When he tried to wrap his hand around your waist you backed away, he never wanted to get angry with you but sometimes he couldn't control it.

He grabbed your hips and pushed you against the counter, making you look at him.

"Why do you keep pulling away!?" He shouted as you looked at him in fear.

"You are so loving with Steven yet whenever it's Jake or me you pull away. Why!?" He shouted, gripping your hips rougher.

"Because I'm scared!" You shouted back as he looked at you in confusion.

His grip loosened and you looked at him with tears in your eyes.

"You and Jake are powerful and...ruthless and it scares me. I'm scared you'll hurt me, which you're doing right now. I know you have a temper and I'm so scared that you'll hurt me...or force me to do things." You muttered as he looked down at you.

"Y/N... Oh, God. I'm so sorry I snapped, I'm so sorry. I would never ever force you into anything and neither would Jake. I just... I got so jealous. You're so beautiful and kind and I wanted you to show me affection like you did to Steven. I should've just talked to you instead of getting angry. I'm so sorry." He whispered, his hands still lightly on your hips.

"It's okay, I should've talked to you as well and I shouldn't have judged either of you without knowing you." You replied making him smile softly.

"Do you think you can forgive me?" Marc whispered as he noticed you leaning in closer, he did the same as his eyes met yours.

"Yes, I forgive you." You muttered before slowly leaning forward and kissing him softly, one hand stayed on your hip and the other went into your hair as he kissed you passionately but slowly.

He pulled away and smiled, seeing a blush on your face.

"I knew I could get you to blush." He said making you chuckle and look away.

He held your chin in his fingers and kissed you again, this time more desperate.

He lifted you up onto the counter and you wrapped your legs around his waist while you made out in the kitchen.

"Let's see how much more I can make you blush."

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #marvel #mcu #Steven Grant x reader #Marc Spector x reader

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ivystoryweaver · 6 months

Text

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #6: A Nightmare on Elm Street

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Event #6 Summary: Marc spends the evening with you and Steven gets a haunting

Pairing this chapter: Marc Spector x f!reader, Steven Grant x f!reader (Jake mentioned)

Word count: 3k

Content: ANGST, the yearning, ghost probs (no body), language, dealing with death and grief, manner and COD discussed, violence, spooky/horror elements, probably inaccurate DID (show based), not beta’d

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

"And...and maybe don't sell the house just yet?" You barely managed that request in a choked whisper. "If this is the only place I am besides the dark, and...and you guys leave then, I'm afraid - "

"Of the dark," he solemnly concluded. Reaching for your hand again - pointless, though it was, he made a vow. "Baby, look at me. I will never leave you here alone. Never. I promise you."

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Marc wanted to stay home with you all day, but you insisted that they lead normal lives. You promised to come back.

He wanted to kiss you goodbye. You’d just told each other you loved one another. It almost seemed as if he was headed downtown to work, and you would venture into your loft to write for the day.

You missed your loft. Why couldn’t you go in there? Maybe if you concentrated hard enough…

You missed writing. Maybe you could write some children’s ghost stories. After all, you now had first hand experience.

What…were you thinking? Write?

Was this death? Feeling all these tormented emotions? And good ones too? The sparkle of laughter with Jake, the yearning to talk to Steven, the love and longing, even lust for Marc.

And the guilt. You were too harsh with Marc before, when you said he ran away from pain or punched it in the face. You had to see him again soon, to apologize. He was going through too much already - he didn’t deserve that - not from you.

“I’m so sorry, Marc,” you whispered into the stillness of your bedroom. As if he could hear you.

The feelings washed over you, making you feel…alive. And clearer than you had felt since you first became aware of yourself, or of this room.

You waited all day. This was new. It was boring. But boring was better than darkness. Feeling anything was better.

You were practically bouncing with anticipation by the time the sun set. Finally Marc arrived.

You called his name as soon as you saw him climbing the front steps to your front door, and didn’t stop until he was standing in front of you.

“Baby? You okay?” He huffed, having run up the stairs.

“Yes, you can see me?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed, pulling off his jacket. “The way you were calling my name, I thought…something was wrong.”

You both realized how weird that sounded. Being dead kind of meant everything was wrong.

So you told him about your day. How you thought and thought and felt so many feelings. How you wondered about writing and your loft. How you never went back to the Dark Place. And how very sorry you were for what you said to him.

“I’m the last person who should be confirming your worst thoughts about yourself, Marc,” you explained. “Please forgive me, I felt terrible about it all day. I’m so sorry.”

His brow furrowed with confusion. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” No way he wanted you of all people to feel anything negative. You were the one who lost your life after all.

You talked for a little while longer, about simple things - his day at work, his walk home. Ordinary things. He mentioned speaking with Ms. Marjorie and you shared that you heard Steven speaking about her quaint, lovely shop.

Finally, Marc’s stomach growled, letting you both know that he needed some dinner. He could plainly see that you were anxious about him leaving the room.

“Just gonna grab some leftovers, honey, I’ll be right back,” he softly assured you.

Great. Now you were a clingy ghost. What the hell…

He wasn’t gone long, by your estimation anyway, and ate in your bedroom, with the two of you sitting on the bed. Then you felt even more guilty, as if you were trapping him here somehow.

“Hey, is the World Series on yet?” You asked, knowing October meant baseball postseason.

“Next week,” he clarified. “Why do you ask?”

You smiled at him knowingly. “Well, I mean…you can go watch baseball if you want to. You don’t have to sit in here all night.”

He pretended to be offended. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“No! No, I just…I want you to live your normal life…” You trailed off, sighing wistfully.

“Fuck it, I’ll just move the TV up here. Or get a new one,” he shrugged. “I want to be with you.”

That proclamation sobered you both, because it was the whole problem. You couldn’t be together. Not really.

“I want that too,” you whispered, easing a little closer to where he sat, leaning against the bed’s headboard. “It’s all I want. To be with you. But…it’s too late.”

“It’s not too late,” he found himself telling you, without really thinking before he spoke.

You frowned, confused.

“That’s what you kept saying, or…some voice I kept hearing when you first started appearing to me. ‘It’s not too late’. Even Ms. Marjorie said it. I didn't realize it til now but...I've heard it a few times: 'it's not too late.' What do you think it means?"

You shook your head. "No idea. It's obviously too late for us to really be together...isn't it?"

The sight of your wide, hopeful eyes broke his heart. "There has to be a reason you're here."

You talked a little while longer, about what this all could possibly mean. And instead of fading away, you seemed energized...and felt more alive, but you definitely were not.

Marc kept trying to touch you on instinct and you were most assuredly a ghost.

So you talked about ghosts: about myths and fables and any lore you could think of. You even looked it up online. Marc admitted Steven might be the better consult regarding this topic, but you both soberly remembered that he couldn't see you.

Which hurt because you felt overlooked and Marc felt crazy. But it wasn't Steven's fault, clearly.

"Ghosts can have unfinished business," Marc read from his phone screen. "All right, who are you still pissed at?"

The tension in his shoulders and the scowl he normally wore had relaxed as the night wore on. He almost seemed like his old self again. The person he was with you. The loving partner you adored, not the grief-stricken lonely man who questioned his sanity.

"No one," you thoughtfully answered, not knowing how the next words out of your mouth would change everything. "Well maybe the asshole who killed me."

Marc's phone dropped out of his hand and hit the mattress. He went deadly serious in one second flat. The mirth in his eyes turned stone cold - his lips parted as he drew a shuddering breath.

"W-what did you just say?" He choked out.

Shit, that wasn't a topic you should have made light of, or thrown around carelessly. Marc must still be reeling from your murder, if not blaming himself for it somehow.

"I'm sorry I said that - "

"What...did you say?" He covered his mouth with both hands as his eyes burned with fury. Pushing up off the bed, his fingers tore through his hair. "You...you weren't murdered," he gasped, his chest heaving the way it normally did right before he panicked. He wouldn't likely be here for much longer.

"You weren't," he hissed out a whisper. "What are you saying? There was an autopsy. You weren't...what are you saying!?"

Shit.

You floated off the bed, bewildered. You hadn't considered, even for a moment, that Marc was unaware of how you died. And it hadn't exactly come up.

"Marc, I...it doesn't matter how it happened, really. I didn't mean to...I thought you knew - "

"Yes, it really fucking does matter," he snapped, his fists clenched so tight they were turning white. His wild, frantic eyes landed on you, and seeing your distress, he shook his head in agony.

"You were...how? Who did this?" He let out a choked sob. "Tell me who. Who hurt you?"

"I-I don't know him. Marc, I thought you knew. If I wouldn't have gone to see Jake that night - "

"What?"

You went into the city the night you died? And Jake never fucking thought to mention it?

"I...I was on my way to see Jake." You did that sometimes - ride around with him at night, when Marc and Steven would have the next day off. It was a way to spend a little extra time with Jake, in his environment - his own little world. Plus it was fun to stay out all night, driving people around, eating at your favorite diner...making love in the back seat...

"I never made it," you explained. "I-I was still here in town when a man grabbed me - covered my mouth. He was strong. Then he moved my arm and I felt a pinch underneath my armpit. And that's all. He...maybe he injected me with something."

Marc pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes, almost doubling over in agony. "No. No, no, no, no." He banged his fists against his forehead and before you could follow your instinct to go to him - before you could even remember you wouldn't be able to touch him, he was gone.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Steven straightened up, blinking a few times before using his sleeve to dry his eyes. "What?"

He glanced around, trying to get his bearings when he heard the most heartbreaking cry of anguish...

coming from you.

“Bloody hell!” Steven gasped, scrambling away from your visage - not because it was you. He simply wasn’t expecting anyone at all to be in his bedroom. And he still couldn't see you, but he did hear someone cry out.

“No, no, no,” you cried, knowing Steven couldn’t see you.

"Losing m'mind," he mumbled, drawing his hands to his chest. His eyes swept across the room nervously, but he saw nothing.

"Maybe this place really is haunted," he murmured to himself. Deciding to take an evening walk and shake himself out of his spooky mindset, Steven found his shoes before shuffling downstairs, leaving you alone and heartbroken.

The feeling of being alive was so close, you could almost taste it. Your chest heaved with emotion - your heart, which stopped pumping life through your veins months ago, raced with worry for Marc and longing for Steven.

"Steven, please," you gasped, in a manner that would have been tearful, except that you had no tears to cry.

But he was gone.

Steven no longer lived in complete oblivion as he once did. If he suddenly fronted, his cheeks wet with Marc's tears, there was clearly a reason. Maybe Marc was still seeing you. He wasn't sure right at the moment because his alter was quiet - nowhere to be found, really. And it wasn't a parlor trick. He couldn't force Marc to appear or share anything.

Perhaps your little bungalow truly was haunted. Without giving it much thought, Steven's feet carried him back downtown, straight to the "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties" shop.

He was looking for Ms. Marjorie. He wanted answers and somehow, he felt that she could give them.

But as he rounded the corner onto Main Street, he stopped short. There, right where the Mystic Delights shop should be, was...nothing. The building was dark and little run down. Unoccupied.

"Wait a minute..." Steven mused to himself, inspecting the darkened windows, where twinkle lights had recently shone out, welcoming him in. He scurried a few more doors down, to Mrs. Alraune's flower shop. Her store was closed, but in tact.

Retracing his steps, Steven tried to reason with himself about where Ms. Marjorie and her lovely shop could possibly be.

Finally, he decided to inquire in the corner drug store. He recognized the face of the cashier but didn't know her name. She looked to be in her early 20s and often rang Steven's order when he stopped in.

He inquired after Ms. Marjorie and the little shop that had come to mean so much to him in only a couple days.

Devon, the young cashier was named, told him she had been employed at the drug store since high school and that particular store had changed owners a few times. The city had tried to clean it up on many occasions but she couldn't remember an antique store - not recently, anyway.

"No, that's not possible," Steven argued. Realizing his words might offend, he apologized. "Sorry, I just...I swear there was a lovely little antique shop right there. The most extraordinary woman owns it..."

Realizing he sounded like he wasn't quite right, he offered up one more apology and left.

Steven felt more confused than ever. Where was Ms. Marjorie? And her shop? Who was making noises in his home? And why had Marc claimed to see you?

October 31st hadn't quite rolled around, but Steven was all done with spooks. He walked home, quickening his pace, fueled by confusion and agitation.

Once he reached your front yard, he saw the curtain of his bedroom rustling.

"All right, ghost," he firmly declared, "I'm coming up and you bloody well better make yourself plain. No more games."

He rushed up the front steps to unlock the front door, hoping with all his heart that, if you were here - if Marc really saw you - that he might see you too.

So he called your name.

"Darling, I know I haven't been able to see you, and...I don't even know if you're here, but please...please send me some kind of a sign."

Turning this way and that, he checked the living room, the kitchen. With a heavy sigh, he climbed the stairs to the bedroom, pausing at your picture in the hallway.

"What's happening, love? Marc is seeing you, and I'm apparently having tea with a spectre instead of a shopkeeper. Please...are you there?"

His shoulders slumped in defeat and confusion, he trudged the final step into your once-shared bedroom

...and there you were.

Right there, seated on the edge of the bed, wearing Marc's hoodie.

"Oh my days," he breathed, his eyes widening as he stepped right in front of you. “Darling? Is it really you?”

Your gaze, so forlorn, snapped up to his. “Steven?” You gasped, “Can…can you see me?”

He rubbed his eyes for good measure, then nodded eagerly. “You are here. Aren’t you, love?”

"Steven, oh my god," you breathed, rising to meet him, wishing with all your nonexistent heart you could throw your arms around him. "I've been trying to talk to you, but you couldn't hear me, or see me," You emphatically explained.

"God, I'm so sorry," he sincerely returned, his dark eyes shifting, studying you with concern. "I didn't mean to doubt you. I'm sorry."

He shook his head in wonder. "I can't believe it. Marc was right. H-how are you here?" Stepping closer, he interrupted himself. "Are you alright, love? You're not hurt or anything? I mean, besides the obvious..."

He trailed off, granting you a bewildered smile as he drew his hands close to his chest. Oh, how you missed this precious, adorable man of yours.

"No, I'm okay. I was with Marc before. Then you left."

You explained to Steven a little of what had been going on, with your talks with Marc and Jake. Then you asked Steven if any of them knew how you died.

"Coroner said your heart just stopped," Steven explained.

"Yeah because someone injected me with something," you supplied, feeling the need to pace back in forth, even though you were really sort of floating. "They didn't find anything in my system? A drug, or a puncture mark under my arm?"

"Darling you're not...you're not suggesting that you were...killed?"

Just the thought of some asshole taking you away from your life - from your stories, your loft, from the town you adored, from this house and from the man you wanted to marry and have a family with - the feeling of the helplessness and despair you felt in that moment boiled into rage.

Without even realizing what you were doing, you curled your fingers into fists, squeezed your eyes shut and cried out, sending a wave of energy jolting through your bedroom, knocking Steven clean off his feet. The power was so strong, it knocked the lamp off the bedside table, crashing to the floor, and lastly, the mirror over your dresser shattered.

You acted out of pure spectral instinct.

Steven reacted equally, having summoned his Mr. Knight suit without a second thought. He didn't even intend to do it - it just happened as soon as his mind registered the danger of falling and flying glass.

The sight of your partner "taking arms", or suiting up in his defense against you...

It absolutely shattered you. The coherent thoughts you wanted to share with your partner were as scattered as the shattered mirror glass.

Powerful emotions swirled and blurred into despair. You found yourself untethered from the sweet conversation, longing and desire with your partner - the serenity you had experienced here over the last day or so, with Marc and Jake.

The broken lamp sent the room into darkness and as you fell further into despair, you could no longer detect the white of Steven's suit, or see even the moon's glow through the window.

You thought you heard your name called, but it was galaxies away, the way a voice above the surface of a swimming pool sounds when you're underwater.

The sound faded and all that was left was the Dark.

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