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bit-dodgy-innit · 2 years

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Un Pequeño Enamoramiento (A Little Crush)

(Gif is not mine - if it’s yours lmk and I’ll credit you!)

Part of my 500 Follower Celebration set in my SHAPE OF YOU AU

The Prompt: Your mom has a crush on Jake and his Latino charm.

Requested by: my not secret love @my-secret-shame

Pairing: Jake x afab!reader, with Marc x afab!reader and Steven x afab!reader, Reader is engaged to the system, references to past Marc x Layla

Word Count: 2.9k

Spice-o-meter: 🌶🌶 - Rated M, references to sexual content and non-graphic depictions of sex

CW/TW: mentions of abuse, divorce, references to societal judgement regarding D.I.D, mentions of penetrative and oral sex, as well as anal play (hola it’s Jake after all), and thirsty middle-aged women

A/N: Ohohohoho this came out angstier than I thought it would, but you know I can never get too dark without having fun too! Also remember in the Shape of You, reader’s parent love the boys, but I thought it could be interesting to see how they got there.

Having your significant other meet your parents tends to be an anxiety-inducing experience, one made even more treacherous by the fact that your boyfriend had Dissociative Identity Disorder, a checkered past as a mercenary, and a failed married under his belt. Marc, as wonderful and considerate as he was, was a tough sell on paper.

The first time you introduced your then-boyfriend to your parents, you had tried to get them to go easy on Marc, sharing that he didn’t have a relationship with his family anymore, in addition to personally attesting to the growth he’d shown after his divorce.

It sort of worked. At the very least, your parents steered clear of asking Marc about his, but your dad deployed precisely zero tact when he questioned Marc on why he’d gotten divorced. Your boyfriend handled it like a champ, sitting next to you wearing the blazer you knew hated, answering their questions as honestly as he could, and insisting on paying for dinner.

But you’d definitely noticed that Marc had been drinking. And not just his customary couple of beers after a long day of work, your boyfriend steadily put down several glasses of hard alcohol. Even crazier was how little he seemed to be affected by the veritable bottle of Jack he’d just pumped into his system. He hadn’t slurred even a single word.

You had tried to referee the dinner as best as you could and did everything within your means to support Marc afterwards. But he was withdrawn the rest of the evening, responding to all of your questions and affirmations of love monosyllabically. He even turned down your offer to deep throat him in gratitude for pushing through what must have been an intense and maybe triggering meal for him. You went to bed in silence and the next morning, you woke up next to Steven.

Marc needed space and time to process, you knew this, but it still frustrated you that he wouldn’t so much as share, let alone work through, his feelings with you. Though, he had done something major for you and your relationship last night, you could give him a minute. Thankfully a fire at work helped distract you in the short-term.

Your mom met you for lunch near your office that afternoon, and when your respective cups of tea and salads arrived, the first thing she said about the night before was, “I can see why you like him. He’s very handsome.”

“He is, but I don’t just like him, mom. I’m in love with him and we’re building a life together.” Geez, couldn’t your mom give you a little credit? You didn’t love Marc only because you were shallow and a whore for his thick cock.

She winced, and not because her beverage was too hot. “Sweet pea, he seems like a great guy, but it’s clear he has a lot of baggage.”

You nearly spit your tea out. She had no idea.

“That’s a lot for you to also shoulder as well, and not just emotionally. If you two get married, there’ll be financial and legal implications. Stuff like that can bubble up in really ugly ways years down the line.”

“I know. I know all of his baggage, and he knows all of mine, and we love and accept each other for it,” you kept going to prevent your mother from interjecting, “and, not that it’s really any of your business, but Marc is…working on what he needs to. Mom, we both want the same things, and besides, I want you to like him, but if you don’t, that’s not going to stop me from marrying him.”

“Oh I’m well aware,” she huffed. Your mom was one to talk, after all you inherited your stubbornness from her. “So you two have discussed getting married?”

“Yes,” you replied instantly, you wanted there to be no room for doubt, on your parents but also on your end too. Because despite being on the same page with your boyfriend about the next step in your relationship, a ring had yet to appear. “And he hasn’t run for the hills. I wish…Marc takes a minute to warm up. I think it would be good for you to meet him again. Maybe we could have you over for lunch this weekend, and he and Dad can watch a game or something. My gut says last night spooked him, plus he really wanted to make a good impression, but then Dad went and grilled him about his ex-wife.”

Your mom agreed that a second go was the right move. They came over Sunday, and once she could see your boyfriend in a less stuffy environment, and he started talking baseball with your dad, all was well.

***

Even though your parents had accepted Marc, they needed a lot of prep before they met his alters. You knew it was only natural that they had a lot of questions, D.I.D. was so stigmatized and sensationalized in the media, and that had been their only exposure. They became much more open to understanding when Marc gave you permission to explained that he’d suffered so much loss and trauma as a child (they didn’t ever need to know about mercenary work and the stint with Khonshu).

To be honest, you weren’t sure how you would’ve reacted if you knew Marc had D.I.D. upfront. Now, you couldn’t imagine life without Steven and Jake. They were your boys, who all adored and supported you in their distinct and equally beautiful ways.

Several emailed articles and hour-long conversations later, you believed your parents were ready to meet your other lovers. The introductions would take place when you and your now fiancé spent the holidays with them. You had strategized both with your parents and the boys who should meet who first and how it should all go down. So detailed was your planning, it made D-Day look like the Allies winged it at Normandy.

Though you knew it would take your mom and dad exactly .23 seconds to fall in love with Steven just like you had, Jake had actually volunteered to go first. His reasoning was “I’m great with moms.”

You had no clue what that meant, especially given Marc’s dark past with his mother, but he wanted to do it and you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Mom and Dad were briefed that Jake would be arriving with you, and when they welcomed you into your childhood home with the customary fanfare, you were so nervous you wanted to laugh, cry, and vomit all at the same time.

Turned out you had nothing to worry about however, because Jake had been right. He was great with moms. He greeted yours with a double cheek-kiss, called her Señora, and the woman fucking melted.

“We’re so happy you’re here,” she giggled (fucking giggled!), “thanks for making the trek. Hopefully it wasn’t too much of a hassle.”

You were too shocked to be annoyed that your own mother hadn’t said hello to you yet. Instead, you looked at your dad flabbergasted. He acknowledged your surprise, murmuring “she did always love Antonio Banderas,” and then promptly dismissed it with a shrug.

Your mom claimed that she absolutely needed to show you to your room, as if it wasn’t the bedroom you’d slept in until you left for uni and could find it blindfolded. You suspected it was because she wanted to watch Jake carry your suitcases, which…fair. The four of you fancied yourselves quite modern in your relationship, all very much considering each other as partners, but there was something primally tantalizing about watching a hot, strong man carry something heavy for you.

It was only after Jake had bent over to place your suitcases down and got an eyeful of his denim-clad ass that your mom noticed your engagement ring, having never seen it in person before.

“Oh sweet pea, it’s stunning!” She gazed at Jake from underneath her eyelashes. “You chose beautifully.”

“Thank you,” he preened.

“De nada,” she said, flaunting one of the whopping ten Spanish words she knew.

“Muy bien!” Jake commended her.

Finally, finally, she left you two alone to get settled and you faceplanted onto the bed as soon as the door shut.

“I told you so.” Smug, sexy bastard.

You turned so you could see him. “It beats the alternative I guess.”

“Just watch,” Jake began while he unzipped his suitcase, “I’ll help cook dinner and have her eating out of the palm of my hand.”

“As long as it’s not literally,” you retorted.

Your cheekiness compelled him to pounce on top of you, the two of you rolling around your bed (thank goodness you’d upgraded to a queen as a teenager) and trading giggly, giddy kisses atop it.

“I’m happy you’re here,” you whispered, trying to nuzzle impossibly closer to him.

“Yo también,” he concurred, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. “Other than the basics, your parents can’t speak Spanish, si?”

“Si,” you confirmed. “Only me.”

“Fantástico. Para que pueda decir lo que quiera delante de ellos, como lo mucho que quiero follarte en esta cama.”

“Jake!” you reproached him.

“Lo siento,” he apologized half-heartedly, pushing himself off the bed, “Vamos y podemos ayudar tu madre con la cena.”

“Bien,” you consented. “Tengo mucho hambre.”

Jake was so damn charming and delightful over the next two days he was nearly laying it on too thick. You were thrilled your parents, specifically your mom, approved of him, but there was a perverse little jealous part of you that couldn't help but wonder how they’d feel if your parents knew what your fiancé did to their daughter behind closed doors, and in his past life as an avatar.

Yet when Jake’s three days of the trip were up – the plan was each alter would front exclusively for a third of the trip, Jake first, Steven second, and Marc last – you understood exactly why your fiancé had gone to such lengths to ingratiate himself with your family. When Steven came downstairs with you for breakfast on his first morning, your parents barely batted an eyelash.

Marc had shared that historically, Jake had been the system’s protector. He was the one who took over when Marc or Steven had been overwhelmed, and you were shocked to learn that the other two men had only learned of his existence about a year or so before you met Marc.

Jake’s actions made perfect sense. Even though your parents had left in a good place with Marc during their last visit, he wanted to make sure they couldn’t hold his D.I.D. against them. Jake would warm them up to the idea of three men existing inside of the body their daughter loved so Steven and Marc could have just a smooth visit as he did with their future in-laws.

Your mom raved about him when the two of you went for an early walk. Your dad had a last-minute work call and Jake was dozing after the morning head you’d treated him to for being fiancé-extraordinaire.

“Oh honey,” she gushed. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this but, he’s so…sexy, but such a gentleman too!”

“Right?” You’d decided the first night of the stay to not fight your mom’s crush on Jake. “Just wait until you meet Steven tomorrow, he’s just as wonderful, but in a different way.”

“You know, I can hardly believe they’re all technically the same person,” she mused, then caught herself. “Not that they’re not their own people but they share—“

“I get it,” you cut her short to let her know it was okay. “I always tell them how different they look.”

“It can’t be easy, loving essentially three different people like that,” she remarked, surprising you with her unexpectedly astute observation.

“I mean, yes and no,” you replied. It was beyond difficult for you to put into words. “They’re all their own people but each part of a whole at the same time. It was definitely an adjustment. But now I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“You make a beautiful couple,” she told you, and her endorsement of the man you loved nearly brought you to tears in front of your neighbors' house.

***

That night, your parents had a bunch of family over, and you instructed them to introduce your fiancé as Jake and just leave it at that for the time being. It was the holidays, so the alcohol was flowing even more freely than usual, so it really wasn’t a problem. Your extended family, God love ‘em, were never great with names to begin with and you could always tell them that when Marc was drunk his accent came out.

It wasn’t that you were trying to hide or were ashamed of his D.I.D., but you and your fiancé were realistic about how other people would perceive it and him. It was often easier and less stressful to breeze past the tough conversations and protect your lovers’ peace if you didn’t think others would receive the information in a healthy way.

One of your relatives had turned on the stereo and somehow the younger cousins, including you and Jake, were dancing in your parent’s living room. Dancing with Jake was one of your very favorite things to do, and while you didn’t get to do enough of it, the pair of you kept it tame given the setting.

But when Jake showed off a little and twirled you, you couldn’t help but be transported to the dark, sultry underground salsa club the two of you first met at. Sex seemed to pulse in the air along with the bass and writhing bodies there, and it wasn’t long before you and this beguiling stranger who wore the same face as Marc and Steven joined them. After a few hours at that place, you hadn’t just ridden in Jake’s car home, you’d rode him in the car, the whole night blurring into a mix of tequila, salsa music, and sweat.

The song ended and Jake whispered a question to you, his lips brushing against the delicate skin of your earlobe and making you shiver. You gave him your blessing and when he asked your mom to dance, you figured maybe you could tell her that Jake used to kill on behalf of an Egyptian god and loved to stick his fingers into your asshole because she was smitten with Jake Lockley.

His dance partner now occupied, your dad engaged you in a little step touch together. He caught you watching your mom and fiancé with shining eyes.

“He sure does make you happy,” he observed.

“Yeah.”

“And he respects you?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Good.”

Your father wasn’t a man of many words, but he knew how to make them count. It made you chuckle to yourself, he was a big softie, but the boys revealed that despite saving the world from a power-hungry Egyptian goddess and literally dying, fulfilling the tradition of asking your father for your hand was one of the scariest things they’d ever done in their life.

The song ended and you were reunited with your fiancé. He collected you in his arms as a slower, quieter song filled your parent’s living room.

“You’re quite a tough act to follow Jake Lockley,” you noted while you gazed over his shoulder at your mother, still a bit flustered after her dance with him.

“Disparates,” he dismissed the notion. “Estarán bien mientras no se pierdan en su propia cabeza.”

It was where Jake differed from his alters. Where Marc and Steven had their unique ways of wrapping themselves around their respective axles and overthinking things, Jake would simply act. He seemed to be more in tune with his instincts, though his tendency toward action could push the envelope toward impulsivity at times.

“Well, you did a buen trabajo setting the stage for them,” you praised him.

“Yeah, tell them to thank me, will you?” Jake pulled you closer to amend his previous thought. “Or better yet, you could thank me for them.”

“You’re insatiable,” you accused him blithely.

Jake lips returned to your ear. “Y tú lo encantas.”

As much as you tried to deny it, he was right. Instead of admitting it, you turned your head to connect your lips and whispered “Te amo.”

“Vamos arriba,” Jake entreated you, his gravelly tone irresistible.

Yet after you excused the two of you, you caught sight of your cousin Rachel as you and Jake were heading up. She beckoned you outside where she and her boyfriend Todd were having a covert couple of beers away from the barrage of questions from your relatives. You joined them, postponing your private expression of gratitude to Jake.

He didn’t altogether mind, because for once you didn’t give him shit when he had a cigarette with Todd, plus you had all night to sneak in some sex. Mostly though, he was just happy to see you at ease and that he perhaps could be integrated into your family after all.

Jake, nor Steven or Marc had had a family in a long time, and so he was relieved he took a step closer to joining yours. It was a terrifying proposition to them, especially Marc, but if you were by their side, any of them would walk through fire, go to the Duat and back, or hell, take another bullet or two. Thankfully, tonight merely called for schmoozing with your extended family, and Jake was happy to do it.

A/N: Wooo! Slowly plowing through these fills! Hope the angst made the sweetness and spiciness worth it. We can’t blame reader’s mom, can we? Also, anyone else need more of Sr. Hernandez and ethnic hips dancing on screen? Because I’ll write and finance one just for him 🙃

Taglist: @twwcs, @rmoonstoner, @hot-mess-express1, @murdickdocked, @toracainz, @saahmi, @unspokenmoon, @winterbiipp, @avatarofseshat @ilikeoldermenhelp , @losers-club6, @harrys-tittie, @ninebluehearts, @lucianadraven32, @dawnsutopia, @strawberry1042, @nikitawolfxo

Translations:

De nada - you’re welcome

Muy bien - very good

Yo también - Me too

Si - yes

Fantástico. Para que pueda decir lo que quiera delante de ellos, como lo mucho que quiero follarte en esta cama. - Fantastic. So I can say whatever I want in front of them, like how much I want to fuck you in this bed.

Lo siento - I’m sorry

Vamos y podemos ayudar tu madre con la cena - Let’s go and help your mother with dinner.

Bien - Okay

Tengo mucho hambre - I am very hungry

Disparates - Nonsense

Estarán bien mientras no se pierdan en su propia cabeza. - They’ll be good as long as their don’t get lost in their own head.

buen trabajo - good job

Y tú lo encantas - And you love it.

Te amo - I love you

Vamos arriba - Let’s go upstairs

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bensolosbluesaber · 2 years

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Clueless (Steven Grant x f!reader)

Summary: You could have any man who walks into the bar, but the only one you want is completely clueless. Tonight you’ve had enough. Steven Grant fluff.

Pairing: Steven Grant x f!reader, squint for Jake Lockley and Marc Spector x f!reader

Warnings: DID

A/N: Based on this request. I’ve never done a fic with a song, but it was a fun challenge! Hope you like it!

---

Steven’s back. The hot clueless one who sits at the bar drinking tonic water - without gin - and looks more out of place than an angel in hell. You have no idea why he comes here just to sit nervously in the corner, but you like to imagine it’s for you.

“She’s looking at you, Steven,” Marc is delighted by the whole situation; he’s the reason Steven comes here to sit nervously in the corner.

“I don’t think so, mate,” Steven answers silently as he sips the water.

“For fuck’s sake. This is a bar. Drink some alcohol.”

“One battle at a time, Jake. Come on, Steven! She obviously has the hots for you dumbass. She’s fine as fuck. Do it for us three?”

“If you ever say ‘fine as fuck’ again, I’m going to punch us in the face,” Jake glowers.

The first beats of Ariana Grande’s ‘Nasty’ fill the bar. You’re up.

It’s your last song of the night, and as you roll your shoulders to prepare for the performance, a sudden burst of courage spreads through you. You’d been flirting with him for ages, calling him cute, telling him his accent is charming, but then maybe he thinks you’re just doing your job. Every time he’s here you make a point to chat with him, letting him talk and talk about Egyptian mythology and history until he gets all shy and assures you you can go. How can he be so fucking clueless? You don’t make time for just anyone while you’re at work.

Something inside you has just snapped, and you know exactly what you’re about to do. They hate when you switch songs at the last minute, but if it gets through to Steven you could care less.

“You got me all up in my feels in all kind of ways,” you sing as you move closer to Steven with a boldness that impresses even you. “I be tryna wait but lately I just wanna keep it real. No more playin’ safe…”

Everyone’s eyes are on you. So many options, men who ask you out with no hesitation, and yet the only one you’re interested in is stubbornly staring at his drink.

“Let’s take it all the way. I’m just sayin’…”

You run your hand across Steven’s shoulder lightly as you sing. His head jerks up to look at you, eyes wide and confused.

“She’s singing to you,” Jake’s New York accent invades Steven’s head. “Fuck, she’s hot.”

“She’s not! I mean she’s not singing to me. She is hot. She-”

“Idiot.”

“Tonight I wanna get nasty, What you waitin’ for…”

You’re sitting on the edge of the bar now, looking down at Steven’s cute little bewildered face. You’re already half way there, might as well go all in. You put a foot on his chair, sliding it back a little and turning him toward you. He’s looking at the floor when he could be looking up your skirt. This man was driving you nuts.

“Steven, look up!”

“Marc, no!”

“You’re like a whole constellation, swimming like you on vacation. Promise I’m still gonna love you when you wake up in the a.m…”

You sing the whole song to Steven and only to Steven, ignoring the dozens of other men who are trying to catch your eye. Steven plays with his hands nervously, a red flush blossoming on his cheeks as the word ‘pussy’ slips out of your lips.

The song is almost over when he finally looks up at you, his eyes crashing into yours with a surprising intensity. He won’t even look down your shirt as you lean forward until your faces are scant inches from each other.

Nothing. God, you’re pissed as you slide off the bar and walk to the back, shooting smiles at a few others like you hadn’t just wasted a whole song on a clueless idiot.

“Don’t wanna wait on it. Tonight I wanna get nasty. Tonight I wanna get nasty.”

You smile at him when you finish, openly inviting him to just ask you out already, offer to buy you a drink, give you a compliment, something.

“She’s walking away,” Jake practically moans.

“She was doing her job,” Steven insists.

“I am trying so hard to get you laid,” Marc sighs. “I’m begging you, Steven. She adores you.”

“You know what, no,” you mutter to yourself and whirl back to Steven, dragging the chair beside him out with a loud scraping sound and crossing your arms. “Do you like me or not?”

“What?” Steven nearly drops his glass. “I mean… y-you’re quite lovely but, well, women don’t like me like that do they then?”

“Steven, you’re a catch,” Marc’s voice is surprisingly gentle.

“‘Jesus! I’ve been trying to get into your pants for weeks!” You could scream at him right now, as it is your voice is unnecessarily loud. “‘Women don’t like me like that.’ Who the fuck did you think I was singing Nasty to? That song, I chose it for you! You’re so oblivious. Fuck, Steven! I like you!”

He is just staring at you. Staring and staring with his mouth half open.

“You like me?” He finally breathes. “But there are better guys. Guys who are hitting on you and… and not a loser.”

To Steven, the entire thing makes no sense. Yes, Marc and Jake have been dragging him here for weeks, trying to hype him up in their own strange way, telling him you like him over and over. But he never believed them. Every guy here wanted you. You’re so far out of his league, it’s unfathomable that you would pay any attention to him. And yet you had.

“Fuck the other guys, Steven,” you say firmly but softly, a hint of sadness that Steven really thinks he’s a loser. “I want a man who has an English accent, loves Egyptian history, is a vegan,” and just to make sure he knows you’re talking about him,

“And has Grant for a last name. That’s who I want in my bed.”

“Do not blow this!” Jake is yelling.

“Bloody hell,” Steven mutters, ignoring Jake entirely. “You’re serious?”

“Alright Jake, let’s give them some space.”

“Steven,” you reach out for his hand and squeeze lightly. “I have never been more serious.”

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x female!reader #steven grant fic #steven grant x you #steven grant x f!reader #moon knight #moon knight fic #fic requests #marc spector #jake lockley #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant fluff

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sortofanobsession · 2 years

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To Cry for the Moon (Moon Knight x Female Eternal!Reader)

Author's Note: I do not have dissociative identity disorder (DID) This is a fictional depiction of DID & characters are based on the Marvel/Disney's Moon Knight series. I own nothing. Title will be updated once I figure that out. This is my first attempt at Reader Insert. I've been thinking about branching into them for a while and I stumbled across this idea by @jupitersmoon167 (the original post I saw is here!) So the idea, some future dialog and honestly I've leaned so hard onto @jupitersmoon167 I'm putting the @ in here again.

Minors DNI

So as it goes, Y/N = your name, e/c = eye color. Y/N/N = Your Nickname. Reader pronouns She/Her. Story is 3rd person POV.

Tag Requests are Open just message me.

Primary Pairing: Steven Grant x Eternal!Reader, Marc Spector x Eternal!Reader, Khonshu x Ma'at!Reader (It'll make sense eventually)

Word Count: 800+

Part 1 of a new WIP Series.

Series Masterlist

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Series may not be totally linear story telling (not this part but in the future), but time periods will be included when it comes up.

Critical Need to Know Information:

Reader is Ma'at (also spelled Maat), Ancient Egyptian Goddess of Truth, Justice, Balance, and Cosmic Order. As an Eternal!Reader has armor of rich earthy green tones with gold etching and accents. Golden energy wings form from the armor that gives the reader flight but, like with both Moon Knight & Scarlet Scarab allows her to protect others. Also creates feather-like projectiles that act more like knives than feathers. Reader is hired as a translator and tour guide at the British Museum and stays with Sersi and Sprite. Her coworkers joke about her likeness to the deity. A fact that Sprite finds absolutely hilarious.

Sprite gives reader a hard time because despite the short life span of domestic animals they usually kept either a cat: Egyptian Mau/Nile Valley Egyptian Cats/an Abyssian once in England and/or dog: Saluki/pharaoh hound/Thebes Land dog aka Baladi Street dog. Cat named Bas, after Bastet (Baast, Baset) the goddess. Dog named Noob, after Anubis because why not. Sprite would find it hilarious a bird goddess has a cat. LOL Like can you imagine Kingo or Sprite making a Bond/Dr. Evil villain reference and Reader just says they're jealous because they weren’t worshiped alongside such stunning/devoted animals. I use Bas the cat in this a bit so far. Just bear with me, it is a WIP. Now on to why you are really hear.

Part 1: The Meet Cute

Y/N always loves visiting the museum gift shop. She loves to see how commercially, and somewhat comedically, the designers of toys and trinkets depict her team and her fellow deities. She enjoys watching how Sprite's illustrious stories have become storybooks, animated tales, and all for purchase at the quaint gift shop. She is so engrossed in a new set of bookends when she accidentally bumps into Steven as he stocks the newest Ancient Egyptian-themed keychains on an endcap.

“I am so sorry,” Steven starts to apologize. “I should have-”

“Oh no, it’s my fault,” Y/N assures him and checks his nametag. “Forgive me, Steven. I…I get unusually single-minded when I hear there are new items.” She gently sets the eye of Horus keychain that he had dropped when she bumped into him on its designated hook alongside the matching ones.

Steven’s brows go up as he takes in her accent. “Forgive me if this is rude but your accent…”

Y/N chuckles. “You can take the girl from the Nile, but you can’t take the Nile out of the girl.” Steven took a better look at her e/c eyes and tanned face. His eyes follow to the gold chain and finds it leads to a golden feather that rests beside her collarbone.

He looks back to find her eyebrow raised. His face tinting red at being caught staring. “I like your necklace, is that-”

“The Feather of Truth,” she finish for him. Her fingers brushing the symbol.

“A fan of Ma’at,” he attempts to recover.

“Something like that,” she quietly laughs and smiles. Steven felt like he’d missed something, or that there was a joke he wasn’t in on.

“Check her arms,” Marc says from the reflection in one of the shiny keychains.

Steven gives a slight nod and briefly scans what he can see of her arms. Missing the momentary amused look at how he had to turn his head to try and see the arm nearest him and failed. He quickly comes up with an idea. He moves further down the aisle. She turns to follow his movements.

“So I’m sure you already have these,” Steven says as he holds up a magnet with a photo of the winged goddess on a temple wall in one hand and a more ornate golden one with the depiction of said goddess in the other.

“I have that one,” she nods, “but the gold one is new.” She spoke, reaching out for the shiny magnet, unknowingly giving him a better look at her arms. Y/N misses the way his shoulders relax and the minute shake of his head at his own reflection in a nearby display case as she takes in the details of the object in her hands. “You found my weakness.”

“Magnets?” Steven asks, earning a true laugh from her.

“Beautiful things,” she says with a wink.

Marc stifles a laugh from the reflection of the case. Before Steven can try and respond he is stopped by Donna shouting.

“Steven! Stop bothering the actual tour guides,” Donna scolds him. “Get back to work.” Making Steven flinch and Y/N frown.

“Sorry,” Steven starts again.

“No need to apologize,” the eternal grinned, smiling softly at the sweet man before her, and nodding towards the register.

“Yes, of course,” Steven nods.

“Oh, I assure you,” the former goddess states as she addresses Donna. “He was helping me find the newest trinket for my collection.” She lets just a bit of the authoritative look that she had spent centuries perfecting and using as she judged the hearts of humanity. Her gaze firm set on Donna as she spoke. “Or is that not part of his job?” Y/N tilts her head slightly and raises an eyebrow, a challenge. A move that would always earn an eye roll from her fellow Eternals.

“It is but-” Donna started.

“Well, then he did his job wonderfully,” Y/N says, turning her attention back to Steven who has just been watching the entire conversation unfold. She holds the magnet out for him and he seems to shake himself and ring it up. He thanks her as he accepts the cash she hands him. “Thank you, Steven, your assistance was greatly appreciated.” She says as he hands her the bagged item. “You’ll have to let me know when you get anything new in.” With one last smile at Steven, and a stern look at Donna as she passes her on the way out of the shop.

Donna huffs. “Flirt on your own time, now finish stocking.”

He nods as she disappears into the stock room. He can hear Marc laugh from the reflection of the glass top. “Oh don't you start,” Steven tells the reflected alter.

“A magnet, really?” Marc grins. “A bombshell that actually likes this crap, and you get her a magnet. And still made her buy it.”

“Donna was right there,” Steven says. “I cannot go giving out free items to just anyone.”

“Not anyone, a coworker that winked at you. Steven, she winked and laughed. And-”

“And I need to get back to work,” Steven mumbled as Donna walked back out.

#Reader Insert #Marvel Reader Insert #Eternals Reader #Eternals!Reader #Moon Knight x Reader #Moon Knight Reader Insert #Marc Spector x reader #Marc Spector x y/n #Steven Grant x Reader #Steven Grant x y/n #Female Reader #Marc Spector x Female!Reader #Steven Grant x Female!Reader #Female Eternal Reader #trying to tag as much as possible so people can block or track what they want #do I suck at this maybe but i am trying #To Cry for the Moon fic

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pleasurebuttonwrites · 1 year

Text

Hung the Moon (Chapter 8)

Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9

Summary: Time to be a superhero.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content: Language (cursing, misogyny). Violence. Not too gory, but mentions of blood.

Word count: 2.8K

A/N: It's been so long and I got so antsy about posting this I didn't proofread and revise quite as much as I usually do. If there are typos and such - I'm sorry!

Tags: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ajeff855 @bnamta @unspokenmoon @milkymoon2483 @valkyrieace @theimpalasdoctorin221b @hopefulfangirl24 @bucksgoat @rmoonstoner @foreverinwanderlust @am-3-thyst @bullet-prooflove @trashboat-the-raccoon @daisies-yellow

~~~

The last remnants of dusk fade from the sky when you and Marc pull up to the fifth and final warehouse belonging to your boss that you know about. You and Marc had been running all over New York City since the moment you landed checking the other four. Each time you had shown up to one, finding no sign of your sister — no sign of anyone, half of them completely empty — your stomach had sunk just a little lower. As Marc puts the car in park outside the last one, with it’s windows pitch dark, the stillness tangible, your stomach falls through the ground.

You can’t look at Marc. If you do you’ll say something you’ll regret. He says something to you that you barely hear. Something about how he’ll find her. That he’s not giving up.

As you did for the others, you get out of the car and check it out. The feeling of dread rises in you, that you’re wasting time you don’t have. But you have to be sure she’s not here. That there’s nothing that might lead you to her.

The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you walk the perimeter. The warehouse is small in comparison to the ones you searched earlier. The few windows that are at ground level are blacked out. You can’t tell if anyone is in there or if it’s empty.

A gust of wind bites at your cheek, but it’s damn near warm compared to the ice in your veins.

Just as you turn the corner at the back of the warehouse, a door — not ten feet from you — bursts open. You pull yourself back and crash into Marc who was following behind you. He grips your hip to steady the both of you.

Before you have the chance to say anything to Marc, a man starts talking.

“Man, I need a drink,” he says. You peek around the corner and see two men walking away toward a truck parked on the opposite end of the parking lot. “You coming to the bar? Rusty says they’re all down there.”

“I can’t,” the other man says. “I have watch duty for that little bitch tonight.”

“I dunno what you’re complaining about. She’s fucking hot. Especially with that gag in her mouth.”

“'Cept we’re not allowed to touch her. At least for another 24 hours. Kinda hoping that cunt of a sister doesn’t come through so the boss’ll let us do what we want with her.”

Marc lunges forward and you have to restrain him with two hands on his chest. You shake your head at him and motion toward the way you came. You both quietly retreat and then run back to the car.

—

Marc follows expertly behind them. But even so, each time they make a turn and you lose sight of the truck for those few seconds, the panic rises in your throat.

By the time the truck pulls up to its destination: another warehouse farther outside of the city, the moon has made its ascent into the sky. Clouds partially obscure the glow, and the street lamp that surreptitiously flickers on and off lends hardly enough light to see by. The man in the passenger seat climbs down from the truck and is illuminated as he crosses the headlights. He has an ugly sneer to his mouth and you want to rip him apart with your bare hands.

The truck drives on and the man trots up a set of concrete steps up to a door near the loading dock. He raps his fist against the metal, and a minute later another man opens the door for him.

In perfect synchronization, you and Marc get out of the car at the same time.

“You’re staying here.” He says it casually, but it sounds like an order.

“The hell I am.” And you mean it, too. Nothing could stop you from going in there. Not even Marc Spector.

He fixes you with a stare. In it is his own special blend of exasperation and stubbornness.

You try to reason with him anyway. “I can get her out while you deal with the guards.”

He shoots a quick glance at the side mirror — you’d have missed it had you not been watching him so closely. He rolls his eyes at whatever he’s seen.

“Who was that?” you ask. “What did he say?”

He sighs. “He says to let you.”

You consider which “he” that could have been. “Was that Jake?” You cringe at the hopefulness in your voice.

Instead of answering, Marc says, “If something happens to you-”

“My sister’s in there, terrified. She needs to see a familiar face. And I can handle myself.”

“You’re going in there no matter what, aren’t you?”

“Yup.”

He rolls his eyes heavenward, but relents. In a stern voice he says, “Alright, but you need to follow my lead, got that? Let’s find a way in.”

—

On the opposite side of the building from the loading dock, you and Marc sneak along the shadows. So far you’ve not encountered anyone guarding the outside, but you have no way of knowing what’s inside. There’s no guarantee that your sister is inside either. You don’t even want to think about what you’d do if she’s not. But neither do you want to think about what it’s going to be like to see her tied up and hurting.

You’re busy torturing yourself with these thoughts when Marc stops short. You realize why when you see the door, partially covered by overgrown weeds, next to you. Marc tries the handle. It’s locked but it’s nearly rusted through. He applies some force and it breaks off. The door swings inward with a soft squeak.

Inside is pitch dark. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. You can sort of make out a stairwell to your left, and another door to your right.

With light footsteps, Marc approaches the interior door and slowly pulls on it. It’s nearly off its hinges and it scrapes against the floor. He lifts it from the floor and sets it open enough for you both to slip through it.

The warehouse isn’t huge — it’s one large main room — but only half of it is being used. The overhead lights are off on your end, giving you a convenient cover of darkness. There are rows and rows of metal standalone shelves next to you, long left unused, gathering dust and trash. At the far end, four men sit around a folding game table playing a loud, drunken game of cards. But the center of the room is what captures your attention.

Two men — their backs to you — flank someone seated in a chair. You can’t see her face, but you know it’s her. You found her. You actually found her. Your whole body buzzes, and you almost feel relief if it weren’t for the six heavily armed men in your way. Distantly, you notice she’s dyed her hair since you’d last seen her.

“You stay here,” Marc whispers to you as he scans the room. His eyes flick to the offices on the second level that overlook the warehouse floor.

You almost argue with him when he amends, “Just wait here until I give the signal. Then you can go free her.”

“What’s the signal?”

“You’ll know it. Here.” He pulls out a hefty folding knife from his pocket and hands it over to you. “You’ll need this.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I can’t attack from this side. It’ll draw fire toward your sister. I have to find another angle.” Then he slips back through the door.

You duck down behind a shelf to wait. The men at the table are animated and loud, though you can’t make out what they’re saying with their voices echoing off the high ceilings. The men guarding your sister look bored, constantly shifting their feet and turning their heads to glance around the room. The man on her right finds something to do, however, when he turns toward your sister and leans against her shoulder, crotch first. You recognize him as the man that you followed here. It takes all of your willpower to stay put as Marc instructed and not run at him and sink the knife you’re holding into his neck.

You grit your teeth and wonder what’s taking Marc so long. Every second that ticks by makes you more nervous about Marc’s plan. A feeling that you shouldn’t have trusted him creeps over you. But that could be just your nerves talking.

One moment the card table is bursting with laughter, the next all is chaos as the glass windows from the offices nearly just above shatter and a man — dressed head to toe in a white costume, his cape flared into a crescent — soars down among the shards of glass. During his descent, he uses both hands to fling two blades towards your sister’s guards. They find their marks in the men’s faces just as they were raising their guns. Their bodies teeter for a moment and then fall to the floor.

You watch as Marc lands, one hand on the ground to steady him. When he rises, you get a better look at his costume, the criss-crossing wraps that resemble a mummy, the crescent in the center of his chest and the glowing eyes underneath his hood. It surprises you since you had expected a different costume - the one you’d seen Jake wear. Apparently there was more than one.

The men at the table seem to get over their shock at his arrival. They stand and open fire on Marc who doesn’t even seem to notice the bullets striking his suit as he stalks toward them.

You have to assume that this was the signal. In any case, there’s no one to stop you from approaching your sister. You run to her. She’s thrashing in the chair, her arms and legs tugging on the ropes binding her. As you get closer you faintly hear screams trying to break free from her throat in between blasts of gunfire.

You step around the body of the guard who just moments before you’d wanted to kill. The blade is still lodged into his face and you notice it’s in the shape of a crescent. It’s kind of disturbing - you hadn’t pegged Marc for the type to have coordinating accessories.

Your sister is thrashing so violently that she doesn’t even register when you step in front of her. When you reach out to steady her, she flinches under your touch and then she sees you. She narrows her eyes and as soon as you pull the gag free of her mouth she yells with a hoarse, raspy voice, “YOU BITCH!”

You nearly put the gag back in her mouth. Your hands even lift it about an inch before you discard it to the floor. When you consider what you might have expected her to say, you realize that each time you pictured rescuing her, she was unconscious during it. But you can’t say you’re surprised with her reaction.

You ignore her, since you don’t want to get into it with her. Not here, not now. You kneel and get started cutting the ropes around her ankles. But she’s not done.

“What the hell did you get me into?” Her voice is raw and you can barely hear her over the cacophony happening behind you. She continues ranting but you tune her out and focus on getting her free. Despite the sharpness of the knife, you still really have to saw to clear all the rope.

By the time you get to her wrists, she seems to have mostly tired herself out. She seems to finally become aware of her surroundings because she asks, “Who the fuck is that guy?”

You turn to follow her gaze. Moon Knight, now in the black and white costume you’d first seen, is fighting the one remaining thug — the other three lay lifeless on the ground. Just as Jake is about to strike him down, the costume changes again. It’s all white, except unlike before, this is an actual suit. Like a three piece suit.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” you hear him yell. “You can’t just kill everyone!”

It sounds like Steven to you.

The costume morphs into the mummy-looking one. “He’s right. We need to keep someone alive to give Foswell a message.”

The black and white costume resurfaces. “Shit. You’re right,” Jake says.

The costume switches briefly back to the three piece suit as Steven says, “That’s not what I meant.” And then it’s back to Jake.

You turn back to your sister and resume working on the rope. “He’s helping me rescue you,” you tell her. That doesn’t feel like it totally covers it, but it’s the best explanation you can give in the moment.

“God, Greg’s probably freaking. Worried sick about me.”

Your temper flares at the mention of her husband. In a distinctly unkind voice you say, “I love you, but you are the stupidest person I know.”

You cut the last of the rope free and reach to help her stand but she recoils from you. Her mouth is hanging open in indignation. “Excuse me?” she demands.

“Greg isn’t worried sick. He knows exactly where you are. He doesn’t give a fuck.”

“You’ve always been so jealous of me, you can’t stand it, can you? Why do you always say these bad things about Greg?”

“I’m not doing this with you right now. Do you want to get out of here, or should I leave you here?”

You’d never really leave her, but you need to get her moving. She scoffs and tries to stand up on her own, but her legs are weak and she grasps at your arms as she sinks back into the chair. You help her up and she leans heavily on you.

You check in with the boys to see Jake holding a knife to the neck of the lone survivor. In a chilling tone you’d never heard him use before he’s speaking to him. You catch the last part. “-never see you again. She’s done. You got that?”

Jake flings him to the floor and bends down to slash at one of his ankles, slicing through his Achilles tendon. The man screams, and Jake turns and sees you and your sister watching him. The mask over his face disappears and he looks as though he’s about to say something. But the man on the ground, holding his ankle as blood pours out of the gash, shouts at your sister. “It’s no great loss, you know. You were getting a little old for your husband anyway.”

Jake balls his hand into a fist. He’s mid-swing when you stop him. “Jake!” He freezes. “Let’s just go.”

He lingers for a moment, and then relents. He comes to you as you struggle to walk with your sister. He offers to carry her, but she responds with, “Who the fuck are you?”

You head to the door by the loading docks as it’s closer to where you parked. It’s slow going, and you curse her stubbornness, but you allow her this autonomy of body. You’ll help her with every step.

You emerge out into the cool night air. You struggle getting your sister down the steps but somehow you manage without accepting Jake’s offers of help.

As you’re walking to the car, Marc suddenly fronts and the costume changes to his. “Does this mean…?” He gestures at his outfit.

You’re confused until you realize he’s not talking to you.

Jake fronts again. “No, it’s just a temporary loan. I’m still the only one on the hook with Khonshu.”

Steven fronts. “We’re going to fix that though, right? Although,” he tugs on the sleeves of his jacket with gloved hands, “I still look fit, don’t I?” You run an appreciative eye up and down his form.

It’s as your eyes are coming back up that Jake fronts again and you get a good look at just how tight his costume is. You bump your shoulder against him. “I didn’t know you all came with outfits.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” he tells you, but he’s smiling.

“Too late.”

It’s a nice moment. You’ve really missed Jake, and you want nothing more than to talk with him about everything that’s happened. You want to believe that there’s still a chance for you two.

Then your sister opens her big mouth, cranes her neck to look at Jake, and says, “Are you fucking my sister?”

~~~

Chapter 7 | Masterlist | Chapter 9

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockley x you #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x female!reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector x female!reader #marc spector x fem!reader #marc spector x you

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naomiidaniielle · 2 years

Text

Sneak Peek: “Paint It Red”

Steven Grant x f!reader

A/N: Okay, hear me out. I had this thought in the middle of the night after the season finale on Wednesday. Steven literally owns my heart with his gentleness and sweetness...but I feel like he can be so much more. So I came up with this idea. I’m not sure if I want to make this a mini series but I decided to kind of play around with it and see what people think. While this is going to be a Steven Grant x reader, this will be written more from Steven’s point of view rather than the reader’s but that will change if I decide to go through with the story. It’s a rather long sneak peek of what I imagined but let me know if you would like to be tagged if I decide to make this a series! ❤️

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: T+ (for now) little language, use of weapons, blood, little alcohol consumption, sexual innuendos, and Steven Grant in the Mr. Knight suit~

Note: Marc’s dialogue will be in italics while Khonshu’s is in bold~

Also, I know very little about DID and do not want to degrade it in any way, shape, or form. I know the representation of it in Moon Knight is exaggerated in some places but I have major respect for it. For that reason, I am basing a lot of this from the show itself but if I misinterpret the disorder in any way, I will be more than happy to get some constructive criticism on the matter, respectfully.

Steven wasn’t used to these type of events. He would much rather spend a Saturday evening in his flat, reading a book on the significance of game theory than having to socialize with the snobs of society. Marc insisted that Steven go to this fundraising gala in London to see if they could get into contact with a murderer on the loose. They were well known for the many deaths of politicians and public advocates who say they are doing things for the well being of the people, when in reality, it’s all bullshit. Marc knew that most of these punishments inflicted on the elite were well deserved but they couldn’t have a Robin Hood with low morals running around and killing whoever they please.

“Marc, I look absolutely ridiculous in this get up. Why must I be the one to go to this event when it was your idea? I’m not well sorted out for this kind of thing.” Steven sits in the back of the limo, trying to adjust his bow tie in the small, rear view mirror. His usually unruly curls were swept back to bring out his well-defined features.

“Wrong, you’re more than capable of playing a little dress up. You will blend in better than I can. I don’t have a British accent.” Marc’s voice speaks to Steven. The man looks at Marc through the small reflection in a champagne glass to his side, an exasperated sigh slipping through his lips. The car pulls up to the brightly lit venue, people crawling through the entrance in their elegant gowns and neat suits. Steven takes another deep breath, adjusting himself as he could feel the perspiration gather on his forehead. “Hey, don’t worry, buddy. You got this. We’ll be with you the entire step of the way.”

“By we, you mean you and Khonshu, right? Don’t think I would like to take any advice from the dead pigeon on how to act normal at a high class event.” Steven growls as the door was opened for him and he stops talking. His feet plant on the concrete side walk, his hands fidgeting with the buttons on his suit. The matter felt suddenly overwhelming and the thought to just climb back in the car and go home was heavy on Steven’s mind. “Okay, Steven, just act casual. This better be worth all my trouble.”

Orchestra music greets Steven as he walks into the building, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling that lead into the main ballroom. The guests were nearly overflowing the place and the lack of boundaries made Steven paranoid. A hostess waits close to the entrance of the ballroom, collecting the invitation slips from the guests. Steven swallows as he starts to instantly check his pockets for the slip of paper that Marc specifically told him not to forget. “Invitation, sir?” the hostess asks Steven as he approaches her and he just emits a nervous chuckle, searching his pockets. “Yes, yes. It’s, um, in here somewhere.”

“Inside pocket of your jacket, numskull.” Marc’s voice rings in Steven’s ears and he remembers. He reaches a hand inside his suit and pulls out the invitation. “Sorry ‘bout that. Here you are, cheers.” Steven hands it to her quickly before walking inside. He releases the breathe he has been holding and looks around the ballroom. “That could’ve ended up much worse. Now, who am I looking for?” Steven starts to look around to see if Marc points anyone out but he didn’t hear a word. “I’ll take your silence as reassuring.” the sarcastic response comes out of Steven’s mouth, deciding to go for a glass of champagne while he waits for something to happen.

The next twenty minutes were torture for Steven as he waits for something to happen. He was already on his third glass of champagne, sitting alone at a table while watching people dance. He couldn’t remember the last time he had danced with anyone. Did he even go to prom? Steven sighs into the delicate champagne glass, the cool liquid suddenly burning his throat enough to make his body feel warm. He was so focused on his thoughts that he didn’t notice the woman in the red dress walk in front of him until Marc’s unpleasant voice makes Steven snap out of it. “There! It’s her. Khonshu senses it too.” Steven’s brows furrow as he turns to the woman in red, ascending her way up the marble steps to the balcony hanging over the crowd. “Move your ass, Steven! We can’t lose her!”

Steven nearly falls forward as he gets up onto his feet and shuffles his way through the crowd of people. “Pardon me, ‘cuse me,” he mutters to the people, “I’m sorry.” Steven manages to get out of the crowd and climb up the steep stairs onto the next level. He was slightly out of breathe, his brown eyes looking for the woman he was told to follow. “Where did she go?” Steven picks up the pace, hesitating to whether he should ask a passing couple if they’ve seen the woman in red. Luckily, Steven caught a glance of the familiar maroon color when passing by a separate room off the hall. The door wasn’t closed all the way but he could see through the crack when he got closer.

The woman was standing in the middle of the room, a man standing in front of her but Steven couldn’t catch a glance of his face. Before anything else could happen, the man falls over onto the ground with his hand over his neck. Blood starts to seep through his fingers and onto the marble floor under him. Steven gasps but quickly covers his mouth, hoping she didn’t hear him. The click of the woman’s heels rings in Steven’s ears and he can see her crouch down to the dying man’s level. “I hope you rot in hell, you bastard.” she whispers, her comment threatening but yet so menacingly gentle. The man tries to speak but without the capability to, the life leaves his eyes and his body goes limp on the floor. The woman leans forward to kiss the man’s cheek, staining it red with her lipstick. She stands up with her back still turned to the door, seemingly unaware of Steven’s presence.

“Summon the suit.” Khonshu’s voice speaks and Steven turns to see the god hovering above him. The man removes his hand from his mouth while trying to not freak out at what he just witnessed. “Are you out of your flipping mind? I’m not going in there. She’ll kill me!” Steven whispers harshly and stands up straight. “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Marc. I’m out.” Khonshu continues to stand there while looking down at his avatar’s alter. He sighs before pointing his staff at Steven. “I would advise you to do as I say. No harm will come to you but I need you to trust that me and Marc know what we’re doing. Summon the suit and just go in there. With the disguise, she won’t know your true identity.” Steven’s lips tighten, his eyes back to the door with the unknown woman on the other side. “Alright, fine. She better not kill me.” Khonshu nods his head before disappearing. Steven sucks in a breath before he summons the suit, his body instantly covered in white and his face covered with the mask. He didn’t know why but the security of the suit made him feel a bit better as he walks in through the door.

At this point, Steven had still gone unnoticed as the woman cleans her knife but a slight sound behind her makes her transition around with a gun in hand. She doesn’t shoot but Steven immediately lifts his hands in surrender. “Woah, easy there, love. Don’t shoot.” The woman lifts a brow before a smirk lifts her firm expression but the gun doesn’t lower. “I suppose you just saw me kill this man. Couldn’t even bother to mind your own damn business.” Steven clears his throat with his hands slightly lowering while approaching the woman. The click of the hammer makes the man in the white suit stop abruptly. “I...I don’t mean you any harm, ma’am. Look, nothing on me.” He lifts his arms and pats his body down to show her directly. The woman walks closer but presses the gun to his chest. “Oh, oh, yeah.” Steven lifts his hands back up completely, swallowing his rising panic back down into his stomach. Her hands trail around him, feeling for anything unusual.

She sighs and stops pointing the gun at Steven and stuffs it back behind her dress. The woman felt the metal rods stuffed behind Steven’s back and she looks up at him with a raise of a brow. She pulls them out suddenly and holds them against his neck. “And what do you suppose these are?” Steven grunts as they were pressed into his neck. “Look, I forgot I had them, alright? I promise you.” The woman could see she was making the man in the suit nervous so she tosses the rods aside. They roll along the floor and were out of sight now. “You going to ask me to dance?”

The question the woman asks initially shocks Steven but the voice inside him repeating to “play it cool” has him nodding. “Yes, actually. I happened to see you and I thought asking you to dance seemed appropriate but this guy beat me to it.” Steven points down to the body on the ground and it makes the woman chuckle. There was a gap of silence between the two, Steven panicking on the inside that she would try and kill him after being found out. “I like you.” Wasn’t expecting that response. “Sure, let’s dance.”

The woman approaches Steven and takes his right gloved hand, placing it on her waist. That motion makes Steven tense up but he doesn’t make any sort of sudden moves. The woman grasps his other hand with a smile on her face as the orchestra ends their song, another one starting up after it. “Have you actually danced before, stranger?” She asks him, taking the first step and Steven following suit. “Not exactly.” The music fills the small room as the two strangers dance together with their eyes locked on each other. The woman chuckles again, not caring that she was leading the dance. She found this oddly dressed man to be quite adorable but that only raised her suspicions more. “Are you going to tell me your name?” Steven felt his heart squeeze so a subtle shake of his head makes the woman hum in slight disappointment. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

The dance was both elegant and awkward as Steven didn’t know what to say to the woman. “Just keep her occupied. See if she can share anything with you.” Steven glances behind the woman to see Khonshu just casually standing there. She seemed to notice Steven’s moment of distraction and she looks over her shoulder to see no one there. “Oh, sorry, I was, uh, admiring the view.” Steven makes up the excuse quick, the city lights twinkling in the contrast of the night sky. The woman hums in agreement, no more words exchanged between the two of them as the dance continues on.

Steven tries to get a little more creative and he brings the woman down into a dip. “So, are you going to tell me your name? I figured since you asked, I should make the effort to ask as well.” His hand gently grazes her side and he could tell that caught her interest. He makes a mental note of that, his hand moving down from her waist to her thigh and slowly lifts it up to wrap around his hip. “That’s confidential information.” The woman’s mouth falls open as Steven keeps them in that held position as they gaze into each other. Steven pulls her up slowly but her leg doesn’t move. Instead, the woman’s bare arms move to wrap around Steven’s neck and keep their bodies pressed into each other.

The tension was building up significantly that Steven swore he could hear Marc groan in annoyance. “For a first time dancer, you’re rather good.” The woman comments, her voice a little breathy as their bodies were both getting a little flushed. “T-thank you.” Steven replies as he spins her around so that her back presses against his chest. His heart was beating strongly against his rib cage that there was no way the woman couldn’t feel it. Her hands were gently grazing over his broad shoulders and his were placed firmly on her waist.

The song ends, bringing the pair to a stop but they don’t pull away from each other. The woman’s smile retracts and she turns around to face him even if she couldn’t visibly see his face. She slowly takes the bottom of Steven’s mask and lifting it enough to see his nose and mouth. “So that’s your skin tone...” the woman whispers as her fingertips gently brush against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. She chuckles hotly before she leans forward so her lips were hovering Steven’s. She could tell he was getting a little impatient, his own teasing game becoming torture for him. His pathetic whimpers were enough for the woman to place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth before pulling back from him completely. Steven’s eyes open and he reaches out to her in protest but she just smirks while backing up slowly to the windows. “I look forward to our next meeting, Mr. Knight.” She teases before breaking the window and jumping out of it onto the ledge.

Steven stands shocked before he runs over to the broken window and looks out to find the mysterious woman gone and out of sights. He groans in disappointment. “I didn’t even catch her name.” The wind howls along with the sounds of cars driving by that made the woman’s disappearance all the more exhilarating. Steven steps away from the broken window and goes to pick up his rods off the ground.

“How the hell did she know your cover name when we don’t even know who the hell she is? This can’t be good if she already has a hint of who we are!” Marc starts to panic while pacing in the mirror’s reflection. “Get a grip, Steven. She’s a murderer. You can’t be falling for a killer when we’re meant to stop her.” Marc’s annoyed voice echoes and Steven looks to the reflection on the wall to see his alter standing there with a stern gaze. “I’m not in love...I’m just curious is all. This was your bloody idea. I was just playing along.”

Marc rolls his eyes while muttering a ‘yeah, yeah’, knowing that he wasn’t just playing along. Steven sighs as he looks down at the dead body. “Better call this in.” he mumbles while searching his pockets for his phone. Instead of finding his phone, a piece of paper is felt through the fabric of his suit and he pulls it out to see the note.

I like you, stranger. Take me out for a drink sometime. I would love to know more about you. ~Yours Truly <3

Steven couldn’t help at the smile on his face at reading the note. “Well, fancy that. Might’ve just gotten ourselves a ticket into learning more about our infamous killer’s motives. You’re welcome.” Marc scoffs at Steven’s remark. “Doesn’t mean that this is a good idea! Don’t trust that woman one bit. Maybe I should take over from here.” Steven turns fully around to face Marc in the mirror with a shake of his finger. “I think it’s best you continue to leave this case to me. I’ll bring her in. Besides, nothing in this note pertains to her liking you, mate. I can handle it just fine.” Steven moves to walk out of the room, decided against calling in the police for the dead body. Khonshu stands in the room now alone with the deceased, watching after Steven. “The idiot has been charmed.”

A/N: Thank you for reading! It’s been a rather long time since I’ve written anything at all so it might a little rusty and rushed in some places, but it is only a sneak peek of an idea. Again, if I get enough likes for this potential series, let me know if you would like to be tagged for future updates! 💕

#moon knight #steven grant #mr knight #moon knight fanfiction #steven grant x female!reader #steven grant x reader #mcu #moon knight x reader

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anonymityisfunwriter · 2 months

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"Slut!"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

"She goes through guys like a train-"

You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.

"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.

You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"

"A slut," you finish for him.

His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."

You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.

It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.

It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.

They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.

You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.

You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.

There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.

And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.

In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.

For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.

That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.

You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.

This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.

Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."

"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."

It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.

Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"

"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.

"For what?"

"You warned me this would happen."

It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.

You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.

Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.

It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.

But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.

You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.

No one knew how bad it would get.

"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."

"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."

You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"

He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."

"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.

The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.

It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.

At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.

You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.

But it didn't end there. Not even close.

The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.

From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.

You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.

"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."

Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."

"What now, Tony?"

"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"

"They want me to take over for you."

You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."

"No, don't do that. It's for dad."

"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."

"They broke into my house, Tony."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"

"Where was your security?" Tony demands.

"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."

"I'm so sorry."

"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."

You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."

"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."

And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.

You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.

It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."

"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."

And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"

Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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heartthrobin · 10 months

Text

press your tulips to mine

steven grant x female!reader

wc: 4.6k

warnings: mutual pining, steven is a shy babygirl, marc playing wingman (but he's kinda terrible at it cause he's also falling in love), no jake (the crowd is booing), no khonshu, steven still works at the museum, post mk s1, no use of y/n

an: rewatched the whole of mk last night and needed to write about my dearest stevie :)) don't forget to repost to support your fav writers

summary: Steven's apartment has become overrun with more bouquets of flowers than any one man could ever find use for, but they would continue to pile up as long as the pretty girl at the flower shop continued to melt him with that syrupy smile each time he walked in.

Steven Grant had never given much thought to flowers.

Sure, he could offer a momentary appreciation for a flicker of yellow growing out the cracks in London sidewalks or maybe if he passed a house with a particularly impressive rose bush he could smile, but beyond that flowers remained mostly inconsequential.

Steven never had girlfriends in high school, or - to be frank - thereafter either.

He’d never had to pick out a bouquet, one that he would need to consider: does this match her eyes? will it match her dress? how does it smell?

In the face of discovering that he was unalone in the occupancy of his five foot nine frame and fighting in the name of an Egyptian moon-god, Steven had less time than ever to consider his frighteningly barren love life or the lack of interest in flowers on account of it.

Isn’t life funny? In the way that we look so far beyond ourselves for answers, when sometimes they’re just around the corner.

Specifically the corner one street over from the museum.

Steven had walked the path to work plenty of times. A designated route. In the days when he still worked at the gift shop, the same route now that he’d been bumped up to tour guide.

Until one otherwise unimportant morning when construction bound his usual way, forcing him a walk further around the block: adding another four minutes to his trip and a view of the quaint shops down Little Russel street.

He hadn’t been down there in months. His last venture had been in search of a pharmacy for sleeping tablets, when Khonshu was still a nightmare and Marc nothing more than a migraine.

Steven noticed first that the pharmacy no longer stood. In fact, the previously white brick face of it’s stand had been painted a lush lemonade-pink. The Petal Parlour.

Almost immediately, in just about the same breath, Steven’s eyes found a woman leaned over a broom and sweeping the edge of the shop step. She was humming, he could just make out a Stevie Wonder tune.

The morning light flickered off your hair as if off the face of a pond out in a beautiful garden. An elderly man passed your work, uttering a greeting, and you'd perked up with a melodic: "good morning Mr B!"

Steven's footfalls stalled down the sidewalk. A man crashed into his back, strewing the contents of his messenger bag around him. "Watch where you're going, asshole!" He'd seethed at him.

By the time Steven had looked up, you'd already retreated back into the shop. He could make out your outline through the stained glass front.

There hadn't been a day since that Steven had taken his normal, considerably shorter, route to work. He got up five minutes earlier each day, brushed his teeth, made a cup of tea and let the memory of you swim behind his eyes. He could hear Marc's sighs every time.

Most mornings you were inside. Steven would deflate when he rounded the block to an empty corner, but he refused to consider it a total loss because - more often than not - he could make out your figure beyond the window fiddling with petunias on a shelf or smiling at a customer.

Some mornings, when he found himself most lucky, you'd be outside the shop. Usually clipping stray leaves off the rows of bouquets that glimmered happily at the people passing down the street. When it rained, Steven was privy to the way your hair clung to your forehead and the smudge of black mascara beneath your eyes. In the sunlight your arms were exposed from under a pink work shirt and a soil-stained apron.

It went like that for nearly a month. Between Steven and Marc's alternating schedules, he learned to appreciate the slim sightings of you he could manage. Marc didn't make it any easier, mind you, with the way he would whine and complain into Steven's ear.

"Jesus, Steven, just go up to her and say hi!"

Once or twice, Marc had managed to gain control of Steven's legs: teetering him drunkenly in your direction.

The fright would rise quickly up in Steven's chest, steering his legs back in the direction he was walking. You'd looked up one of those times, meeting his eye and spilling out a soft laugh that dissolved into a syrupy smile, but he'd rushed off before you could say anything.

Steven's face stayed red that whole day. "See. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Marc jeered.

"That was mortifying." He muttered back.

The bus rocked beneath his feet and his palm was growing sweaty around the pole he was using to steady himself. Frost was creeping up at the edge of the window he was watching out of.

"Okay, so all you're going to do is go in there and ask for ... help with something." Marc clarified again, his voice echoing around Steven's head.

He'd been bugging Steven since he was brushing his teeth before bed the previous night, something about how "I can't handle any more of this, please Steven. Put me out of my misery."

"Help with what?" Steven whispered. A woman looked up at him from her seat. He smiled shyly, turning away from her.

"I don't know ... tell her you're looking to buy some roses. Tell her it's someone's birthday."

Steven nodded slowly to himself. "Okay ... okay."

Marc had worked hard over the last twelve hours at convincing him. The endeavour was initially futile, but after Marc threatened to go in there and ask her out himself with a - frankly insulting - cockney accent, Steven was left with limited options.

He rounded the corner with wobbly legs and The Petal Parlour loomed in the distance. A bunch of sunflowers taunted him with swaying faces.

It drew ever closer and Steven's heart was beating loudly in his throat. The pink brick was crossing his vision now, his footsteps growing heavier, faster, past the floral print on the window--

"Steven don't even think about it--"

Against Steven's will, his legs knotted around each other: collapsing his body in the direction of the white painted door. It crashed open and Marc, more than Steven, caught his body before it hit the tiled floor inside the shop.

"Oh my god, are you alright?"

The shop was cramped now that he'd gotten his first glimpse inside and the three people crowding the space had their eyes on him.

As if appearing from a mirage, you pressed past the people towards him. He nodded frantically, the scalding touch of embarrassment burned his cheeks. "Yeah, yeah ... I'm fine."

Your earrings jingled from where your head was tilted to inspect him. Ringed fingers pressed down over your soil-covered apron. "Okay then, if you're sure."

Your concerned brow dissolved slowly and that syrupy smile he'd seen pointed in other's directions was suddenly overwhelming him with it's warmth. "Well then, can I help you find anything? Are you looking for some arrangement in particular?"

Steven nodded dumbly, he was fidgeting with the edge of his coat. "Yeah ... I'm looking for, uhm..."

"Birthday!" Marc called from somewhere deep in his mind.

"Birthday!" Steven spluttered loudly. There followed a quiet moment of confusion dripping between you and him.

"Jesus, Steven."

Your giggles crumbled into the space before Steven had the ability to conjure more words.

"I-- I'm sorry, I'm being rude ..." Laugher spilt between your words and your cheeks were turning a soft pink, "you want something for a birthday?"

An embarrassed smile had reached up into the corners of Steven's mouth. He liked the tinkle of your laughter, half convinced he could get drunk off the sound. A molecule of pride floated in his chest knowing that he was responsible for it.

"Uh, yes. Sorry, yes." Steven nodded, fidgeting with the bag strap over his shoulder. "Someone's birthday."

"Well, we just gotten some new arrangements in this morning ..." You turned on him, steering across the little shop to a orange, yellow and pink stacked shelf. He followed you tentatively, trying to pretend that he didn't smell perfume where you moved past him. Pretend that it wasn't making his knees buckle.

"They're pretty." He said quietly. You smiled again. You're pretty, he thought.

"Focus!" Marc's sharp voice sliced through his thoughts.

"Who's birthday is it?"

Steven's tongue lodged back into his airways. "Uhm--"

"Oh shit ... uh, say--!"

"My girlfriend's."

"Not girlfriend, you idiot!"

"Oh, alright--" Your hands fidgeted with your necklace, eyes wide.

"My sister." Steven interrupted you again, the argument in his brain between his thoughts and Marc’s voice was rattling his resolve. "I ... not my girlfriend, I don't have ... I don't have a girlfriend."

"You don't have a sister either." Marc quipped.

Steven ignored him. You were watching him with another smile flirting at your lips. "Okay, well, do you know what kind of flowers she likes? Or have an idea of what you want?"

Steven shrugged, head wobbling into a shake. "Uh no ... what kind do you like?"

You seemed taken back by his question. "Oh. Well, I like the tulips. The yellow ones, especially, but they're tough to find around here ... they have tons in Netherlands and Turkey, which not many people know because everyone thinks of them--"

Steven was sure you could see the little birds floating around his head, and how his pupils turned to tiny black hearts: maybe that's why you stopped.

You blushed a velvety red.

"I'm sorry ..." you turned back, hiding your warm face to wave your hand over the shelf of stacked bouquets. "We have some orchids and some irises if you think she might like them?"

"Yes." Steven nodded, hands folding over each other. His eyes were trailing the outline of your profile, savouring the closeness he'd finally been granted. "Those ... they're beautiful. She'll like them."

Your eyes twinkled where you nodded and it made his stomach churn. "Great."

He lingered patiently by the register while you wrapped the flowers with careful hands.

"Say," your gaze flickered up between him and the brown paper. "Do you work around here? I'm sure I've seen you passing in the morning sometimes."

Steven's breath tripped in his throat. She noticed me?

"Yes, now answer her." Marc's voice rung again.

"I-- yeah, I work by the museum actually." His voice stumbled nervously from the back of his throat.

"Oh really? That's so cool!" Your voice lilted with a pitch of interest. "I really like their exhibit on the liberation of India from English colonial regimes. I've only been once or twice though."

Chest buzzing delightfully, Steven nodded. He knew the one you were referencing, it was a couple corridors down from the Egyptian exhibits.

"Well, you should definitely come see the Ancient Egyptian section. The exhibit is huge and we have hundred year old pieces, sarcophaguses and vases and slabs of cave walls with carved hieroglyphics. I work there and it's really the most fascinating--"

"Let her respond, Steven."

But you seemed content to allow him to continue his splurge, your eyes warm and gentle where it caressed over Steven's face. He stopped talking, winding off embarrassed.

"So, uh, yeah."

"You've made a very good case. Maybe I will come visit." You nodded, fingers stroking absently at the edge of the counter. "If you promise me a tour?"

Warm blood rose up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks. "Of course. Anytime."

You handed him the flowers over the stretch of counter. "I never caught your name?"

"Steven." He said quickly, dejection gathering in his throat at the fact that your interaction was nearing a close. "G-Grant. Steven Grant."

You nodded. "Nice name. It's very James Bond."

"Thanks."

"Ask her name!" Marc poked at the back of his brain.

"Uh-- and you are?"

"Oh!" your eyes fell down to your chest where the corner of your stained apron was obscuring the sharpened edge of your name-tag. You shifted it for him to see.

Steven's eyes followed over the letters, he tried your name out on his tongue. It tasted sweeter than he thought a name ever could, rolling off his lips like a song or a bird whistling on a summer evening.

"It's ... it's a beautiful name."

You blushed, eyes moving back to the keyboard for momentary solace before paralysing him with your warm gaze again. "Thank you. I guess I'll see you 'round Stevie."

His mind whirred with how casually the little nickname slipped from you. "Yeah, yeah you will ..."

Leaving the store, Marc called from between the sludge of Steven's muddy mind.

"Good job, Stevie."

Steven was consumed by the interaction the whole rest of the day and when then next morning loomed overhead, he could hardly believe his luck when you were pinching together some lilacs out on the front step where he passed.

Half convinced by the nauseating twist in his stomach to just march quietly past, the decision was made for him when you glanced up from the flowers and offered him a friendly wave: “good morning, Stevie!”

His brain dissolved into a warm, gloopy mess. “… Morning.”

In the coming weeks, Steven’s apartment had become a botanical garden of epic proportions.

Vases and cups and pots, and whatever he could fit a flower into, lined his kitchen counters and his shelves and his bathroom sink with every possible kind of flower that The Petal Parlour had to offer.

Marc grumbled most days, in search of a coffee mug or apartment keys between what he described the “Amazon jungle in here.”

But Steven paid him little mind. It was a harmless jab and Steven noticed in the reflection of the shop’s stained glass window how Marc watched you too, eyes glazed with a soft affection. He mentioned nothing of it to Marc.

Steven had begun frequenting the shop when he could, on mornings he got up early enough or afternoons when the day’s work brought soil stains across your ruddy, tired cheeks.

He’d bought flowers for every possible celebration to be had in London, seemingly nabbing an invite to each one. Bat mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, farewells, funerals: he’d bought bouquets for one of each kind.

Each visit would play out similarly. He’d step into the shop, maybe once a week or every other week - with Marc muttering somewhere in his mind, we’re hardly gonna be able afford groceries at this rate - and you’d beam at him from behind the counter or from beneath a brightly coloured shelf.

“What’s up, Stevie?”

The nickname made him shiver every time.

“Let me guess … Christmas in July?” You’d tease.

When he’d find you behind the counter, that was his favourite, because you’d lean lazily over it. It blessed him with the view down the slope of your nose, the smell of your fading perfume, the jingle of your clinking earrings.

“Baby shower.” It comes out almost as a question, curling upward at the end.

You’d giggle softly. “Right. Boy or girl?”

It had been long enough that Steven could just about draw out your work schedule.

Fridays you didn’t work, Sundays and Tuesdays you only clocked in the afternoon. He tracked it with the little greetings he got, or didn’t get, as he passed on the way to or from the museum.

“You know,” Marc was fronting an early morning in August, subjecting Steven to a cup of coffee. He hated the stale taste it left in his mouth. “We’re quickly approaching, if not already long surpassed, the point where you need to actually ask her on a date. You know that right?”

Steven remained quiet in the depths of Marc’s mind.

He stayed like that until Marc had cleaned out the mug and stuck a wet toothbrush into his mouth.

“Can I please just get ready for work now?” Steven muttered after nearly twenty minutes of silence.

Marc huffed, letting his eyes roll back and the toothbrush dangle from his lips.

Steven shook out his shoulders, Marc was always so tense. “Thank you.”

It was only when he’d passed the flower shop that he remembered that it was Friday. A group of school kids were expected at the museum around nine that morning.

He was almost grateful for your absence, it allowed him to wallow in Marc’s words for at least one more day. He should ask you out, god does he want to.

The day passed like most of them do.

The school children were rowdy and mostly impartial to the magnificent feats of Ancient Egyptian architecture, but he took another tour around two o’ clock with three couples and a family who were significantly, thankfully, more engaging.

Steven had just wrapped up the hour, on the tail end of explaining how do we know what hieroglyphics mean? to the man who’d asked, when a flitter of shifting fabric floated past the back of his head.

Emerging like a bottle-green wet dream, Steven's gaze found you drifting under the arch between rooms. Your eyes alight in searching, they caressed momentarily over each framed painting and encased ornate vase.

He'd never seen you in anything more than your tight pink work shirt, which - don't get it mistaken - did enough damage to his psyche on it's own, but he immediately knew he'd never recover from the little green dress that clung to your frame.

A square neckline reached past clinking necklaces, long sleeves brushed along your palm - a job Steven desperately wished was his own - and a ruffled edge that teased an upper expanse of thigh which he'd never before been gifted a view of ... and if you shifted just a little, bent just slightly over--

"Hey, thanks a lot. The tour was great."

The middle aged man's face reappeared into Steven's view: dirtied spectacles pressing down the edge of his sweating red nose.

Steven stuttered, eyes flickering between the man's face and your figure in the distance. "Y-Yeah, of course ... anytime, mate."

Your eyes found him, waving a hand.

Uninterested in letting the American tourists keep him from you any longer, Steven slipped past them towards your nearing frame.

"Stevie, hey." You beamed up at his face, hands playing with the strap of your bag: clearly unsure. "You-- well, it was my day off and I thought maybe I could take you up on that tour, but I just saw the board and it says you'd already finished your last one--"

"Hey, hey," Steven shook his head. "No, I'm ... I'm glad you came. I can take you if you'd still like, I'd love to show you around? It will be like a private tour."

He swore he could dissolve under the shine of the smile you gave him. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh—“ you started digging into the bag draped down over your shoulder. “That reminds me …”

Your hand emerged with a single white flower. It’s petals were wide with a barely there yellow dot in the centre.

“I thought it would match the jacket you always wear.” A hand reached out, tugging gently on the corner pocket of his grey trench coat and slipping the flower in so it stuck half out happily. “It’s a white daffodil. Nicked it last night before I closed up.”

Steven’s chest was clenching up with a tightness that felt like his last remaining decisions in this life were to either immediately faint, or kiss you until the oxygen deprivation lead him to faint anyways.

“I—“ His fingers caressed gently at the edge of it’s petal. “Thank you.”

“Give her a compliment, Steven.” Marc’s voice startled him. He was a rare presence when Steven was at work.

The idea prodded at Steven that maybe it was the sound of your voice that had drawn him out.

“You … you look beautiful, by the way.” Steven pressed out, “the dress, it’s — it’s very nice.”

With nervous hands at the edge of the skirt, your looked quickly between the dress and Steven's face. "Ugh, this old thing. Just thought it would be a good idea to get out of my work uniform for a bit."

"I agree ... a great idea." He nodded, "You wanna ... get started?"

"Of course."

Steven lead you over the same route that he walked three times a day, four times on weekends, but somehow still felt itchy between the rooms. He figured it had to do with you gaze pressing curiously over his face, it made his neck hot and he prayed you couldn't see it.

When he spoke, you leaned close into his frame: eyes flickering between his trembling lips and the artefacts he was describing.

"That's so cool ..." you'd whisper to yourself at different points, sometimes a "that's crazy" or a "that's kinda gross", and Steven was drinking in your reactions like a man parched.

The tour closed off at the spot it usually does, with the replica of the Rosetta's Stone near the West Exit. By then, the sun had already sunk behind the backdrop of summer London and Steven's nerves were downright shot.

Your perfume was sending him on a chemical high and he's sure Marc heard every one of his desperate thoughts about the way your fingers tightened around his arm when they'd bump past other visitors moving room to room.

With the dress swaying merrily at your sides, you recounted points of the tour with animated hands flying ahead of you.

"And the way they managed to get those tombs so far underground? Not to even mention the complex tunnelling systems, how much work that would actually take to figure out--"

The tiny birds had returned to flying in circles over Steven's head, Isn't She Lovely was playing absently from somewhere in the depths of his mind.

Your excited hands came to find your sides and you huffed yourself into silence.

Following beside him, Steven lead you two out under the arched gates towards the steps of the museum. The moon twinkled between streetlights, and Steven avoided its gaze. Like he could feel Khonshu’s presence over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed it.” He smiled at you, a smile that just about suffocated him.

“Enjoyed it?” You laughed. “It was amazing, I mean, you were amazing.”

He laughed softly too, but didn’t respond.

The silence was beginning to turn stale.

“Now is as good a time as it’s gonna get.” Marc pestered.

“Well I should—“ you pointed obviously over your shoulder, before finding the face of your wrist watch. “My bus will be leaving soon.”

Steven nodded. “Yeah … yeah of course. I had fun, you should come by more often.”

“It was … it was very sweet. Taking me on the tour when you probably had better things to do.” Your hand curled over his forearm again, “You’re very sweet, Steven.”

“And you’re very beautiful.”

The words found the air between them before Steven even knew what he’d said.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, cheeks brushed with a warm pink: “I— thank you, Stevie.”

Steven nodded, not looking at you and suffocating on his own embarrassment. “I’m gonna— need to go finish up inside.”

An unmistakably wounded look passed over your face. It dissolved as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sure.” It was curt. “I’ll see you round the shop.”

“Steven, if you do not stop her so help me God—“

A flurry of hot and cold feelings were chasing up and down his chest: he watched your figure turn and worked to do the same.

The outline of the museum had barely returned to his frame of vision when the cold hand of his subconscious reached out and dragged him down into it’s icy black depths: now watching the view of his eyes as if from a foggy tape recorder.

Marc stiffened his shoulders, turning to where you were bounding down the steps of the museum, heels clicking on each jump.

He chased down after you, skipping two steps at a time.

“Marc, don’t! You’re gonna scare her!” Steven was shouting now, rattling his already shaky consciousness.

He called your name where you’d just reached the sidewalk. You turned up to meet his face.

In barely fractions of a moment, Marc was able to find some sympathy for dear Steven.

Now that he was faced with you himself, as opposed to the blurry lens he’d been cursed to only peer through before, he wondered how Steven ever conjured up the courage to say more than three words to you.

“Steven?”

The light of the street-lamp was flickering in little circles off your eyes in the dim street and Marc was half convinced to abandon Steven in the darkness.

He didn’t.

Rather, he slipped back down into the shadows where he felt Steven surpass him again.

Your brow bent deeper in confusion, “Are you alright?”

If he had time, Steven might have taken a moment to huff at Marc for not even bothering to turn away when he forced himself back to the front, spared you from the sight of his eyes rolling back in their head. But no, you probably thought he was possessed.

“I, yes, that doesn’t matter—“

He could feel ice cold adrenaline pumping down from his brain. Like he did in the seconds before a fight, when the suit would crawl up over his skin.

“Your eyes,” your hand came close up to his face, hesitant enough to just float in its orbit. “They rolled—“

“Will you go on a date with me?”

You blinked up at him. Once, twice.

The silence was reaching far past the limits that it did in all the romance movies Steven had seen and his palms were growing itchy with the passing seconds.

“When?”

Steven’s head was reeling. He hadn’t thought that far, but why quit while he’s ahead?

“Now. Right now, tonight.”

The surprise was fading from your face, replaced with eyes that were glowing around the corners and a smile that made his heart skip every second beat.

“Don’t you have work?”

“You haven’t answered my question yet.”

“If you promise to still come visit the shop ... I would love to go on a date with you, Stevie. Right now.”

Warmth was flooding back into Steven’s hands. “I’ll set up a tent outside on the sidewalk …” he breathed, “you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Steven nodded. Almost tripping on the step up behind him, “I’m going to tell them that I’m leaving. Just wait right here …“

He’d already moved up two steps, legs buzzing with untamed exhilaration.

“Steven, hold on just one sec—“ when he turned, you’d surpassed the small steps separating you.

He’d barely a chance to turn all the way back around when your index finger hooked between his neck and the collar of his shirt and your lips were on his.

They were warm and soft and Steven had no idea what he was doing.

With his experience being limited to the pool of:

A. The girl he’d pecked in first grade on the swings in the playground.

B. A drunken make-out at a college party for a college he didn’t even attend and,

C. His (mostly Marc’s) ex-wife,

It was nothing short of a miracle when his hand came up to find the side of your neck. When he pulled your waist flush against his.

“Atta’ boy.” He ignored Marc.

You pulled back, Steven was pleased to notice your reddened, wet lips.

“Sorry,” you whispered close against him, voice half-drowned out by the rumbling of taxis in the street and people passing by. “Been itching to do that for a while.”

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 3 months

Text

What You Like

Marc Spector x F!Reader x Steven Grant • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist • ko-fi •

Summary: Marc gets in his head about being with you, Steven talks him through it.

🌛For @moonknight-events MK Bingo Spring 2024 Event🌜

A/N: There was a post about Marc talking Steven through his first time with reader, which I adored and couldn't stop thinking about. And then my brain went... but what if... the other way around? (I'm so sure I reblogged the post, or maybe it's in my queue, but I cannot for the life of me find it. Please if you know the one I'm talking about, let me know! I really would like to link it here. Also I'm so sorry I forgot who wrote it as well.)

Warnings: oral, fingering, so much swearing, some self loathing from Marc, I have used 'mate' far too much, as well as 'yeah?', kind of Marc being sort of into Steven talking to him, typos, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 2213

“She doesn’t like it so much like that, if you tilt your head to the side a little and-”

Marc snaps his eyes open and glares at Steven in the far-off mirror. “Fuck off.” He thinks hard, and Steven doesn’t have to hear him to read his expression.

“I’m just trying to help, mate.” He holds up his hands like all he had done is hold the door open for him or something.

Marc glares harder, about to flip him off when you pull back from the kiss.

“You okay?”

Marc swallows, “Sorry, I, erm…” He hadn’t realised you’d noticed his distraction.

You smile at him and stroke his cheek. "You know, we don’t have to do anything,” you shift a little on the bed, giving him a fraction more space.

“No, no, that wasn’t…” he gives you a small smile in return and leans forward again to kiss you. “Steven, I need you to be quiet now, okay?”

“I was just-”

“Steven.”

He tuts. “Okay, okay, I promise.”

Marc inches a little closer, recovering the space you’d previously offered up. His thigh nudges against yours and you let out a little moan into his mouth as he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip.

He didn’t know why he felt so nervous, anxiety like eels swimming in his belly, you were Steven’s girlfriend (and technically, his now? Or was that too forward?) you’d been in this bed, with this body before. And strictly speaking, Marc had looked in on you and Steven a few times in more… intimate moments. Accidentally, of course.

This should be fine. Practically second nature.

He tries to clear his head, to be more in the moment, and runs his hands down your back as he presses closer, leaning into you slightly to urge you to lay back onto the mattress.

You move with him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him against you. Parting your legs slightly so that he can situate himself between them.

He nips lightly at your lip, licking softly but confidently into your mouth as he just grinds his hardening cock against your core. Oh, and your barely muffled moan is delicious, the way you dig your fingers into his shoulders makes his head spin, if-

“Oh, that’s a good move. She definitely likes that.”

“Steven! For fuck’s sake! I trusted you to be quiet!”

“Sorry!”

Marc tries not to let the interruption show, but he jumps a little when Steven speaks and it’s impossible for you to have missed it. A small thorn of anxiety settles in his chest, piercing between his ribs.

“Kiss her neck, she really likes that.”

“Steven-”

“I’m just giving helpful tips!” He can feel more than see Steven shrug his shoulders. “You’re the one without any game.”

“Without any game? I’ve got more game than you.”

Steven sorts. “Unlikely. When’s the last time you got laid? God only knows. I, however, had sex this morning.”

“Steven.”

“Just saying.”

“Yeah, well, I'm gonna be having sex in a minute, so shut up.”

There was a moment of blissful silence and Marc let out a breath of relief.

You hooked your legs over his hips, urging him closer and bucking up so that you could grind against him. The heavy drag of his jeans sending sparks of pleasure along your spine.

He slips his left hand down, sneaking the tips of his warm fingers under your top and stroking at the soft skin of your side.

“She’s ticklish there.”

“Steven-”

You can’t help but giggle a little, squirming away from his touch and breaking the kiss. “Sorry,” you bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“You’re ticklish.” Marc finishes and you nod smiling.

“Sorry.” You mouth again.

Marc shakes his head and smiles as he leans back down. “It’s fine, don’t worry.” He moves his hand away from your side.

He’s barely pressed his lips against you for a second before Steven speaks again. “Told you.”

Marc inwardly grunts, rolling his eyes as he kisses along your jaw to your neck. He nips lightly at your skin, before sucking gently.

“Bit lower mate, that’s the spot.”

Marc scowled but followed the instruction, hatching onto the spot Steven suggested and you moan loudly, arching your back off the mattress.

“See, she really likes that. Now if you just move your hand down and-”

Marc clenches his jaw instinctively, letting his frustration bubble over. Unfortunately, your neck is still between his teeth when they snap shut.

You let out a little gasp of pain and Marc nearly blacks out from panic, instinctively moving to jerk backwards and away from you. But your arms tighten on his shoulders, your thighs clenching around his hips.

You whimper and buck against him instantly. “Marc, fuck, please do that again.”

He relaxes, tension easing out of his limbs as he growls faintly and does as you ask.

“It’s okay mate, really. She’s not made of glass.”

“Steven. I’m fucking gonna-”

“Hey,” Steven protested, “look, I don’t mind when you’re watching us go at it all the time, yeah?”

Marc flushed. “I do not.”

“Yes, you do. And don’t think you’re being sneaky about it either. I can tell.”

“I don’t mean to, it’s just…”

“Just what mate?”

“It just… happens.”

“Yeah, right.”

Marc stays quiet, knowing that whatever he says won’t make him look good. He tries to ignore Steven, to just focus on you. To grind against you just right. But he could feel Steven hovering just in the background.

You run your hands through Marc’s hair, pulling highly as you writhe under him and he can’t help but risk a sneaky look up at you, at how your eyebrows are pinched together, eyes closed in pleasure and…

Was it real? Or was it just for show? Did you always look like that when Steven…? He thinks back trying to recall the memories of watching in as much detail as possible.

“Marc.” Steven’s voice is soft.

But he doesn’t answer.

“Stop getting in your head about it, yeah? She’s here with you. She likes you. She wouldn’t pretend to be into something she doesn’t, ‘kay?”

Marc swallows, trying to take Steven’s words on board and calm his quickly spiralling thoughts.

But it doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right, it’s all stiff and unsettled. Like his joints are just a fraction out of place.

You can tell. He’s so sure that you can tell. Even if you are moaning and writhing against him, you must know. Must sense it. How out of alignment he is. How much of a failure.

“Steven?"

There’s a fraction of a pause before he answers. “Hmm?”

“What does she like?”

He can feel Steven’s frown.

“What does she like? What should I do? You were full of tips a second ago, don’t lea-”

“Move your hand down,” his voice is a little softer than before. Compassionate. And Marc knows his emotions have bled through. “Slower.”

Marc slowly runs his hand down your body, careful not to tickle your side, stopping just short of the top button of your trousers.

“Kiss lower on her neck, just above her collarbone... that’s it.”

Marc feels a little warm at the praise, giddy even.

“And just start to undo her trousers, yeah?”

He flicks the top button open and you whine, bucking up against him. You urge his face up with your hands so you can kiss his lips and slide your tongue into his mouth. A deep shiver runs along Marc’s spine, forcing his hips to buck mindlessly.

You pull back for a second, just to lift your top up and over your head before dropping it to the side and his breath catches in his throat.

“Trousers.”

Marc all but jumps despite the soft tone of Steven’s voice and he quickly snaps his eyes away from your skin to focus on undoing your pants.

You grin at his eagerness and help him by wiggling out of your trousers and kicking them off your feet. You kiss Marc’s neck, your hands moving desperately to his jeans.

“Touch her.”

Marc lets out a little moan as you suck on his pulse point. “Wha-”

Marc’s left hand moves under Steven’s control, slipping his fingers under the elastic of your panties and pressing two thick fingers inside of your heat.

You gasp in surprise, your thighs twitching at the sudden intrusion, shifting wider to allow him easier access.

Steven strokes two fingers languidly against your walls for a second, enjoying the little tremors and flutters before placing his thumb on your clit. “Can you feel that?”

Marc nods inwardly, “fuck.”

“See how wet she is?”

“So fucking wet.”

Steven smiles, continuing the long, slow strokes for a second before retreating back and leaving their hand once more completely under Marc’s control. He falters for half a second before he quickly resumes the tortuous pace set up by Steven.

You gasp and whine, flinging your head back against the pillow as you arch up your hips towards him, trying to buck and urge him to move faster.

“Go nice and slow… yeah… like that…” Steven whispers in his ear and there’s something strangely comforting about it, something exciting at having him there, right with him.

Marc bites his bottom lips between his teeth, watching your face with rapt attention.

“Nice slow circles and nice slow strokes.”

“Slow circles.” He mutters under his breath, almost inaudible. He glides his fingers back and forth, barely leaving you before pushing back in, revelling in the sound of your wetness.

You buck and whine, grabbing hold of his forearm like you were hanging onto a lifesaver. “Marc- ah, please!” Your words are cut off by desperate half choked sobs.

He continues to circle your clit gently, barely allowing any pressure so that you can only just feel the slightly calloused glide of his thumb. Your thighs started to shake, your movements becoming sloppy.

“Take her panties off completely, yeah? She’s gonna cum in a second, you’re gonna want to see.”

Marc obeyed without thinking, using his free hand to pull them down and groaning softly when you lifted your hips as best you could to help him.

Fuck you looked so pretty laid out all before him- before them.

You moaned particularly needily, already looking fucked out of your head and Marc hissed, unable to stop himself as he hurriedly leant down and flicked his tongue along your clit.

Your little high-pitched cry made him go light-headed.

“Fuck, god yeah, give it to her.” Steven’s arousal bled into his own, making him dizzyingly high. “God, make her cum, make her cum in our mouth Marc, please.”

“Marc, oh god, please!” You whine at almost the same moment, your and Steven’s voice blending together in a harmony that made Marc’s dick throb.

He sucked your clit into his mouth for a moment before running board, flat licks over it, continuing his fingers slow pump as he brought you maddeningly close to the edge.

Steven moaned loudly, “fuck Marc, please, please, need to taste her cum. Then we can fuck her together, yeah? She feels so good, she makes the best little noises,” he groaned again, “she tastes so sweet doesn’t she?”

“So sweet,” Marc mumbled against your pussy as he kept moving, kept sucking and licking and practically humping the mattress with his eyes pinched tight in pleasure.

“Marc,” you whimper and pull on his hair with your free hand, urging him on, “you’re so good at this, so good, ‘m gonna cum-”

“Fuck, Marc, yes.”

He couldn’t help himself, simply couldn’t. Found himself opening his mouth and letting the words spill out before he had even registered them. “Steven’s here too.”

“Oh shit!” You gasp, your voice raising in pitch as your orgasm crashes into you, seizing your limbs in pleasure and whiting out your vision, before leaving you boneless and breathless.

Marc stops moving slowly, trying to prolong your bliss for as long as possible. He bites his lip nervously as he sits up, your release and his spit covering the lower half of his face. Fuck, why had he said that, why had he gone and fucked this all up-

You smile up at him, still trailing your fingers through his thick curls. “Steven’s here too?”

He nods as heat rises to his face. He stares down at your knee.

“Look at her, mate.”

He doesn’t move until you gently tilt his chin up with your hand.

Your soft smile makes his heart ache.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers. “Is that… okay? That he’s here?”

You nod, your grin widening as you sit up and kiss him. It’s messy and deep, and Marc just melts into it. He whines against your lips as you wrap your arms around him, stroking your tongue with his own as you lick into his mouth.

“Now, how about,” you say between kisses, your fingers tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt. “I get you out of these clothes and suck both of your dick.” You pause and pull a silly face at the odd-sounding, but technically correct singular use.

Marc giggles and nuzzles into your neck.

“Say yes mate!”

“Yes please.” He mumbles as he sucks a love bite into your skin.

____________________________________

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sweetly-yours-and-mine · 1 year

Text

Bordeaux

Pairing: Marc Spector x f!Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: She's not exactly sure why she's invited Marc to Bordeaux.

Warnings: mentions of the death of a loved one, written in two hours, poorly edited (author has BDE)

A/N: Couldn't get this idea out of my head ever since I watched Un Beau Matin. Any dialogue I used from the movie is bolded down below. English translations will be given at the end of the fic. French is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes.

I don't own photos, dividers or characters.

Élodie had invited her, once again, to the villa in Bordeaux. Had tempted her really, with the promise of sunshine and a warm, swimmable, ocean. Two things that were a rarity to come by in London, and a luxury spilled in abundance in the South of France.

There was also room that would be left empty, Élodie had said, a friend of a friend had cancelled last minute (so much the better for everyone else, if you asked her sister), and if she wanted to, she could bring a friend.

Friend, being a word heavily insinuated and laden with worries unsaid.

A word that she bravely took at face value and approached Marc with the offer.

Though it was easy to play oblivious to her sister’s intentions, it was less possible to ignore her own motivations.

Why Marc?

At face value, it was because there was a loneliness in him that she felt was reflected in herself. Because he was the only person she dared call a ‘friend’, ever since moving to England and isolating herself on the little island.

She liked to believe Marc was a friend. They went out for lunch almost every week and usually, Friday evenings, she’d come over and get a little tipsy on wine, tipsy enough that her words would slur and her well-practised English would slip and fall into her mother tongue. Once or twice a month they go and see a play or movie, or to the orchestra, with drinks before and dinner after.

Those nights, the formal nights, Marc is partial to an all-black getup, a black dress shirt that he leaves unbuttoned, a black suit. It’s an image that alights a squiggly feeling inside of her, one a clumsy child’s hands would make with a broken blue crayon on paper.

Other than that, sometimes Marc comes over for brunch on Sunday mornings, a concept he’d introduced her to and one that she’s come to grudgingly see the appeal in. He sips coffee with her and eats buttered toast and makes her laugh with crude little pequin peppers of jokes.

But never, from either side of the conversation, has there been any hint towards inviting more people into their bubble.

Her excuse is simple, she doesn’t know anyone else to invite. Everyone she knows is on the other side of the Channel.

Marc’s excuse is not so obvious to her. She squints through the parchment papers of them, and can’t come up with a satisfactory answer.

She wonders that maybe the reason why she hasn’t bothered herself to find more people she’d be able to call friends was because she was happy with Marc’s quiet companionship. His not-so-smiling-smiles, the way his eyes crinkle when he gives her a belly-laugh like a giant Ferroro Rocher ball, wrapped up in golden paper.

She’s moved to England for almost a year now, and she’d only been lonely the first two months, before she ran into Marc in a coffee shop, tears in her eyes and ready to call this new chapter over before it was written.

Sometimes, she tries to reason that it’s because he’s an American, a foreigner in a new continent. That his move was more intense than hers, and together, they found each other in the margins and happily decided to set up camp.

His Americanness is also a blessing in disguise. The dreaded oral exams of her youth were always in a quite generic, American accent. When moving to London, she’d had a false sense of security that there would be a very short adaptation time to the English accents, since she could understand the unobstructed audio of the woman saying I like bananas very much. What is your favourite fruit? in her BAC listening exams.

Coming home from work, her head is pounding from the struggle of trying to sort through the various inflections, tones, speeds of the seemingly infinite variations of a single accent. She feels betrayed by the French public education system. Nobody had prepared or warned her about this.

When she talks to Marc, however, it’s easy to understand him. It relaxes the joints of her brain, soothes it over. It’s the reassurance that she’s not in fact stupid and incompetent, things her coworkers must surely think of her after she’s asked them for the fourth time to repeat themselves.

She could also argue and say that she had already pushed away many of her own friends, heaping handfuls of time before her move. That the very reason why she changed countries was to start fresh, and that inviting her old university friends to the vacation would be awkward and heavily-charged with betrayal, a step back.

Despite all this, she hasn’t been able to ignore the true reasons underneath her choice of Marc.

Quite simply, she could have just said she had no one to invite over.

It would have resulted in a decently heated exchange or two, about wasting her life, about using her youth to find someone to settle down with before she was too old for it.

Not a pleasant experience for what should have been easy vacation, to kick back and destress.

But at least she would have had an easy mind about her own choice.

Yet, looking at Marc now, playing with her niece, she’s not sure she regrets it; even if her mind has been plagued with the why of it ever since they arrived.

He’s letting her niece play with his cheeks, letting her hands push around an imaginary bubble of air in his mouth.

The two of them had been able to surpass the language barrier quite easily it seems. Though little Anaïs, at only five, had been sure to show him that she was quite well-versed in English by rattling off the alphabet and counting to twenty-five for him, the difficulties only starting from seventeen.

Relaxed and sunkissed is a nice look on him.

Laughter comes easier to him now, even if their jokes and stories are poorly translated and lose a lot of their mirth in English. The smile lines are deeper than the frowns, the delicate folds around his eyes like embroidery almost always present.

In London, Marc combs back his hair meticulously. She’s seen him do it, grumbling and swearing under his breath when it doesn’t fall the way he likes it to.

In Bordeaux, he lets it loose, free from the obligations of work and life and the fresh air and the saltwater bringing out the best of it. His short curls move as if they have a mind of their own.

She longs to thread her fingers between them, to sink her teeth into the exposed, caramel-like freckled skin of his chest as if it were cotton candy and salt-water taffy.

She had meant to be reading.

The sight in front of her, the view of the ocean just a stone’s throw behind the two, was much more appealing at the moment.

The glassed door opens and there’s the gentle swish of Élodie’s sandals, the faint thud of a tray of lemonade and wine hitting the table beside her.

“T’as soif?”

She shakes her head, murmurs her thanks. She’s the type of sleepy that comes from too much rest and sunshine.

The hinges of the chair squeak as her sister sits down beside her.

The moment before it happens, she knows it’s coming. They’ve barely had any time alone together since her arrival, and Marc’s presence had already raised quite a lot of eyebrows, undeterred by the fact that they had separate rooms.

It’s the perfect moment for some older sister grilling. Everyone’s retreated to their own rooms, or to town to stock up on some groceries and alcohol.

Marc doesn’t understand French, Anaïs too little, and too preoccupied, to understand what they’re truly saying.

She tsks and sets down her book a tad too harshly on the table, “Putain, Élodie-”

“J’ai rien dit!” she holds her hands up in defence.

At the sudden sound of an argument in the making, Marc looks at the two of them, a crease forming in his eyebrows that fades as soon as she smiles back at him.

The momentary distraction gives Anaïs the executive power to decide that a change in pace would be nice, and she pounces on him from behind.

Marc’s taken aback but then he laughs out, turning behind him, “You’re a bit of a monkey aren’t you!” They tumble together onto the ground, the girl’s excited giggles swirling up into the ocean air.

The sight warms her heart in ways that his all-black look does, and she knows better than to dive into those emotions.

“Il est beau, ce Marc, non?” Though the question is teasing, though she’s heard it multiple times from the people in the villa, there’s an undercurrent of sisterly concern and worry. Despite all the troubles Élodie gives her, it’s a sound that pricks tears from her eyes, reminds her just how homesick she’s been this past year.

She takes an exasperated breath and picks up her book again, “J’en sais rien.”

There’s a heavy pause, almost as if it exists outside of Marc’s happy world. She’s never heard him giggle like that before, it twists at her stomach in unignorable ways.

“Tu l’aimes?”

She turns an unread page and hopes the thundering of her heart isn’t too loud.

Her sister’s eyes soften, out of the corner of her eye she sees her head tilt towards her direction, “C’est son souvenir qui t’empêche?”

“Non,” she concedes and picks at her thumb, then thumbs the corner of her books, letting the pages run under her finger.

“Alors, c’est quoi ton problème? Chérie, ça fait presque cinq ans depuis sa mort et t’es encore jeune,” she rolls her eyes at this, it’s the same excuse every time. “T’as le droit d’aimer, d’être aimée.”

When it’s clear that she won’t respond, Élodie continues, slyly, “Alors, tu t’en fous que Marie l’aime bien?”

It stings like a bee, her words. The images that arise in her mind against her will are like poison, homebrewed alcohol.

She stings back, “Élodie, t'es pire que maman. Laisse-moi tranquille.”

That manages to shut off the conversation, though there’s a sour taste in her mouth that also hangs in the air between her and her sister.

With a squeal, Anaïs runs towards her mother, a grin pressed into her cheeks, “Maman!”

Élodie takes her daughter in her arms, kisses her cheeks, “Bonjour mon ange, tu t'amusais bien?” The girl nods, hugging her back. “T’as soif, alors?”

Marc gets up from the ground, and brushes off the dirt from his shorts. There’s a groan as he tries to stand up, and he rubs his back soothingly to combat against it.

She treasures the sound he made, the gentle frown in his face and the soft way it faded away with the pain in his back. “Are you thirsty, Marc?” she calls out to him. He comes to stand in front of her, and he nods, an open smile hanging around his face like morning dew. “Wine? Or lemonade?”

As she pours him some wine, her niece some lemonade, Steven looks at her from the wine bottle with a dumbfounded expression, his eyes dark and serious with grief.

A glance at him makes Marc wonder what kinda stick his alter’s got up his ass now.

But the wine is refreshing, and it brushes away any thoughts of Steven and of the heated words the sisters had exchanged as he was playing on the ground.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond to, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly. (Part 2 to this is looking enticing lemme tell you)

Masterlist here, requests here.

Translations:

T'as soif? - Are you thirsty?

Putain, Élodie - Fuck, Elodie

J'ai rien dit! - I didn't say anything!

Il est beau, ce Marc, non? - He's pretty, this Marc, isn't he?

J'en sais rien - I don't know what you're talking about.

Tu l'aimes? - Do you love him?

C’est son souvenir qui t’empêche? - Is it his memory that's stopping you?

Alors, c’est quoi ton problème? Chérie, ça fait presque cinq ans depuis sa mort et t’es encore jeune - So what's your problem? Sweetheart, it's been almost five years since his death, and you're still young,

T’as le droit d’aimer, d’être aimée - You have the right to love, to be loved.

Alors, tu t’en fous que Marie l’aime bien? - So, you don't care that Marie likes him?

Élodie, t'es pire que maman. Laisse-moi tranquille. - Elodie, you're worse than Mom. Leave me alone.

Bonjour mon ange, tu t'amusais bien? - Hello, my angel, were you having fun?

141 notes · View notes

frostironfudge · 1 year

Text

I Need You To Listen - Steve Rogers

Summary: For @the-slumberparty 's Week 3 Something New Challenge, I went with the medium mode - sex pollen but with exes to lovers. This took alot of work I ended up rewriting it entirely, I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 7.4k || Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, smut, angst, smut, fluff, sex pollen, p in v, fingering, dirty talk, love bites, steve rogers dirty talking (this man), swearing, nipple play, past is in italics, sort of a post civil war rewrite so we're going completely off canon

Main Masterlist || AO3

Fate works in the most hilarious of ways, a stubbed toe over here and a broken heart still being nursed over there.

Tony Stark stands in front of your cell, staring at you through the glass. You don’t hold back your tears from him. Disappointment colours his features.

Broken pieces of trust lay scattered on the floor. The damage by him was done. Leaving you to bear the brunt. Leaving you to walk on the jagged edges of the broken family.

A family that shared jokes, laughed, drank and protected each other.

Won together.

Lost together.

In the past few days died together.

“How are you holding up?” His arc reactor gleams as he takes a seat on the stool. Unzipping the jacket he wears his arm in a sling. You close your eyes, more tears fall at the memory of the fight. An involuntary shiver as the chiling bite of the cold manifests itself from your memory.

The cell isn’t uncomfortable. There is a cot in the corner, the bathroom has a door. The sterile scent of the cleaning agent stopped giving you a headache hours ago.

“Why are you asking me?” You look at him, he should be mad, he should yell, call you a traitor.

“Contrary to what you all think and did to me, I trust you.” He shrugs, left eye twitching, he rolls his shoulder.

“How is the arm?” Your gaze falls to it.

“Seen better days. You know, heart troubles.” He looks at Wanda’s cell, “Kid, Vis is asking about you.”

She looks up at him, “Is Rhodes alright?”

Tony presses his lips into a thin line, shaking his head.

Wanda looks down at her hands.

“He tore us apart. That Baron Zemo. I know you have a lot to learn, alot to grieve. The accords may be dissolved. I’m working on it. At SI we’re preparing the bail documents.” He informs you all.

Sam scoffs, “What about Cap and Barnes?”

“James is in recovery as per my last conversation with T’Challa. Where Cap and Nat are I do not know nor does he.” Tony gazes back at you.

“I trusted him.” Is all you can say to him. You stare at your palms, you couldn’t get the blood off.

“I know, I did too.”

“Tony.” Your lips quiver another sob at the heartbreak Steve left you with to deal. All alone.

Bucky fights Tony, you don’t want to see your best friend hurt. The man who took you under his wing when you joined in, your steps halted by the blonde haired man who harbours your heart.

“Sign the accords.” Steve orders, you gape at him.

“Steve, do you fucking realise? We’re here because I didn’t sign them because I am siding with you?” You almost yell. The tempreture drops as the snow cascades into the facility from the now broken windows.

Bucky lands on the floor, a pained groan, his arm blasted off. He kneels, eyes widened at the implication. At the man he hurt irreparablely being the one to take away one of the curses HYDRA bestowed upon him.

“Shit!” Your eyes move to Tony, slowly he rises from the floor. The suit broken in several places.

“Y/N, you need to listen. You cannot go rogue with me.”

“Steve,” You push his arm away you had to intervene.

“It was good while it lasted.” He says and everything turns to static.

“Wh-what?”

“Look, I, we had a good run but I know your stance on the accords you’re just with me for the sole reason we’re together.” Steve says to you.

“Are you serious right now?” Anger courses through you, your grip on your pistol tightens.

“It's not even the accords. I, I didn’t think we would make it beyond this month. Look, I have to think about Bucky. Its all of this, it doesn’t, priorities.” He lunges over to defend Bucky leaving you defenceless. Your ears ringing, you watch as they fight, you can’t hear any of the clangs the groans.

You stand there dumbfounded.

As Steve throws Tony down the beam reflects off of his shield and hits you on the shoulder you’re thrown against the wall. Bucky meets your eyes, at least he seems apologetic.

Tony tries to get up to help you, “Rogers, she’s hurt—,” The shield slams against the arc reactor.

“I don’t care.” He says so easily.

You pant as the pain increases, both the burn and sting of his words as well as the physical injuries manifesting across you.

Steve helps Bucky up, you try to push yourself to your knees, crawling to Tony while keeping your arm close to your body.

Bucky looks back at you, his eyes convey his remorse. Tony breathes hard, you blink back tears at the glance Steve doesn’t spare towards you.

Eight months down the drain.

The morning kisses, cuddles, the random sketches of you he left as gifts all lose their importance. Remembrance only causes pain.

“Mr. Stark, you need to leave.”

Tony sighs, “I’ll visit, or I’ll have you guys out before that. Work some arrangement.”

“I’m so sorry, Tony.” You look at his arm and back at his face.

He gives you one of those sad smiles of his, the one where he pretends it's just another day, another common thing.

“Aren’t you foolish to trust us again?” Sam questions him as Tony passes by his cell.

“I just have to do my job. It’s the people who have to trust us.” Tony turns to face Sam.

“So the people trust the missile maker millionaire Stark?” Sam knows the jab is stinging, Tony hated

that about the company’s past.

The rift was ever present, your friend looks towards you.

“Y/N, let him know not to insult me, I’m a billionaire.” He grabs his glasses and moves away.

You resist the urge to laugh, everyone would resort to their coping mechanisms. You’d have to bide your time here. Usually getting black out drunk was how you solved your own problems.

True to his word Tony has you all released on various conditions. You, Scott and Wanda are released together.

When you reach the tower it isn’t surprising that there was a break in, you’d scoff that Steve didn’t come to break you out but he made his decision in Siberia.

The faint scent of his cologne lingers in your room. Hints of Patchouli and Bergamot. You stare at the box on your bed.

Opening it reveals a burner phone.

“I got a burner too, one number loaded upon it.” Tony stands at the door holding a glass of scotch for himself and your favourite Vodka in a bottle.

“Surprised he bothered.” You open the phone and it chimes an unread text upon it.

“I didn’t get that.” He observes, you take the bottle from him.

Opening the text.

SGR: I want to talk to you. Please let me explain.

You laugh bitterly, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip. At least you can blame these tears on the alcohol.

“Are you going to? Call him I mean.” Tony settles on your desk chair.

“Nope.” You set your bottle down after three more sips, grabbing the edges of the opened flip phone you press. The phone snaps from its hinges and you place it back down in the box, “Did you track it?”

“Fake return address.” He twirls the ice in his drink.

The two of you bask in the silence. Drinking in tandem and out of sync.

“Were you going to sign the Accords?” You ask after a while staring at the setting sun.

“Nope,” He reaches for your bottle, pouring himself a peg, “I was having them redrafted. Steve only had to agree for them to shut up. My draft would have gotten approved.”

“So confident.” You raise your brows.

“Comes with the job title.” He rolls his eyes.

“Do you think anyone will trust anyone?” You tap the bottle neck.

Steve’s laughter reverberates against your chest. He reaches up to cup your face.

“Why is it so amusing?” You ask, not meeting his eyes.

“Because it is, Poppet. I wouldn’t break your heart.” He assures yet again.

You gnaw at your bottom lip trust was difficult to come by for you.

“You want to know why?” He whispers, making you meet his gaze. His nose brushing against your own.

“Because I have your heart and it's what is keeping me alive.”

You lean closer, pressing your lips to his, Steve kisses you back. Hands pulling you closer. You feel his smile between the kisses and you begin to retract knowing what he was upto but it’s too late.

Steve tickles your sides and laughter blubbers from your chest. He grins, cheeks flushed as you press against him. The thin sheet hides nothing from the way you feel.

“I love you.” He says, you stroke his cheek with your thumb.

“I loved him with everything in me.” You blubber out, tears falling down.

Tony sits next to you, your head rests on his good shoulder, “I know you did. It's a hard road ahead, kid. Not an undoable one.”

“I hate him.” You declare, “I hate him, he just, how could he be so selfish?”

“Sometimes we all are, he is in the wrong. He didn’t exactly reciprocate the trust.” Tony sighs, you look up at him.

“I’m sorry about your parents.” You watch him give you those sad smiles, he flexes and extends the fingers of his left hand.

“He could have told me, I trusted him enough that he could.” He whispers then shakes his head.

“Steve Rogers is an asshole.” You declare raising your bottle to his assholery. Then you giggle.

“You just thought of the word assholery didn’t you?” Tony giggles as well.

Both of you burst out laughing.

“Hey Tone?” You ask mid laughter.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for being here, also can I get a box?”

“Sure.” He stands, FRIDAY has the box led by one of his tinkered bots to the room.

“I need to check on Rhodey.” He says, “I’m a call away okay?”

You nod, he leaves. The box stays on your bed and then you stare at the sketches hung around your room. With a delicateness that Steve didn’t spare towards you, you pack up the papers. Sealing the box with plastic wrap and head down to the safety deposit lockers.

Your steps are misjudged and you drop your box of trinkets several times. The stupid ceramic mug from that couples pottery class probably shattered.

You giggle thinking how it resembles your heart.

Locking the box leaves you in silence. Your room is void of all things Steve except the one shirt he gave you on your first mission together where the two of you fell into the muddled waters that left the two of you in need to change out of clothes.

The shirt smells like him, you curl up with it on your pillow.

“This is the last time you gave your heart away.” You tell yourself.

“This is the last time you cry over him.” You promise yourself.

Eight months pass and you all sit in the conference room. The accords are abolished. They reinstate Natasha, Sharon, James, Sam and him. Tony holds his flip phone. Resorting to texting rather than speaking to him.

A reply comes when you all are back at the tower. They’d be there tomorrow. Rooms are prepared with favourite foods stocked up. You had requested your room be shifted away to another level.

Heart ache didn’t manifest beyond those few nights.

Your walls that Steve Rogers broke down were built back stronger. Impenetrable. His shirt was placed in his room by you a month into getting over him.

You don’t pass by the floor, you’re a level above. Thankfully the elevators divide the levels they service and you won’t ever be on the same floor as him.

The night is restless despite your indifference to all of them. They were the family you chose and yet you were abandoned by them.

Dreams are but a loop of memories you have buried.

After your morning laps you head to Tony’s lab.

“They will be dropping in at SHIELD first. Fury wants to discuss some things and then they come back here.” He stifles a yawn.

“You need caffeine my friend.” You hold up the coffees, “Luckily I come bearing gifts.”

“I love you.” He whispers gingerly while taking the cup.

“Are you talking to the coffee or me?” You ask, taking a sip of your own.

“I can love both.” He defends, whispering to the coffee he loves it more.

You throw one of his discarded paper balls on him. It doesn’t phase him.

“Are you sure you want to come along?” He asks for the umpteenth time on the drive to SHIELD.

“Tony, I will leave you behind if you ask me again.” You glare at him.

“I think you will be fine.” Vision assures a gentle smile on his face and he laces his fingers with Wanda. She smiles at him, her own mind filled with thoughts.

“See we’ll be okay.” You declare.

Minutes later you’re seated on one side of the conference room. Tony on the first seat, you on the second. Vision opts to stand behind Wanda as she sits.

Fury sits at the head of the table. The door opens and Natasha, Sam and Steve step into the room. A thick silence settles over. You look at each of them and then back at Fury.

Natasha’s hair is shorter and blond, Sam seems to have gotten leaner. Steve was sporting a beard and longer hair.

You wondered if the post break up look was something you should have gone for, maybe dyed your hair blue.

“Well, as you know you all have been reinstated. The Avengers operate without any Accords binding them but they must be mindful of their poweress and the possible damage they may cause. A country has full discretion to forbid the Avengers from subduing threats that may lead them there and you must honour that no matter the cost.” Fury gazes at you all.

“What if they need help?” Steve questions, you scoff.

Cold blues flash to you. You roll your eyes.

“The dissolution of the Accords was done keeping this one rule in mind. I suggest you make peace with it. You will not be able to save everyone from damage and hurt, it is better than causing it.” Tony adds.

Steve’s jaw tightens. He nods.

“Now since this is done and dusted. Official missions may resume.” Fury places down a manila folder.

“Official?” Sam questions, raising a brow.

“Agent Y/L/N here was liasoning with us for recon purposes. Kept under wraps. We have identified HYRA bases. Once the plans are sanctioned you all will be back on duty.” Nick sighs, “I suggest you all train together to get a sense of your skill sets and moves again.”

No one nods.

Nick shakes his head leaving the room.

“Your old rooms have been cleaned at the tower. Access is via FRIDAY, food is stocked. Layout’s almost the same. Few changes here and there. Oh and there are new succulents in the living room.” Tony fiddles with the folder.

“We can conduct a meeting about these missions tonight or tomorrow. You all settle in, there is a car outside and your vehicles are in pristine condition at the garage.” He informs them further.

“No welcome back party?” Nat muses, you laugh.

“I drank all the liquor so unfortunately no parties.” You deadpan.

Nat and Sam stare at you.

“It has been a difficult few months. I understand everyone will take time to return to a semblance of previous normalcy.” Vision’s words are both reassuring but also farfetched.

Wanda grasps his hand and gives it a squeeze.

Steve’s brows furrow in worry. He observes you trying to find any hints but you give him none. You learned to school yourself. An agent well versed in hiding her intent, emotions and aim. Your skillset is what brought you to the team and it is what you have. It's what you could trust.

Sam nods, “Well best we head back.”

“Yes we could use some sleep.” Natasha says, you flash her a smile.

“Yep, well I have a few things to discuss with Fury.” You push away from the table first. Tony follows your lead.

“Should you not include us in the conversation?” Steve says in his authoritative baritone.

“Unfortunately, Captain, it isn’t an Avengers matter but a personal one. Which you aren’t entitled to know.” You spit back.

His mouth opens again to speak.

Tony beats him to it, “Where’s our Manchurian candidate?”

“Bucky’s in the UK for a bit, after Wakanda we were there for a while. He stayed back for personal reasons.” Steve explains and you slip out.

Steve stares at your room door, knocking on it yet again. Two weeks since his return and you had avoided him in every capacity.

He had worked up the courage to knock on your door today. But there was no response as it was over the past fifteen minutes. He requests FRIDAY to check in and all the AI says is that you’re fine.

You had gotten back from a mission yesterday morning. You had to have been resting.

“Why won’t she open her door then?” He mutters, pressing his forehead to your door, “Poppet, I just want to speak to you. Please.”

“Captain.” Vision greets floating out of Wanda’s room.

“Vision.” He acknowledges.

“Why are you knocking on an empty room’s door?” Vision tilts his head.

Steve blinks at him, “This is Y/N’s room.” he states as if obvious.

“It isn’t, she switched rooms about three months ago.” Vision says

Before Steve can ask anything further, Wanda opens her door, “Vis.” She gestures with her hand for him to return.

“Wanda.” He walks to her this time.

“FRIDAY, where is Y/N’s new room?” Steve questions walking to the elevators.

“She’s on the twenty-fifth floor.” The AI responds, he switches to the other elevator.

“Captain, you will have to go to the ground floor to switch elevators.” FRIDAY informs him.

Steve sighs moving back in front of the original elevator. It stops at every single floor; he almost misses the elevator as you’re getting on, luckily a Stark Industries employee holds the door for him.

You bite the inside of your cheek. Looking away.

“I want to talk.” He says over the all too silent but crowded elevator.

Everyone looks at him except you. They follow his gaze to you.

“I don’t.” You answer while staring at the numbers.

“Poppet.” He says and you shoot him a glare before looking away again.

People trickle in and out.

Steve’s gaze is trained upon you. He nods politely at those greeting him but his gaze nerver strays from you.

You look into your phone pulling up a forgotten game loaded into the device. Anything. Any stupid thing to avoid him.

Finally it's just the two of you.

The automated air freshener hisses filling the space with the scent of lavender.

“Poppet I just want to explain—,” Steve steps closer, his hand outstretched.

“No. I don’t fucking want to hear a word.” You seethe, you move forward pressing the button to your floor if it makes you reach quicker.

“Poppet.” He grabs your hand, turning you towards him.

“Y/N. Use my damn name.” You spit out, finally meeting his eyes.

There is a tick in his jaw, he nods, “Y/N. Just five minutes. I know I don’t deserve it—,”

“You don’t deserve to even ask for a minute of my time. You never saw us work beyond that month correct? Well guess what? We don’t.” You push at his chest, he doesn’t budge.

“I lied. I said those things so you wouldn’t follow. I could not have you living rogue with me.” Steve admits, you stare at him.

“You lied?” You repeat.

“I didn’t want to break things off but that was the only way I could ensure you wouldn’t follow behind me. It was dangerous. Poppet—Y/N,” he corrects, “I told you your heart kept me alive, I love you—,”

Steve’s head snaps to the side, cheek turning red at the impact of your slap. You breathe hard, eyes tearing up.

“That was not for you to fucking decide, you do not get to come back here and make your sorry excuses for being a horrible human being. Betraying my trust. Leaving me and your friend injured. You picked Bucky over us. You picked Bucky over me and I understand I would pick him too if I were you. But I would not fucking lie or leave my girlfriend and best friend behind injured horribly. You’re welcome back to the compound Steve. Even back to your glorious Captain America title. However,”

The doors open to your floor, you step out.

“I don’t know how you say you’re alive because I took my fucking heart back from your undeserving self. I don’t care if you lied, I don’t care if it was all fun and games. I don't care about you. I don’t want to care about you. You are a teammate because I am forced to consider you one. I don’t need to listen to you to provide you closure or a second chance. You fucking liar!”

“Poppet,” Steve reaches for you again, you take off running to your door.

“FRIDAY, deny access. Override only with Tony.” You order, the locks on your doors bolt and Steve keeps knocking and pleading.

He sinks to his knees outside your door apologising over and over.

Natasha is pinned to the floor by Wanda as the latter grins triumphantly. Natasha praises her and they break apart. You take Wanda’s place and Sam takes Natasha’s place.

Mixed training was now mandatory.

You had almost burned Nick Fury with your glare. Steve hadn’t shown up to any, in fact he hardly was in the same room as you.

Sam goes full offence, you block the blows. Defending yourself you had worked hard over the time away from official duties.

Minutes pass by, neither of you yields. Panting you stare at Sam waiting for an opening to take him down.

“Come on, that's all you got, little spy?” Sam teases, you laugh.

“You wish birdy.” You stick your tongue out childishly. Wanda and Nat laugh.

“Come on Wilson.” Nat prompts, “We’re bored here.”

“Alright,” Sam moves, pulling a fake. You catch it a moment too late, as he’s about to tackle you to the ground you turn. Tugging on his arm as Sam’s eyes widen.

The momentum thrown off both of you land on your sides, recovering swiftly he’s pinned to the ground by you.

You grin at him.

“How's that birdy?” You laugh at his irritation. Sam rolls his eyes.

“Y/N.”

Everyone’s heads snap to the door, Steve and Tony stand there.

You help Sam up. Sam keeps an arm around your shoulder. Steve’s eyes linger and his fists clench.

Sam takes his arm away.

You roll your eyes, they land on Tony as he bites his cheek, oh this can’t be good you deem.

“Wheels up in an hour for Rogers and you.” He delivers the news.

“Sam, Nat, Vis and Wanda are needed to take on a bigger base with Tony.” Steve looks at you, “Fury’s orders before you try to whine your way out if it.”

You glare at him, “Alright.”

An hour later you’re on the jet with Steve. He doesn’t talk. The last conversation between the two of you was enough.

“We won’t be splitting up.” Steve informs you. You nod, studying the layout.

You frown in recognition.

“I was here on recon. This is supposed to be a dead base.” You look up at him.

“Fury said they detected activity.” He looks back ahead.

“Hopefully it's just random people looking for shelter.” You look back at the plans.

Steve hums, observing you again. Wishing it would be like before where the two of you would be holding hands.

Cobwebs litter the walls, plaster cracked. The scent of something decaying permeates through the space.

Walking into the HYDRA base is carefully crafted, Steve leads with his shield. You keep a double check on the back trail. Something was not sitting right with you.

The hallway diverges, you stand next to Steve, “Left side first then we can go right.” You whisper.

He nods, “Stay close, I don’t know why something feels wrong.”

You don’t verbalise your own feelings, following in his footsteps.

The hallway leads to an abandoned lab, the computers torn down and broken apart. Steve relaxes his defensive stance looking around the area.

You move carefully through the edge of the room, “Something should be of value here.”

“I don’t think there is anything.” Steve declares, “Let's clear the other pathway.”

You give another once over and then follow him back down the path.

Your boot catches on the uneven flooring, “Shit!” You whisper yell as you fall forward.

Steve turns, breaking your fall. You land against his chest and his arm encircles your waist. For a moment that echoes a broken promise of eternity he holds you close to him.

Steve sneaks a moment he lost over a stupid decision. He takes what crumbs he’s given by fate.

Your palm is against his chest, your head tucked against the crook of his neck.

Why can't you move away?

Why do you want more of him?

Why do you miss him?

He hurt you.

He lied.

He hurt you.

You break the eternity Steve was living as you pull away, silence stretches between the two of you as you head down the other hallway.

It's empty yet again, you shake your head at the waste of time. Steve steps closer to the vials on the shelf. The liquid in them gleams a certain way.

You hear a pneumatic hiss from your left. You turn quietly making your way to the wall.

Steve studies the shelf again. There was no dust on it. No pattern on it. These were fresh vials. Then his eyes widened, “Y/N don’t!”

You turn to face him when the hiss is louder and the slits of the vent open. A dust like substance pours over floating around you.

A coughing fit grips you, you place your hand against the wall to steady yourself the gun falls as you clutch your chest wheezing.

Steve pads over to you, trying to rub your back to ease the coughing fit. He asks FRIDAY to scan the micro dust to see if it is anything dangerous.

The coughing fit subsides over a few minutes, your breathing shallow. You look up at Steve blinking away the tears. He cups your cheek.

“Are you okay? Do you feel anything?” He questions, gaze running over every aspect of you. Glove clad large palms moving over your form. You nod, but then your stomach cramps.

“What is it?” Steve takes not of your discomfort.

“I, it's my stomach—,” Your words are cut off by a whimper as the cramp gains severity. You lean more against the wall as the cramp travels across.

Steve rummages through his mind to know what this substance could be, he had been to HYDRA bases before. He spoke to Bucky all about them, their experiments which he knew.

He watches as your skin flushes, you squirm in his grasp. He steps closer to support you.

“Poppet?” Steve makes you look up at him, your eyes have a dazed look almost glazed over. You feel his warmth through your tactical suit. His thigh between your legs and the ache the needy ache is all you know and you need to get rid of it.

“Please,” You plead to him gazing at his slightly blurred blue eyes, your hips moving out of their own accord against his thigh you moan as your core makes contact with him.

Steve pushes your hips away, “Poppet what—,”

“Steve, it hurts so badly. Please,” You cry out wiggling against his hold. His fingers dig into your hips to keep you in place.

Your palms cover his, you look up at him.

You lean up, he shifts back. You use the distraction to guide his palm to grind down on it. Your choked moan has his cock harden further. He can’t help but watch as you use him.

Logic hits him then when he feels just how wet you’ve gotten, before he can pull away there is a prick in the side of his neck. You begin to blur from his view.

“Poppet, something is wrong.”

You look up at him, why did his words sound garbled?

Why was he falling to his knees?

You look behind him, people standing and watching.

The need clouding your mind clears in the slightest, “Steve,” you kneel next to him.

“It’s okay,” he assures you, reaching for the shield.

The cramp hits you again harder; you cry out in pain, doubling over and sinking against the wall to curl up.

“FRIDAY, dis-distress signal.” Steve orders as his vision begins to blacken, he reaches for you with the last of his strength covering your curled up form with his body.

Steve keeps his eyes closed.

Enhanced hearing picking up the dripping pipes from the left. To his right he hears your pained whimpers.

How long was he out?

Chains bind his arms above him, the uneven concrete digs into his knees and shins. He would search for the shield in the aftermath.

He counts four people by their rhythmic footfall. They were in the same facility. It couldn’t have been easy to move them.

Lolling his head to right he watches you through hooded eyes, chained like him kept on your knees but you’re struggling. Squirming on the ground trying to find respite and crying out of frustration.

“Sex pollen.” Bucky spoke, with a shake of his head in disgust.

“Sex pollen?” Steve repeated as if to confirm.

Bucky gives him a look, Steve’s eyebrows shot up higher.

“What does that do? Did they use it on you?” Steve questioned his best friend.

Bucky shook his head, “It basically sets the libido up to the maximum, forces the person in contact to orgasm but basically they need to have sex, self pleasure seldom works. The intensity is higher to combat the inevitable effect.”

A dark expression crossed Bucky’s features, he sighed sadly. Looking out at the view from his home in Wakanda. The house, though borrowed, was Bucky’s own.

Steve had placed a few sketches of Brooklyn around. The place he used to consider home now changed. Steve stares at the more recent sketch of his home city.

Two men out of time in a place decades ahead of the world outside.

“How long?” Steve clutches his charcoal tighter as he forms the curve of soft lips on the paper. A stray tendril of hair.

Bucky looks down at the half done sketch of your face. His heart aches for Steve and you.

“Two hours, it gets progressively maddening. At first one can try to speak or answer what is asked. After that it is variable how long it takes for the need to become the sole focus. If nothing is done in two hours then its too far gone and well...”

He had limited time, he could not gamble any further. Steve opens his eyes, tugging at the restraints to catch the attention of the captors.

You hear the rattling, you look up at Steve another pang through your core.

“Steve—,”

“Ah, Captain. Welcome to the land of the waking, you were out for just under an hour. Now who is this sweet little needy thing with you?” The man asks, stepping closer to you.

Steve growls, “Stay away from her.” he warns.

The man raises his hands in defence, “She’s a little needy Captain,” he walks back toward Steve away from you, “Why so possessive?”

Steve bites his tongue, “She’s mine.” he grits out.

“I see and why is she yours?”

He can’t tell them, they would exploit you but his will is crumbling swiftly and his mind is compelling him to speak, “I love her.”

“Hm, it seems she needs you, Captain.” The man grins, walking back to you. His palm touches your scalp as he pulls your hair back. You want to recoil but the touch is soothing some of the ache. You look at Steve, pleading.

“I could fill in.” He says suggestively.

You try to shuffle away but the grip on your hair tightens.

“Don’t you fucking dare touch her!” Steve bellows as his thumb approaches your lips, “What the fuck do you want?” He pulls against the restraints, almost snarling.

“I want to know where my Soldat is, tell me.” The man demands, leaving you. The words register as does the scent of cigarettes you recoil. You feel your mind working again, clearing the need to be fucked.

“Steve don’t,” you warn him, he couldn’t sell out Bucky whatever this was, it wasn't worth ruining his life again, “I’ll deal with this…” you bite back the pained whimper.

Steve stares at you, eyes wide and with an emotion you can’t place.

“Oh but you know what is wrong with her don’t you Captain?” The man demands and you look to Steve, “Tell her the truth that burns your veins, Captain.”

Steve wants to lie, wants to cushion you, “Truth serum?” He looks at the man who nods.

“Brilliant isn’t it? You’re compelled to tell me whether or not she chooses to be saved. You’re on a time limit.” The man taps his watch.

“It’s a sex pollen.” Steve informs you, you stare at him.

“That, that's why I need?” Your insides churn and your clit pulses as you watch Steve lick his dry lips before he continues to speak. The small insignificant action has your body wanting to be devoured.

“Yes, and if you don’t get release, it’s fatal.”

Silence stretches on the footfall of the three others has stopped, they watch the show play out. The consequences and the outcomes weighed.

“Fight it, don’t tell them. It's not worth it.” You whisper.

“Poppet you cannot say that. I am not risking your life!” Steve yells, pulling at the restraints again.

“You can’t have him at risk again!”

“I won’t let you die!”

“You already left me for the dead once! You chose him once. Just fucking do it again!” You seethe, your skin clammy and you just want this suit gone. The material irritates you.

Steve gapes at you, “I, I didn’t—,”

“Save it.”

“As much as I enjoy a lover’s quarrel. Where is Soldat?” The man interrupts.

“Gone.” Steve answers, “Poppet, please,”

“Don’t fucking tell them!” You demand, “Consider it my last wish! Fight the damn truth serum.”

“You are not dying.” Steve grits out.

“Where is he, where is Bucky Barnes?” The man lands a punch to Steve’s face. His hair falls forward, slowly Steve looks up at the man. Rage colouring all his features.

“I will let you help her. Just tell me where Bucky is, Captain.” The man promises. Steve considers, you begin to yell no at him.

“He’s in the United Kingdom.”

“Are you insane?!” You slump to the ground, “Do you have any fucking idea what have you done?”

The man walks over and slaps you, “Shut the fuck up! You want a cock so fucking bad you fucking bitch in heat, I’ll give you one!”

Steve snarls, wrapping the chain around his own palm and tugging hard until it breaks away from the wall. The man turns, gun cocked and ready, it's grabbed out of his hand by Steve. He looks at the man dead in his eyes before delivering the fatal shot.

You look up at Steve, as the man drops to the floor between the two of you.

Steve watches the other three scramble about, he quickly fires the shots, he keeps one person alive.

He grabs the other chain, yanking it with all his strength. It gives way.

“Where is the shield?” He walks over to the man on the ground, pleading in pain.

A shaking hand rises, pointing to the vault.

“Access code?” Steve picks him up and takes him to the keypad.

The man enters it crying when Steve presses on the open wound, “Don’t fucking pull any stunts.”

You watch as the doors part and the shield stays there as a momento.

You blink when everything goes out of focus. You blink again. Heat spreads over your body goosebumps raise across.

Your thighs clench and you squirm trying to get some friction to release the ache. Tugging at the restraints is maddening. They don’t relent when you try to manoeuvre but no position provides any respite and you sob out as the frustration grows.

“Poppet.” A warm voice calls out, you whimper. The hold on your right arm loosens and your hand reaches for the tactical suit. You had to get it off. You needed to get it off.

You blink and watch as Steve’s hand stops yours, you push at him.

“Please,” you whimper as another cramp takes over.

“You smell so sweet baby.” He groans, the sound urges you on, you guide his hand to where you need him.

His warm palm cups you the fabric of your suit soaked Steve hears your sigh of relief.

“Going to take care of you Poppet, but you need to hold on for me okay?” Steve assures, breaking out your left arm as well.

“Steve please,” you beg again, your mind screaming at your body, your hips move making you grind onto his palm. Your smaller palm wrapped around his wrist not letting him pull away.

“Fuck,” He groans, pushing you against the corner and undoing your suit’s zipper, you don’t face him palms braced against the wall. Steve’s warm calloused palm is as though cold respite to your heated skin.

He doesn’t waste time, fingers running over your folds, palm pressing against your clit. Your head tilts back resting against his shoulder, mouth parted moans leaving you.

Steve presses his fingers into you, two thick digits and your walls clench around him he almost wishes he’d fuck you right there.

“Fuck this pussy remembers who she belongs to doesn’t she?” Fingers curve finding the spot he very well could have placed. Stars line your vision as he hits the spot over and over, fingers curving.

“Right there Steve!” You cry out your ass rocking against him, pressing onto his cock. He keeps his thrusts hard and fast, palm rubbing your clit in the most delicious of ways. His grunts fill your senses.

Pleasure thrums from his touch to your body, your back arching as his fingers drive deeper and deeper into you. Your walls are gripping them back in not wanting him to stop.

“I know sweet Poppet. I know what makes her weep for me. I’m going to taste you. But first you’re going to make a mess on my hand alright?” He instructs filthy words offset by the sweet kisses placed against your forehead and cheek.

His other hand cups your breast playing with your nipple. Your hands fall from the wall, gripping onto his nails leaving indents on his skin. Steve watches your chest constrict, your voice choke off, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you.

His fingers keep moving, riding your orgasm out, your walls quivering around him the sensitivity of your clit as it pulses. Some of the haze clears but the need just returns tenfold.

“Steve, please, I can’t, can’t wait—,”

His lips are on yours, cutting you off, your suit pushed down further without breaking away from the kiss.

The shield clatters to the floor, his suit haphazardly discarded. Steve’s hands explore your body, remembering the planes he explored before. The love he whispered across your skin. Marking you with his touch, his lips, his seed.

“Wanna see you,” You want to turn, he grabs your hands pinning them to the wall.

“No one gets to see you this way but me.” He growls, you feel his hard cock move between your thighs. His larger body covers yours, shielding you, watching over you.

When your thighs clench around him, Steve hisses, “Going to fill you up, sweet girl.” he coos.

Inch by inch Steve’s length stretches you, your back arches. The relief the stretch of his cock brings is unlike anything else you’ve felt before.

“You can take it, made for my cock aren't you?” He stills inside you, throbbing as your walls clench around him. He moans biting down on your shoulder the feel of you decadent, unable to be given justice by his mind.

“Heaven. Pussy feels so good, baby. Missed you so much.” He grunts, you push back against him needing him to move, “hands around my neck.” He orders, leaving your hands.

You wrap them around him, holding onto his now longer hair, soft between your fingers. Your mind remains you of the soft moments when he laid in your lap and your fingers combed through these locks.

Steve pulls you out of your thoughts with the snap of his hips. His palms gripping your waist anchoring you to him. Skin slapping against skin, his cock feels so good you could sob, the need turns into embers, your thirst being quenched.

Each delicious, deep stroke moves you towards sweet bliss. You hear your name in an echo of his name. Steve watches the wall you mould against him, as countless times before. Your heart may have put up walls but your body left no space.

The way he sees the telltale signs of your orgasm he brings his right hand towards your apex, timing his rough circles on your clit to his thrusts. The sensations blooming become too much, your body alit with flames of pleasure, Steve moans as your walls begin to milk him just as your orgasm shatters through you.

He keeps his thrusts going, pumping into you. The arousal that spills onto your thighs, the mix of you and him.

“One more.” He demands, fingers coated with the mix of the two of you, his marked fingers brought back to your clit, you cry out in ecstasy.

The blissful haze clears, everything returning to you. The mission, the power, you can’t, you can’t, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve–,

“Right here my sweet poppet, you will give me one more. You know I'm greedy.” He reasons, only increasing his pace, you thrash in his hold. Lips find the sweet spot of your neck.

It’s your undoing, you cum around him yet again. Crying out his name, tugging on his hair. Aftershocks moving through you. He holds you up, pressing kisses to your forehead, temple, cheek, jaw and shoulders.

Grounding you, palms moving over you after he brings his coated fingers to taste them. Your head lols against his shoulder, you reach for his jaw, placing a soft kiss. Steve smiles at the familiar gesture.

Helping you get dressed he follows as well. You’re lifted into his arms and carried to the quinjet.

As it had turned out Bucky wasn’t in UK it was a precautionary measure they came up with to secure Bucky from any life threatening attempts. The guilt you had harboured lessened.

Steve had stayed away from you, once Tony and Bruce cleared you of any remnant pollen he took his leave. Avoiding you as he had after the elevator confrontation. It left a bitter taste in your mouth.

As much as you felt as if you were an emotional fool for considering the thought of wanting to approach him, you missed him. Terribly.

You knew your walls were useless against the one man who you had given your jagged heart to, the blue eyes you had drowned yourself in multiple times. Whether it was when he found your gaze across the room or when you were pressed against him.

Your feet carried you after three days to his door. Your hand shook when you knocked. Thoughts swirling through your mind insecurities gaining fleet.

The door opens, Steve’s eyes widen then his brows furrowed with worry, then fall to the still fading love bite that he placed on your collarbone. You shift your weight to either side. Hands fiddling with the hem of your top.

You look down at your feet, Steve’s palm cups your cheek.

Your eyes meet their old home of blue.

“I want to listen.” You manage to say, his pink lips stretch into a familiar smile.

He steps to the side inviting you further into his room.

-x-x-x-x-

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pimosworld · 4 months

Text

Bad days

Pairing- Steven grant x f!reader, hints of Marc and Jake x f!reader.

Summary- You help Steven relax and cure his bad day.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, porn with a little plot, angst, fluff, Steven being unsure at first, oral m receiving, cum eating, slight sub Steven,Dom reader, Marc and Jake being teases and helpful because it’s them.

WK-2.4k

A/N- Making Steven feel good is like candy to me so I hope you enjoy this.

Not beta read

[Moon Knight Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

You set the groceries down to knock on the door to Stevens flat. You don’t hear any movement on the other side of the door for a few brief moments. You know Steven wasn’t always punctual but he never missed an opportunity for you to cook him dinner.

It was a little nerve wracking at first taking over his job in the gift shop. He was promoted to tour guide at the museum but Donna insisted he train his replacement.

Marc was annoyed in the beginning. How hard could it be to work in a gift shop? He knew Steven had been waiting for so long to be a tour guide and told him in so many words to tell Donna to shove off. Until you walked in.

For once in his life Steven didn’t bumble his way through an introduction. You loved the way he cared so deeply for the regular patrons and cataloged all the items in the gift shop.

He gave you a taweret plushie on your last day of training and couldn’t contain his excitement when you wrapped your arms around him as a thank you.

Ask her now

It wasn’t often Jake made an appearance, but since you’ve come into the picture he was making himself more and more known.

He’s right, ask her

It was a problem for Steven when Marc and Jake were getting along. He has yet to make his condition known to you, but he’s noticed you smirking when he’s talking out loud or having a stern conversation with his reflection in the glass of the gift shop.

“I was wondering if maybe…you’d like to go to dinner with me sometime?”

You said yes before he could even get the words out.

That was a few months ago.

****

Steven noticed you at the end of the hallway as the doors to the lift opened.

I told you to just give her a key hermano

Steven didn’t want to just hand you a key like Marc or Jake would. He wanted it to be special…he already had it made, he just needed an opportunity to present it to you. He’s been so busy with his promotion he’s barely had time for you.

You offered to cook him dinner and he couldn’t even bother to be on time for that.

He looks so tired, even from where you’re standing. You can tell he’s had a rough day and you’re determined to make it better. It’s not often the boys let you spoil them, always so concerned with your needs.

Steven had needs too…he just needed a gentle reminder.

****

“I’m sorry I’m so late, Love.” He pecks your lips as he drops some scrolls to the ground to fish out his keys.

“It’s okay Steven, I haven't been waiting long.” You bend over to pick up the groceries as he drops his keys.

“Oh bollocks, can’t even open my own door.” You try to grab his shoulder as he picks them up from the floor. He mutters something under his breath about being clumsy and your certain Marc or Jake aren’t helping.

“Steven, honey.” You wrap your arms around him as you slowly grab the keys. “Let me help you.”

Steven wants to protest but your hands are like magic covering his. He has to pinch himself everyday to remind himself he’s not dreaming, when it comes to you. Marc and Jake may give him a hard time but he never lets them forget that you were interested in him first.

He sighs into your touch as you slowly open the door. “You’re too good to me, you know that.” He scoops the groceries in one arm and the scrolls in the other.

“There’s no such thing as too good.” Your lips curve into a smile before you lean in and kiss him and he nearly drops everything in his arms.

“Why don’t you set that stuff down and get comfortable.”

He goes to protest but you place your finger on his lips. “Go wash off this awful day, change into something comfortable and relax.” You kiss him again a little deeper and longer, you can feel him sigh into it as you start to pull away. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

I would do what she says if I were you.

He pinches himself before he heads off to the bathroom.

****

Steven notes the delicious smell wafting through the flat as he pulls on his favorite jumper and sweatpants. Although he knows whenever he comments on how good it smells you always tell him it’s just garlic and onions.

You’re a picture of domestic perfection as you finish putting something in the oven. You wipe your hands on the small towel as you look up and smile at him.

His feet are rooted to the spot in the living room as you make your way towards him,you look like you want to devour more than just the food. The urge to look over his shoulder and make sure he’s the one you’re looking at is strong.

Your soft hand gently grabs his wrist as you pull him toward the couch. Perhaps Marc or Jake took control of his legs because he certainly doesn’t remember how he swiftly ended up seated with you on your knees in front of him.

The words are leaving your mouth but he can’t hear anything over the buzzing in his ears as you rub your hands up and down his legs.

“What did you say love?” You smirk and lean up, pulling his face to yours as your soft lips meet his. He could stay like this, just kissing you as he melts into the couch. The stress of the day pouring off him like the rain outside.

“I said…did you have a bad day?” You trail kisses along his jaw and nip at his earlobe as you wait for his answer.

“Yes.” It comes out as a confession, like he’s ashamed to admit that he has bad days doing his dream job.

Your warm hands roam under his sweater along his chest and trail down as you hook your fingers in his waistband. His breathing is coming in too fast and he tries to calm himself down as your body brushes against the obvious tent in his sweats.

“Do you want me to make it better?” It’s a whisper in his ear that he hears loud and clear as your hands wait for permission.

Say yes Steven

It must’ve been too long, because his head mates urge him to answer you before you change your mind. As if you ever would.

“Yes…please.” You chuckle at his rushed out response as if you can read his mind and know exactly what they’re saying.

It drives him a little bit wild that you’re giving him this attention. He was always a little more reserved than Marc and not as bold as Jake. He’s never been treated like this. The sole purpose of someone’s desires.

You tug a little on his pants and bite your lip. He lifts his hips to help you as you pull them down just enough to pool at his feet. He’s achingly hard as your hand reaches out to pump him a few times.

He bites down on his tongue to keep from coming at the first touch of you. It’s only been a few days and he’s already so desperate for anything you’ll give him.

The genuine look of enjoyment on your face as you stare at it like it’s an appetizer to a four course meal is something he’ll have to frame in his mind.

The feel of your hand is quickly replaced with your mouth as you slide down the length of him, your plush lips wrapped around his cock as you hum in approval. Finally provided the relief you both wanted.

He chokes back a moan as your tongue slides back up, slowly twirling around the tip. A drop of precum trails down the side and you tilt your head licking it up like an ice cream cone. Not wanting to waste a drop.

Fuck

Your hands are on his legs again as you rub them in time with your head as you bob up and down, moaning around his cock sending chills up his spine.

You loved watching Steven let go. It was exhilarating that you could make someone come undone. The dark look in his eyes is almost similar to Marc’s but you know by the noises coming from him and the way his hands grip the couch it’s your sweet Steven.

Put your hand on the back of her head

“What?” He rasps out above you.

You come off with a pop and take in his unruly curls as the sweat forms on his furrowed brow.

“I didn’t say anything honey.” He stares blankly at you for a moment before he realizes he must’ve spoke out loud.

Idiota

“Sorry love, you can keep going…if you want to—

His rambling is cut short as you take him into your mouth again, not wasting a moment as your lips slide all the way down his cock. Your nose brushes the curls at the base and you gag a little.

“Sorry love…” Steven begins to apologize but you don’t seem to be stopping.

Listen to me and don’t say anything

Perhaps he should just listen to Marc, he’s never…well maybe not never, but he’s rarely led him astray.

Put your hand on the back of her head and Gently…go with her movements.

You glance up at Steven who nods his head as he places his hand on the back of yours. He’s looking at you with those puppy dog eyes like he’s asking for permission to do what you’ve been wanting this whole time. Enjoy it.

You hollow out your cheeks and pull him in deeper as he audibly moans a little louder. His nails scratch lightly at your scalp as he pushes you down a little further. His bold movements turn you on even more than you were before. You breathe through your nose and push past the burning in your lungs to stay on the edge of his pleasure for a little longer.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” He mostly says it to himself as you whine your response because you can't really answer at the moment. Not verbally at least.

You know you probably look a mess as your mascara runs down your cheeks and the drool pools outside your mouth as he takes what he wants. Except he’s looking at you like you hung the moon as his free hand swipes a stray tear from the corner of your eye.

It feels like he’s in the duwat again the way he’s floating between this reality and the next. He struggles to keep his eyes on you as he throws his head back against the couch finally relinquishing all control he had over his emotions.

The sounds of your mouth and the muttering of praises are all he can focus on as the familiar feeling starts to creep up his back and infiltrate his brain.

You can feel his legs tense beneath your hands as the grip in your hair tightens instinctually.

“I’m…im close love, you don’t have to.”

Cállate y déjale

“It’s okay Steven, you can let go.” You half pant out as you resume before he can protest.

You place your hand on top of his and urge him on as he curses under his breath. His hips stutter slightly as he feels himself let go, spilling hot ropes of come into your mouth. You don’t let up as you swallow every drop until he’s boneless beneath you. His cock twitches slightly as you come off, slowly catching your breath. His hand drops to the couch with a thud as you raise up next to him and brush his curls out of his face.

The redness on his neck dissipates with every breath that he takes in. He may have been close to passing out if you hadn’t stopped soon.

“That was…incredible.” He half whispers to himself and you chuckle into his neck as you place soft kisses to his sweaty skin.

“I’m glad I could help.”

The timer on the oven beeps bringing your attention back to the dinner you started when you told him to relax.

“Ooohh, the lasagna is done.I hope you’re hungry.” You bounce up off the couch as he stands and pulls his sweats back on.

He feels like he ran a marathon and food sounds delightful at the moment.

“You made my favorite?” It’s said as more of a question than a statement as he watches you move around his kitchen like you’ve been here all your life.

“I made two actually.” You cut into one and place a serving on each of your plates. “Vegan and meat sauce. I’ll mark them for you so you know which is which.”

I love her

Ella es perfecta

You lick the sauce off your finger and he’s brought back to what you just did for him on the couch.

“I have something for you love.” Steven heads to the room briefly and digs through his jacket pocket before he finds it.

He sheepishly returns to the kitchen island where you’re digging into your smaller portion of lasagna. He’s trying to rid his head of these thoughts for a second as you make the same noises from before as you savor your food.

His hand shakily slides the key towards you and you set your fork down to pick it up. The beautiful brass key looks so big in your delicate hands.

“Is this my prize?” You ask with a mischievous glint in your eye.

Smooth

“Oh no…I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while. I didn’t plan it this way…it was supposed to be special and well…”

“Shhh. Steven, relax, I'm just joking.” He eases a little at your words, knowing you’re just teasing him. You and Jake had that down better than he or Marc ever could. “I love it honey, thank you for trusting me with this.”

You lean in and place a kiss to his cheek, shorter than he would care for. He never wants you to stop touching him if he could help it.

“Eat up, before it gets cold.”

Before I take the body and eat my own

No me parece

He eats while they bicker, not wanting to waste another precious moment with you.

****

Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you stare out the window of the bus on the way home from work.

Steven: where are you love?

On the bus I just left work, how was your day?

Steven: It was quite dreadful

I’ll be home soon to make it better

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging a few who might be interested

@missdictatorme @chichimisaki @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @melodygatesauthor @simpforbritgents

#moon knight fanfiction #steven grant fem reader #steven grant x female reader #moon knight mcu #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant smut #marc spector x f!reader #jake lockley x reader #moon boys x reader #steven grant fluff #sub steven grant #marvel moon knight #steven grant x f!reader #jake lockley fluff #moon knight fanfic #moon knight x you #oscar issac characters #oscar isaac

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imtryingbuck · 5 months

Text

Too Late.

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n’s Steves girlfriend and she’s been taken by Hydra, will he get to her in time? Will she want to go with him if he does?

Word count: 2,237

Warnings: angst. cheating. nat and steve are terrible people. pregnancy. miscarriage. tiny mention of being sick. swearing. ending is terrible sorry.

A/N: women aren’t failures or less of a woman if they have miscarriages, unfortunately and sadly it’s a natural thing.

Part 2

Masterlist

Why he kept doing it was beyond him.

The first time it happened both swore that it was a mistake, second time was a mistake too. The third time was to blow off steam from a rough mission. The fourth time, a mistake.

Now they’ve lost count of how many mistakes there’s been.

They know there’s been too many “this is the last time” before they end up in the same position.

Even though he knew what he was doing was wrong he just couldn’t stop.

When he woke that morning he knew he had fucked up. In the whole time that they’d been fucking he never fell asleep, he always headed home afterwards. He never once woke up with her in his arms. This was intimate, something that they didn’t do. It was just sex. They barely kissed, it was rough, he barely touched her other than her hips or his hand on her head as he pushed her face further into the pillow, further away from his mind - from his guilt.

Finding his phone he jumped up out of the bed his heart in his throat at the 22 missed calls and the one text message. He made her have a number that she would send to him for emergencies. For when she wasn’t or felt safe.

He received the number 4 in-between the many missed calls.

“Shit, baby pick up.” He chanted as he picked his clothes up off the floor and shoving them on in a hurry.

“St-Steve?” A woman’s voice came from the bed.

“Get up. Somethings wrong with Y/n”

“Shit”

Natasha took the sheet to cover herself as she rose from the bed, her too putting her clothes back on in a hurry.

Steve ran out of the room finding the team in the kitchen, Natasha soon following. “H-has Y/n called any of you? Somethings wrong”

Receiving a chorus of no’s his heart plummeted in to the depth of his stomach. Not giving any thought to it he took off running to the garage.

Speeding through the busy streets Steve kept trying to ring Y/n, heart rate going through the roof every time he heard her voicemail. Not even parking the car he jumped out and ran up to their apartment, Bucky and Sam quick on his heels.

“No no no no no” the door was open halfway.

“Y/n? Baby, I’m home…” he tried, Bucky and Sam swore they never heard Steve’s voice sound so small.

Taking small steps into the apartment he has shared with his girlfriend for the past three years he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

The grey couch was tipped on its side, cushions once nearly placed on said couch now lay on the floor. Pieces of glass from the photo frames they had hung up, littered the ground. Trinkets and ornaments belonging to Y/n, that took her ages to get a nice collection going was broken on the floor amongst the mess.

But that’s not what caused him to loose his breath, no, it was the small puddle of blood in the middle of their living room, droplets leading to where he stood and behind him.

Bucky made his way around the wall that was Steve and did a sweep of the apartment in signs of his best friends girlfriend. Sam took off in the direction of where Bucky was calling his name. Five minutes later they both emerged from the bedroom, Bucky holding two things in his hands.

“S-Steve…”

“What are they?”

“A phone…and um, a…a pregnancy test.” Bucky stuttered out, his heart pounding violently.

“W-what does the test say?” Nat questioned quietly from behind Steve as she stood with the rest of the Avengers.

“It-its positive”

No one moved as Steve hunched over and puked up.

Just as he was about to stand the phone started ringing. Bucky answered and put it on loud speaker.

“You’ve been a naughty boy Steven so we took your girlfriend. You have less then… ten hours to find her, hopefully she won’t be too mad at you. Hail Hydra” the voice on the other end of the phone chuckled darkly before hanging up.

“What the fuck is going on?” Tony demanded.

“I-I don’t know, we need to find her. I can’t lose her”

“We’ll find her don’t worry” Nat says as she put a comforting hand on his arm, Steve looked at her hand in disgust and yanked his arm away as if she had burned him.

“Don’t. Ever. Touch. Me. Again.” Steve growled in her ear quietly, even Bucky didn’t hear.

Her head throbbed, her whole body ached and was sore when she finally came to.

“Ah you’re awake, finally. I’m Conrad and I’ll be here to help you through this very tough time”

“W-where am I?”

“With Hydra darling. Believe it or not but you’re safe, I promise”

“Really? You pricks attacked me and you want me to believe you when you say I’m safe?” She chuckled with a head shake.

“I know, that wasn’t suppose to happen but we didn’t realise that one of Captain Americas girlfriends was so feisty, well we knew one was but not you” he says.

“W-what are you talking about?”

“Oh didn’t you know? Weird. Steve has another girlfriend. You know her, Natasha also known as the black widow.”

Her heart cracked but she didn’t believe him, he was a member of Hydra for Christ sake. “Your lying”

“Hold on. Matthews turn the screen on and let’s show our guest where her hero is.”

The bright light from the tv screen she hadn’t even noticed was there, nearly blinded her. Conrad told Matthews to press play, her soul felt like it had died.

There was her boyfriend on six years thrusting in and out of her best friend.

“T-t-turn it o-off”

“No. Look in the right corner where his jeans are, open your eyes and do it Y/n.”

Complying with his order her eyes slowly peeled open and look where he had told her. There on the floor was the jeans she had brought him when he needed some new ones, every few minutes there was a flash.

“Want to know what that is? It’s you, you was ringing him when we came knocking. You was running and hiding ringing for him whilst he was fucking another woman. Matthews fast forward to the best part”

The footage fast forwarded and she saw Steve sleeping and Natasha climbing out of the bed, going to his jeans and picked up his phone she saw all the missed calls but instead of doing anything she put the phone down on the bedside table and climbed back into the bed.

“She’s not very nice is she? She knew you needed him but she didn’t care, that’s not a good friend is it?” Conrad mocked with a chuckle. “D-do you want a drink of water?”

The change in his tone confused her, one minute he was mocking her then in the next he sounded worried.

“H-here, take slow sips. It’s just water, look I’ll take a sip.” He says “see, it’s okay I promise.”

“W-why are you doing this?”

“I’m helping you. I’m not really the bad guy in this Y/n-“

“Why?”

Just as Conrad was about to respond Matthews ran into the room “they’ve arrived”.

“Ah show time”.

“Where is she?” Steve demanded clutching his shield tighter.

“She’s here, didn’t think you’d find us so soon Cap.” Conrad says from where he was stood, a grin on his lips.

“Where is she?” He repeated.

“Bring her in, nicely I don’t want any more harm coming to her”

The team watch as the door comes open from the left side of the room and Y/n came through it with two Hydra agents by her side.

“Doll-“

“How long.” It wasn’t a question but more of a demand.

“What are you talking about?” Steve questions.

Instead of answering him she turned to the others “did you guys know?”

“Know what?” Tony asks.

“Did you know that Steven was fucking Natasha?”

Both Steve and Nat flinch as she calls them by their full names. Natasha slowly backed up as the team looked at the pair.

“D-Doll whatever they’ve told you is a lie”

“I saw it with my own two eyes. How long”

“Doll-“

“A year.”

Steve and Natasha spoke at the same time.

“A…year?”

“It was an accident Y/n/n-“

“Don’t call me that Widow. A year isn’t an accident, did the rest of you know?”

All shook their heads at her question.

“Y/n please, it was a mistake I swear! She means nothing to me.”

Before she could respond Natasha spoke up “I meant nothing to you?”

“No. Please Y/n let’s go home, your pregnant baby”

“Not anymore I’m not. I was two months ago but I lost it, I remember ringing you all night begging you to come home but you never answered a single phone call. Probably with her.” She quickly wiped the fallen tear from her eye as she remembers that night.

The night where her happiness had left her all alone on the bathroom floor, panic raising by the second. Ringing her happiness’s father just for him not to answer, blood flowing down her legs and hands that shook something fierce. She begged and begged for them to come back, promising that she’d do better and be the best mum she could possibly be.

Sadly her happiness had gone away.

Numbly she cleaned up the evidence of her failure, placed the baby onesie she had brought as a present to tell Steve that he was going to be a dad - back in the box it came in, she put the positive pregnancy test in the box along with the sonogram and then neatly placed them in another box, pushing it right to the back of her side of the wardrobe.

Over the next two months whenever she was alone she would take the box out and talk to the sonogram, telling the tiny bean that she loved them. She knew she should of told Steve but she had no idea how to bring the conversation up, she couldn’t bare to see his face light up when she said she was pregnant just to see it fade away when she told him that she had failed as a woman and that it was no longer with them.

To her she was protecting him by keeping it away from him.

“But it doesn’t matter now does it? You guys can fuck off now.”

“No no Y/n please we can figure this out-“

“No. There’s no figuring anything out. You betrayed me, you! I didn’t do anything wrong! You don’t love me no more? Break up with me! You wanted to get your dick wet by some bitch that wasn’t me? Break up with me!” Her voice got louder as she went on stepping further towards him, standing in front of him she felt sick at the devastating look in his eyes.

“I asked Conrad to kill me” she smile sadly at him “you guys need to go now-“

“Y/n baby please I’m sorry, I can be bet-“

“Don’t humiliate me even more please, I’ve wanted this for a while now so please just leave”

Steve opens his mouth but shuts it quickly when the agents of Hydra points their guns at him and his team.

Y/n walks back over to Conrad who leads her through the door they came through. The last thing the Avengers hear is the deafening bang they were all familiar with.

In the two years that had passed since he lost Y/n, Steve stayed far away from Natasha.

The team had only recently begun talking to the pair again, they had lost a friend and to them it was Natasha’s and Steve’s fault.

Steve missed Y/n more than anything, sleep didn’t come easy to him not now not when the memories of his betrayal was always there as a constant reminder. Not when all he remembers is the pure devastation look in her eyes or how her hand glazed over her stomach when she spoke about their baby that they lost - a baby that he did not know anything about.

He had no one to blame other than himself for every time he hears a gunshot he’s transported back to that day he lost everything. Lost his world.

On the other side of the world in a woodland area away from the civilised society sat a lonely small farmhouse, surrounded by a large fence to keep the farm animals inside.

Y/n emerged from the wooden door with a small smile on her face, dressed in her dark blue dungarees that wore a deep green stain on the knees.

She didn’t lie when she said she had asked Conrad to kill her and he had agreed, when they went into the hallway she had fully prepared herself for the bullet to come, to end her life instead the bullet zoomed past her head and lodged itself in the wall.

“I’m not going to kill you Y/n, I-I want to help you leave but you need to stay quiet okay”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not much of a bastard, come on we don’t have long”

Now in the two years since she had left she finally felt at peace, she found herself.

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

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sortofanobsession · 2 years

Text

To Cry for the Moon Part 2 (Moon Knight x Female Eternal!Reader)

Author's Note: Here is part 2 for you. I do not have dissociative identity disorder (DID) This is a fictional depiction of DID & characters are based on the Marvel/Disney's Moon Knight series. I own nothing. The story idea by @jupitersmoon167 (the original post I saw is here!)

Y/N = your name. Y/N/N = Your Nickname. Reader pronouns She/Her. Story is 3rd person POV. Italics are the reflected alter talking.

Tag Requests are Open just message me.

Primary Pairing: Steven Grant x Eternal!Reader, Marc Spector x Eternal!Reader, Khonshu x Ma'at!Reader (It'll make sense eventually)

Word Count: 900+

WIP Series Masterlist

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Part 2: Errors in the Design

The next time they meet Steven, and by extension, Marc, sees Y/N studying the gift shop’s poster display for the Ennead exhibit. Her expression is filled with concentration as she studies the statues of the poster on display.

“I told Donna that they missed a couple,” Steven says. The woman before him startles slightly, her head snaps up as he speaks. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Smooth,” Marc chides from his reflection on the display. “Why not just give the poor gal a heart attack?” Steven ignores him.

She smiles and shakes her head. “No worries,” she assures him. “And yes, I see that. I’m sure they think no one will care.”

“But you do,” Steven counters. “And I do. People come to a museum to learn about history, and they can’t even represent it right.”

“True, but what are a mere docent and a gift shoppist to do?” She sighs and leans against the counter. “I am quite sure a number of supervisors signed off on this, without even the slightest clue what was missing. Or that these statues look ancient, sure, but are they really all that eye-catching? The Middle Kingdom alone was filled with beautiful carvings and vibrant colors like you wouldn’t believe,” she tells him. “Colors that may have lost their vibrancy with time, harsh sands, and the unrelenting desert sun, but they didn’t all fade. And they were all-natural, authentic, and made painstakingly by hand.” She looked closely at the central figure of the top statues. “Oh but you would love this, wouldn’t you, old man,” she mumbled as she studied Osiris’ statue. “You were the end all, be all.” She shook her head. “But you’d be nothing without my feather, you old mummy.”

“You really are passionate about all this,” Steven says gesturing to the poster, and other nearby items.

His voice snapped her out of her reverie. She nods. “It's a bit foolish to put so much time and effort into something that has been gone for ages,” she admits. Ajak would probably scold her for speaking of their time alongside the god of the dead so openly with a human. Y/N hoped Steven would attribute her heated take on it all as just part of years of enthusiastic study. 7,000 years, and it was still so easy to forget that people didn't know she had been there. People can’t know. Ajak, and probably Osiris himself, would shake their head at her. Or trap her in her own statue. He could try, taming an Eternal was something even Osiris never tried.

“If it’s foolish, then I happily consider myself a fool,” Steven says, earning a smile from her.

“I guess we are just a pair of fools longing for a time lost to the sands,” she says with such longing it made even Steven feel homesick for a moment. He could tell she put her heart and soul into everything she did.

“You miss it, don’t you?” He asks as he leans against the counter.

“More than you can know,” she states but smiles at him. “I miss them but being here helps. A little piece of home. And I have my friends, though they’re more like a family than just friends.” She takes a moment to study him. “I think you’d like them, Sprite tells stories that can capture the imaginations of everyone around. And Sersi, oh she’ll love you. A passion for times long gone, yeah, you’ll get along great.”

“They sound lovely,” Steven admits.

“They are,” she nods, but her phone goes off notifying her of her next tour group. “Well, duty calls.”

A few days later Steven is just leaving after a long shift of Donna micromanaging when he hears his name being called. He looks up to see Y/N on the steps of the museum with some people. Despite his exhaustion he smiles.

“Steven!” She waves him over. “I’m glad I caught you. Come meet my friends.”

“Oh, okay,” he says as he joins hers.

“Steven, this is Sersi and Sprite,” she gestures to the two women with her, “Ladies, this is Steven.”

“The guy from the gift shop?” Sprite asks, a mischievous look forming on her face. “The one you-”

“Lovely to meet you, Steven,” Sersi loudly cuts off Sprite. “Y/N always loves showing off the little souvenirs you find her.”

“Oh well, she-” Steven starts, seeming flustered.

“Look Dane’s here,” Y/N says quickly to save everyone from this embarrassing conversation. Dane greets Sersi sweetly before Y/N introduce her friend.

“Why don’t you join us for dinner, Steven,” Sersi offers. “Pub’s only a few blocks away.”

“He just finished a long shift, you guys can’t just-” Y/N start.

“Say yes, or I will,” Marc threatened from the reflection of a watch.

“That sounds lovely,” Steven agrees. As the small group heads towards the pub, a strong breeze kicks up and Y/N stops for a second and looks back. She does a double-take when she thought she saw a figure on a roof, but it was gone when she looked back. Something about it felt oddly familiar.

“Hurry up, Y/N!” Sprite says as she grabs her arm.

“You alright, Y/N/N?” Sersi asks as Sprite drags her closer, but Y/N keeps looking back.

Y/N turns around to see them looking back at her. “I…yeah.” She brushes it off. “Guess that last school group tour took more out of me than I thought.”

“Do you need to go home and rest?” Steven asks. She smiles at his concern.

“No, I’m fine,” she assures him.

“You’re sure?” He asks again.

“Yes, I promise, I’m fine, really.” She nods and begins walking again. “Yes, let’s go.”

#marvel x reader #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #eternals x reader #Eternals!Reader #Female!Reader #Female Eternals Reader #marc spector x female!reader #marc spector x Eternals!reader #steven grant x female!reader #Steven Grant x Eternals!Reader #marc spector x y/n #steven grant x y/n #Moon Knight Eternals crossover

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pleasurebuttonwrites · 2 years

Text

Hung the Moon (Chapter 6)

Chapter 5 | Masterlist | Chapter 7

Pairings: Marc Spector x f!Reader, Steven Grant x f!Reader, Jake Lockley x f!Reader

Summary: You go to Marc for help.

Rating: Mature

Content: ANGST! Language, violence, gun violence (no descriptions of gore)

Word count: 4K

A/N: Thank you all for your kind comments!!!

A few notes for this part:

1. I’m mostly following the canon of the show and the events in this series occur some time after season 1. However, I’ve completely removed Layla from the story. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE her in the show. I just didn’t want to tackle Marc and Layla divorcing (because I really like them together) but I also wanted Marc to be single, so…

2. I’ve included some elements from the Marvel comic’s universe, but I am only somewhat familiar with their histories in the comics, so I’m making up pretty much whatever I want here. While these things are elements of the story, it’s not important to understand anything about them. However, if you are familiar with the artifact (finally revealed here) and what it can do, I really loved the idea of Marc having it all this time and not using it. I may expand on that in a later part, I may not.

Tags: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ajeff855 @bnamta @unspokenmoon @milkymoon2483 @valkyrieace @theimpalasdoctorin221b @hopefulfangirl24 @bucksgoat @rmoonstoner @foreverinwanderlust @am-3-thyst

~~~

The streets are wet when you leave your hotel, but you barely notice. The rain has stopped, but you barely notice. The sky is clear with the full moon shining bright, but you barely notice.

You probably shouldn’t be walking this late at night, but instead of calling a car, you try Jake again. You know he won’t answer, but you try him again.

Your feet pound the pavement - harder than is necessary - as if you need to be reminded that you’re solid, you’re on the earth, you haven’t drifted away.

You cross the street and step right into a puddle. It doesn’t slow you down, not even when the water soaks into your sock and the chill sets into your skin.

Their flat is farther than you remembered. How long have you been walking?

You’re standing outside their door. How did you get there so quickly? You raise your fist to knock. Who’s going to answer? You rap your knuckles on the wood. Who do you want to answer?

Earlier, after Jake had left your hotel, you fell asleep again. You woke a few hours later, the last rays of the sun casting a dim glow through your window. Steven had texted you while you were sleeping and you messaged him back. Then you got a bite to eat at that place on the corner you kept passing and had been wanting to check out. You got the number three with the special sauce. It was fucking delicious. You don’t remember now how it tasted.

You knock again, louder this time.

After sleeping all day, you couldn’t get to sleep that night. You turned on the TV and watched some reality show about famous people living in a house together and hooking up. You didn’t know who any of them were. But after two episodes you had opinions. It was as they were revealing who got voted off that week that the text came through.

You should have been sleeping. You shouldn’t have seen the text until the morning. But you weren’t and you did. You saw it right away.

The locks are clicking open on the other side of the door.

You shouldn’t be here. You’re not supposed to be here. If you’d had any other choice, you wouldn’t be. But you can’t wait around for another week - or more - to talk to Jake. You can’t even wait another hour. You have to do something.

Now.

The door swings open. He’s wearing blue striped pajama bottoms and a grey T-shirt with the neckline all stretched out. He’s barefoot. His hair is sticking up in the back. He’s squinting at you through tired eyes. You don’t know who he is.

Neither of you says anything.

He blinks a few times. Then his eyes widen and he smiles.

“Steven,” you say, and you do a poor job of hiding your disappointment. It had to be Steven, you think bitterly. This couldn’t have been easy, could it?

“Hiya,” he says, his voice still raspy with sleep. He steps aside to let you in. Your waterlogged shoe squeaks against the floor as you enter. The lamp beside the bed is lit, the only source of light in the place. It illuminates the ring of sand and the ankle restraint trailing from its post to where it’s stretched out in front of the bed. The light only barely reaches you and Steven. His face is deep in shadow, but you can make him out well enough.

As though just realizing it, he says, “It’s the middle of the night, love. Is everything alright?”

He’s standing so close to you. You could reach out to him and he’d wrap his arms around you, your face against his chest, inhaling his scent. You clear your throat, but even still you barely get the word out. “No.”

His brow knits together in concern. It would be cute if it weren’t so painful to see him worried for you. Steven’s a good man. He doesn’t deserve what you’re about to do.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“Um…” You stare at Steven’s hands - nervously folded together at his stomach - while you think.You have a choice to make. You can confess everything to Steven, hope that he cares enough about you to reveal what he knows - if he knows anything at all. You can ask for Jake, revealing the alter who, for some reason, wants to stay a secret. Or you can ask for Marc, who you promised not to go to.

You lift your gaze to look into Steven’s eyes, willing Jake to appear. If he would just show up, you wouldn’t have to hurt Steven, you wouldn’t have to betray Jake. He could help you fix this…right? But if there is someone else listening, it’s not Jake.

Steven tilts his head, waiting for you to say something.

You give yourself one last moment. To remember his face so full of concern for you, so full of caring. Then, like a coward, you squeeze your eyes closed because you can’t bear to watch his heart break. You open your mouth and say the words. You don’t recognize your own voice. “I need to speak with Marc.”

Out of all your options, Marc seems to be the most straightforward. The most transactional. And that’s what you need right now. A quick exchange. No emotions. No mess.

Steven doesn’t say anything, and you wonder if maybe he didn’t hear you. You open your eyes and flinch when you see the pain in his face. Despite this, he says, rather unconvincingly, “‘Marc?’ I don’t- I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

He’s going to make you say it again. “Steven. Please.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I need to speak to Marc.”

A range of emotions travel across his face - none of them good. His face contracts, all of his features draw in tight, shutting everything out. When he opens his eyes, it’s not you that he looks at. He addresses the small, square mirror on the wall by the door, saying, “No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You look in the mirror and see the dark silhouette of Steven’s reflection and nothing more. You’re aware that he’s speaking to Marc, but you keep your mouth shut.

He listens for a moment, then he turns to you. “How do you know about Marc?” he asks. “How long have you known?” From the guilty look on your face, he concludes, “The whole time. What a sod I am.”

He turns back to the mirror. “Did you know about this?” Then, defensively, “I dunno what to believe, do I?…No, I’ll handle it.”

He’s barely able to look at you as he says, “I think you should leave now.”

All you want to do in that moment is run away, but instead you say, “I can’t do that, Steven.”

“I’m not giving you the body,” he says to Marc, his volume rising.

He looks at you in a way you’ve never seen him look at you before. In disgust. You weren’t prepared for that, but you know you deserve it. And anyway it’s better than facing his misery. With a forced evenness, he asks, “What is it that you need from Marc?”

“Is that Marc?” you ask him cautiously as you point to the mirror. “Is he talking to you?”

“What is it that you need?”

You take a deep breath to steel yourself. “I’d really prefer to speak to Marc directly.”

He’s struggling. He glances over at the mirror and listens. He gives you one last look - one of utter betrayal.

A moment later that look of betrayal is wiped from his face, replaced with a hard, cold stare. It’s so jarring that you feel your body jolt in response.

You’re face to face with the mercenary at last.

He folds his arms over his chest, making his biceps bulge against the cuffs on his T-shirt, and leans one shoulder against the side of the bookshelf. “You better start talking. Now.” The London accent is gone, replaced by a subtle Chicago one.

You shiver from a sudden chill in the air - whether that’s Marc’s effect or faulty heating, you don’t know. It makes you stammer and his scowl deepens. “I-I work for someone who’s looking for something you have.”

“What?” he spits out.

“The Siege Perilous.” You feel strange saying the name of the legendary amulet aloud. Its value lies not in its age or the gold and precious stone it’s made from, but rather from the rumor that it has mystical power. You don’t believe in that, but your boss wants it - for reasons unknown to you - and what your boss wants, he gets.

Whatever Marc thought you were going to say, that wasn’t it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Wow, you think. He’s a really bad liar.

“Bullshit. I know you have it. It was first uncovered at the dig site of the Tintagel ruins, 12 years ago. It was lost when the site was raided by thieves. You were one of those thieves. You took the Siege Perilous for yourself and never handed it over. And now I need it. I can pay you for it.”

He listens to you, calmly. Completely unperturbed by how much you know. All he says is, “I don’t want your fucking money.”

“You’ll kill people for money but you won’t hand over one lousy amulet?”

A muscle in his jaw jumps, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Do you even know how dangerous it is?”

You want to laugh even though it’s not funny. “I don’t fucking care!”

“Who do you work for?” He tosses the question out there as a challenge. Not in so much as he’s expecting an answer. More like he wants you to know he’s got your number.

“That’s not important.”

He doesn’t budge. Just stands there with his arms crossed, staring at you, his eyes half-lidded, his expression guarded. The burble of the fish tank fills the silence.

“For fuck’s sake,” you say. “Just name your fucking price!”

You get no reaction from him, and that really pisses you off. You don’t understand him. You really thought that he would have a price. But he doesn’t seem to be interested in anything. In fact, he seems rather bored by the conversation.

Quietly, you ask, “What do you want for it?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. No one is ever getting their hands on it again.”

He’s calm and sure, and that tells you that there’s no persuading him. You have no play left. This is it. This is where it ends. You tell yourself you won’t cry in front of this man. But the tears fall anyway.

“Shit. Fuck,” you say turning from him and trying to blink them away. There’s nothing for it though, they are streaming down your face now.

You try to inhale, but you gasp for breath instead. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You try again and your throat makes a loud hiccuping sound but if you managed to take in any air, it wasn’t nearly enough.

Your vision narrows to just the floor beneath your feet. You’re not aware that he’s touching you until he’s tilting your head up and his face swims into view. As though from a distance, you hear him say, “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

You try gulping air again and your throat makes a horrific squawking sound instead.

“That’s it,” he says. “Just keep breathing.”

Suddenly his head falls back until he’s facing the ceiling, and his eyes roll up into his head. A wild thought occurs to you: That you’ve both been poisoned somehow, and are now dying. Because that’s what this feels like. It feels like you’re dying and you desperately want it to stop.

But then he recovers and his hands are cupping your face, the gentle pressure from his palms grounding you, the soft pads of his thumbs wiping away your tears. “Necesito que respires, necesito que te calmes, mi vida.”

You feel relief and terror in equal measure. You try so desperately to speak to him, it makes it even harder to breathe. He presses his forehead to yours and he makes gentle shushing sounds.

You don’t know how long you stand there with him. He stays with you through it all, with one hand rubbing calming circles along your back, he occasionally whispers soothing words to you. When your breathing finally steadies and no fresh tears wet your cheeks, you whisper, “I’m sorry. Jake, I’m so sorry. I know I promised.”

“Mi amor,” he says tenderly and he rubs the spot between your eyes, smoothing the crease there. “What happened?”

You can’t bring yourself to say it. Instead you pull out your phone and open the video your boss sent you. You hand it to Jake. You don’t want to watch it. Again.

You know it too well. The lighting is poor, but there’s a woman. Her hair covers half her face, but the face is familiar. The men, deep in shadow, move around her, but she is unmoving - bound as she is to a chair, by both hands and feet, in the center of a dark warehouse. The camera moves in on her face. A tear slides down the visible half of her face and soaks into the gag tied around her mouth. She looks like you.

His head snaps up to you. “I have 48 hours,” you croak out. “To deliver. Or they hurt her.”

“She’s your…?”

“My sister,” you whisper as if saying it any louder would somehow cause her to break.

He mutters a string of curses in Spanish. Then he pulls you to him and wraps you in a hug, kissing the top of your head. “Don’t worry, mi vida, I’ll take care of this.”

You hug him tightly and you wish that there was something he could do. He sounds so serious, but you know that if he tried anything, he’d just end up dead.

He pulls back to look at you. “Do you know where she is?” He points to the video that is still up on your phone.

You shake your head. “Not exactly.” Even if you did, you don’t think you’d tell him. You appreciate what he’s trying to do. But you don’t need to be responsible for his death, too.

“What do you know?” he presses.

You sigh. “She’s somewhere in New York City. In one of the warehouses my boss’s organization uses. But I don’t know which one that is. It’s impossible to tell.”

“But you know where they are?”

You shake your head. “Only some of them. Not all.” Your eyes sting with fresh tears. “What am I going to do?” you ask him.

He grabs the bottom of his T-shirt and uses it to dry your face. He opens his mouth to say something but his body goes rigid before he can. The muscles in his neck strain.

His eyes open wide with alarm. He looks down at his shirt that he’s still clutching in his hand and notices the spot that is damp with your tears. “Steven? Was that you?”

Ah, Marc again.

You carefully school your expression, but not in time. “Who was that?” he asks you.

You keep your lips pressed together.

He stalks over to the mirror until he’s right in front of it. He gazes into it for a moment then says, his voice deep and dangerous, “Come on, I know you’re in there. Are you gonna keep hiding, hmm?”

He waits for a response, his eyes searching his reflection, then his shoulders twitch in surprise. He’s eerily still afterward, his body taut with restraint. By the murderous expression on his face, he looks like he’s about to destroy the mirror.

“Who are you?” he asks through gritted teeth. His eyes bulge in anger as he listens to the response. “‘Jake?’”

Oh fuck. You can only watch in horror. This definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t mean for Marc to find out about Jake.

Marc sets his stare on you. “Do you know him? Jake?”

You hesitate. What should you say? What would Jake want you to say?

“Do you know him?” he asks again, but this time he doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns back to the mirror, saying, “‘Don’t talk to her?’ Buddy, she came to me.”

He stares at his reflection, listening to Jake. He briefly glances once in your direction, but in that one glance you get the impression that he knows. That he knows everything. You wish you knew what Jake was telling him.

When he turns back to you, you can immediately tell it’s not Marc. “Is it true?” Steven asks you. Sweet Steven with the soulful eyes. Right now they’re brimming with tears. “You really do know him?”

“Steven. I’m sorry. I really-” Your eyes fill with tears, too. “I didn’t mean- I’m so sorry.”

Steven doesn’t reply to you because Marc’s fronting again now. He steps towards you and takes you by the arm, pulling you toward the door. “It’s time for you to go.”

There’s a wild look in his eye. He’s got a loose lid on his anger and it’s about to explode any second.

“No, please,” you beg him. “Please don’t do this. Let me talk to him, please.” You don’t know if you mean Jake or Steven, but either way it doesn’t seem to matter to Marc. He’s not listening to you anymore. He opens the door and shoves you - firmly, but not roughly - out.

Down the hall, the elevator doors slide open, revealing four very large men inside. You lock eyes with one of them and something like recognition sparks in his eye. You hurl your body at the door as Marc is pushing it closed.

You stumble back into the flat and slam the door behind you. Your shaking hands fumble with the locks.

“They’re here.” That’s all the explanation you can manage.

You know Marc is right next to you but you don’t look at him. As if looking at him would prompt him to try to kick you out again.

“No way,” he says, and at first, you think he’s talking to you. “I’m not giving you the body again.” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but he’s addressing the mirror again. “You’re the reason Steven and I have been miserable,” he says. And that rage he had a lid on? Yeah, the lid is peeling away.

He laughs at something Jake - presumably - says, but it’s devoid of all humor. “No, I can protect her. You can fuck off.”

Oh fuck. They’re talking about you.

You don’t have time to be concerned about that because then Marc bellows, “YOU WHAT?” And with even more intensity than you thought was possible, “KHONSHU?”

You have the good sense not to interrupt at this moment, even though you are confused as hell and even though at any moment those men are going to find their way through the door, locks be damned.

Sure enough, the door knob jiggles and then the pounding starts like they’re trying to knock down the door. You retreat back into the flat. Marc is still arguing with Jake.

When the gunshots start and the door breaks open, you’re crouching behind the desk, peering over the edge and through the bookcases between.

At the same time, Marc throws his head back once more and - well, you’re not sure what you’re seeing. Out of thin air, fabric wraps around his body. In mere seconds he’s wearing an elaborate costume. On his back hangs a large white cape that falls nearly to the floor. He wears a matching hood that comes to a pointed ‘v’ over his forehead. Tantalizingly, he’s in a skin tight bodysuit, pitch black, that shows off every muscle. His face beneath the hood is masked in the same black. There’s a pearly white crescent moon in the center of his chest, and white gloves and boots cover his hands and feet.

The men look fairly stunned, standing there with their mouths hanging open. For a moment, nothing happens. Marc - if it is Marc - stands before them waiting. The silence stretches like a rubber band and snaps as the men simultaneously open fire. You don’t even have time to be horrified because the bullets do absolutely nothing. They don’t slow him down or knock him back. They just bounce off his chest.

He rips one of the guns right out from one of the men’s hands, and turns it on the other three, quickly shooting them between the eyes with remarkable precision. Their bodies tilt backward and topple the table in the kitchen as they go down. The one guy left advances on him but he shoots him in the knee and the guy falls to the floor with a painful cry.

The hood and mask disappear, revealing Marc’s face. No, wait. Jake’s face. At least, you think it’s Jake. If that glint in his eye is any indication. “Why did you come here? What do you want with her?”

He points in your direction, where you still crouch behind the desk. The man looks over at you but you’re not sure he even sees you. He’s breathing heavy when he says, “We’re not here for her. We’re here for her boyfriend. Some bloke named Steven.”

He has a London accent. You don’t think that he’s part of your boss’s organization, but rather contracted out for this job. To get to Steven.

Whether that’s to kill Steven or abduct him, you don’t get to find out. Before you even see him raise the gun, Jake shoots him again - this time in the head - and his body hits the floor with a thud.

You can’t take your eyes off the bodies. At least not until Jake - out of costume and back in Steven’s pajamas - comes toward you and blocks them from view. He asks you if you’re alright. You register that what you’re feeling is called ‘shock’ but the word doesn’t really mean anything to you.

He offers his hand to you, but before you can reach to take it, he draws back. His body convulses once. Then twice. Through gritted teeth he says, “Let me just talk to her.”

Jake disappears, Marc in his place. He hauls you to your feet. “Who do you work for?” This time when he asks you, he expects an answer.

You shake your head. No matter how bad things are right now, you know they’d be worse if you gave up your boss.

Marc thinks for a moment - or at least he appears to be thinking. Then he says, “‘Big Man?’”

You feel the blood drain from your face leaving you cold. In a hollow voice you ask, “How did you know that?” He doesn’t say anything and you ask again, more insistently this time. “How did you know that?”

It takes you a second to realize that it wasn’t Marc who knew. “How did he know that?” you ask now. “Jake, how did you know that?” You’re trying to look into Marc’s eyes as if they could show you Jake.

“Your boss is one of Khonshu’s targets,” Marc explains.

Which, of course, doesn’t explain anything to you. “What the fuck is ‘Khonshu’?”

Tonelessly, he tells you. “He’s the Egyptian god of vengeance. He uses a human avatar to do his bidding. I used to be his avatar until very recently and it seems Jake still is.”

You try making sense of what Marc just told you. If this Khonshu is trying to get to your boss, and he’s using Jake to do it then-

Marc puts it into words for you, “Jake was using you to get to Big Man.”

You feel sick. The room smells of death and gunpowder. You’re an ocean away from your sister who’s in peril. And the one person who you believed would help you has been lying to you the whole time.

“I’ll explain more later,” Marc says. He either doesn’t notice your distress or is too preoccupied with the current situation. “Right now, we need to clean up this mess and get going.”

“Going? Going where?”

He takes a deep breath and sighs. Like he’s lost a war with himself. “We’re going to go get your sister.”

~~~

Translations:

Necesito que respires, necesito que te calmes, mi vida. - I need you to breathe, I need you to calm down, my life. (Thank you @randomchick546!!!)

mi amor - my love

Chapter 5 | Masterlist | Chapter 7

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #jake lockley angst #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x fem!reader #jake lockley x female!reader #jake lockley x you #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x female!reader #steven grant x you

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