#Steven already messed with the suit!!

[themostsanebug]

She just eyed Steven, this is, once again, a good time to not be a flesh head. If they were Steven would be able to see how worried she truly looked. Instead, Diane just scoffed and walked off. Yay! Argument over for now!

Hi Steven! You have.. a pissed Diane on your hands now. She is standing relatively close to you, their tail thrashing behind her!

“What are you plotting with Barley? Don’t bullshit me by the way, I can fucking tell. He can’t.”

Their tone is very sharp, spitting out those words.

- Diane B.

{Hi! Steven is simply standing there. Listening to her, holding his tongue until they finished their rant.}

"I am plotting nothing. Why do you think so lowly of me? What have I done to you? I thought we were friends. We even started a small picnic thing!"

{Hi! Steven is an ASSHOLE. He even sounds... upset? But if he had a face, he would of course be smiling. He is oozing with smugness.}

[sarahghetti]

moving day; m.k.

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

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

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

word count: 9.9k

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

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

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

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

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

He just couldn’t move on.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still—”

“Oh, don’t start—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

Somehow, Steven wakes up one day and feels great.

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

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

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

Steven likes having something just for him.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? No—what?”

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

“Steven!”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

“How do I look?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You light up. “Really?”

“Wants to tell you himself, actually.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About time, innit?”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

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

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

“You can open—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

You are the bane of Jake’s existence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

Jake has his car.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do they know?)

There’s a rustling in the bedroom.

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck—

“Marc?”

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

He forces a casual tone. “Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“Morning,” you murmur. “Feel better?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That third sarcophagus—

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

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

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

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

To the right—

-

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

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

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

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

You are the bane of his existence.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

“Jake.”

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

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

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

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

A wave of dread washes over you.

He’s not talking about last night.

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

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

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

There’s no way—

���Lay a hand on her and I swear—”

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

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

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

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

No. You can’t believe it.

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

None of it makes sense.

It—it can’t—

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

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

They call you princesa.

-

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

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

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

It’s best to steer clear for a while.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Since when did he describe anything as nice?)

Then—your keys turn in the door.

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Treading on my territory, pendejo?”

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

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

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

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

Let Jake try and beat that.

“Oi! Share!”

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

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

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

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

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

Steven gapes, amazed. “How did you—”

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

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

“Ahh, well, it’s not that bad—"

“Are you kidding me?”

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

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

“Stevie—Steven! There’s one more!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus, man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

how would the moon boys react to reader flirting w another person to make them jealous? (they're friends w benefits)

okay so I made this a tad angsty just bc I feel it suits and bc I wanted it, but shush, that’s neither here nor there. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

FWB MAKING THE MOONBOYS JEALOUS.

moonboys x gn reader (not as the moon system)

warnings. angst? bad writing/ thoughts and hcs

I feel like marc is a lot more insecure than he lets on or more than one may think. he's usually the type to shrug and gruff dismissively, not wanting to bring attention to it, or to the fact that he cares about something... you. because you're casually messing about, he tries not to expect anything else of you. to see you flirting may make him feel insecure and make him remember what a fuckup he is. it would make him feel stupid to think that you'd want something more with him. I don't think he would take it too lightly, and would most likely be wounded by your games. how you'd essentially toy with him when he put himself out there (he's probably had lots of casual sex before, but nothing quite like your situation) maybe he doesn't like to be on the opposite end of the stick - to be the one that is more invested in a 'relationship'. I feel like he'd brush you off, saying, "yeah, yeah im good. gonna uh— gonna head to bed now."

with steven I think he's always wary about situationships - it's not something he's usually down for. except maybe he really likes you, and this way being friends with benefits is as close as he can get to being with you, so he takes the opportunity. again, same with marc, it would make him feel insecure for you to flirt with someone else to make him jealous. it would make him feel inadequate to think he had a shot with you. he already felt like you were out of his league, and it would make him feel ridiculous for thinking otherwise. maybe he would laugh it off and pretend he was okay with you 'toying' with him, but really he'd just be upset and disappointed (in himself and dare I say... you... soz) I feel like he'd chuckle and say, "yeah, no— no, that was— yeah, you got me there." and he'd just walk off

for jake im on the fence a bit here. one hand I think he'd entertain it, maybe playing you and retaliating to make you jealous. he would find himself someone on their own at the bar, just in eye sight of you and would hit on them - making sure you can see. he thinks that becuase you're playing games, he gets to as well. BUT im also weighing with the fact of how volite and explossive he can be, and how he reacts before he can think. so perhaps if you're flirting with another man, he'd go up to you both and push him away, maybe holding your arm and walking you out the bar. mumbling to himself as he pushes past people. he'd be like, "what the hell was that? going around and flirting with people you meet at bars?" and then you say, "we're not dating. we aren't anything," and then he'd be like, "yeah, you're right," and then would let go of your arm and nod and walk away

[winniethewife]

Hiii, i don't know how to really do this it's my first time asking. I have always loved when men wear ties and that one scene from Moon knight where Steven is getting ready for a date, it's 🤌🏻. Soo can you do a some smut about that like maybe he is getting ready for work and it's putting on a tie and the gf likes seeing the tie on him and something idk 🤭 bonus point if it sub steven... Aaand he is getting dragged by the tie

Thank you Anon, sorry this took an age.

Was sort of hoping that you'd stay (Steven Grant x F!reader)

Words:572

Warnings: Sub!steven, Puppy pet name, clothed sex, PinV, Unprotected sex, Smut under the cut

Steven stood in his flat getting ready for his day, since he got the promotion to tour guide after returning from…his adventures he was required to dress a little nicer for his everyday look. He looked in the mirror and carefully worked on the knot of his tie…Wait which side was supposed to go over?

“Bugger this.” He grumbles, as he futzes with it a little longer he finally gets it the way he likes. Suddenly regretting the loss of the Mr. Knight suit for no other reason than the always perfectly tied eldredge knot. Just then his lovely girl walked into the room, still in her pajamas and her hair a mess. He turns to her with a smile on his face. “Good morning love. Didn’t wake you did I?”

“Morning…No you didn’t.” She groggily mutters while dragging her eyes over his figure. “Where you going looking like that?” she purred, causing Steven to flush.

“Uh…Work?” He said hesitantly, like somehow that was the wrong question. She gives him a smile and walks over to him, cupping his face in her hand as she looked at him with desire in her eyes.

“Hmm, well perhaps, you could make a detour…” She takes his tie in her hand and pulled on it playfully, and he followed her pull like a dog on a leash, and that only gave her another idea. She pulled again with intention this time, guiding the love-struck brit straight back to the bed. It wasn’t hard to get Steven on his knees as she pulled on his tie, pressing her lips to his as she worked on unbuttoning his shirt, sliding off her pants. His already growing erection presses against the zipper of his dress pants as he kissed her back. He needed this, needed her. She kept a tight grip on his tie as she pulled him over her, reaching up to tease the strip of skin above his pants, fingers dragging over his stomach. Steven whimpered at her touch, using his hands to steady himself as he bucked into her hand.

“Awe, Puppy needs this so bad doesn’t he?” She chuckles her lips pulling away from his.

“Yes. Please Love, I need you.” He gasps and whines. She smiles and pulls him back in for another kiss as her other hand starts to work on the fastenings of his pants, pulling down his bottoms his erection finally free from the confines of his clothing. Steven sighed with relief as the tip of his aching cock felt her hand, gently guiding him to her slit, underwear pushed aside. Her moans join his as he presses into her, feeling him stretching her cunt open, their bodies pressed together. They moved together, the push and pull of her pulling him in closer, him pulling her up into him, seeking the sweet release in the other.

“Fuck…Steven I…Shit.” She hissed as she felt herself coming undone at the seams, the pleasure making her mind go blank.

“Love…Oh Bloody hell.” He groans as he felt her clench down around him, which lead to his own release, painting her insides with his spend.  As they catch their breath she looks up into his sweet puppy brown eyes.

“That was quite a detour.” She chuckles. He joins her.

“Yeah…not your usual road closure that…Ah shite what time is it?” He scrambles to look at the bedside clock. He was going to be late.

~

Masterlist

Tags: @silvernight-m @boredzillenial @queerponcho

[eeunoia]

ENHYPEN Series

sinag — psh.

chapter two

synopsis: waiting for a great plot twist in your life, the ruthless and powerful mafia boss park sunghoon forced his way in to it.

pairings: park sunghoon x reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: a contains violence, guns, killings, abuse, obsessive love & other stuff. if you can't take this stuff, feel free to scroll away. let me know if i missed some.

note: not proof read. sinag’s chapter will usually have 2k-3k words. i'm sorry if there’s grammatical errors. enjoy reading and my ask are open for your messages. thank you so much!

© eeunoia 2023 — all rights reserved.

here ‹ chapter one | chapter three › here

“Calm down, Kwon.” a man wearing a formal attire focused his eyes at the scene beneath him, standing proudly in front of the big glass windows of his office. He holds a cup of whiskey on his hand, the other one inside his pockets.

“Calm down?” his tone frantic as he slightly slams the coffee table near him. His fists balled, jaw clenching feeling perturbed by the situation they’re tangled in.

“Your son is uncontrolled! This arrangement was long overdue! You know we already need to do something about this.” he added.

The man remained calmed and collected despite his opposite demeanor. He went here out of frustrations in hope to come up with a solution for their problem and all he gets is a couple words of consolement. If anything, that's the last thing he needs.

“I am doing my best to convince my son, Luis.” he slowly turns to face the raging man. The placid look on his face pretty much mirrors the same with the young mafia boss they are discussing about. The main reason of their distress and troubled affairs.

“You out of all people knows that convincing your son is already out of the choices.” the man stoods and stares straight to his eyes.

“He’s stubborn and proud.”

“Mainly why we shouldn’t act repulsively. Sunghoon knows when to play his cards and is not stupid.” he took a quick sip from his glass and pursed his lips into a thin line.

“He is unpredictable and moves only to his demand. He was never born to be controlled. He's my own flesh and blood afterall.” the proud smile spreads across his face that only adds to Mr. Kwon’s anger.

“But he’s now going crazy over some girl? Is this the same boy you are blabbering about?” the man scoffs that faded the smirk on Mr. Park’s face.

“If we cannot do anything with your son might as well start by getting rid of that girl.” the look on his face were shameless. The way he talks was too casual that you’ll think he’s just commanding a luggage to be discarded somewhere.

“We have to find her before he does.” he fixed his coat while still keeping his dark, serious gazes over Mr. Park.

“In order to solve the problem, we need go dispose the one causing them.” he stated with firmness to his tone indication of want on immediate action.

“I will expect a bigger progress soon, Steven.” he starts heading towards the door, one of his man held it for him. He stops from his tracks and craned his neck to the man by the windows, “I’m not a very forgiving and patient person. You know that.”

He left the room and Mr. Park was lost with his own thoughts. His emotions at a mess that rarely happens. The lack of sense in the current situation was very unusual of him. All he can think of is his son and the tangled connection link between the Kwon family.

From the plane to your way to the hotel, you are well taken care of. The stress and worries you’ve been feeling when you stepped at the airport hours ago were vanished into thin air. It was crazy and you can’t even believe that you’re actually thinking that this trip isn’t so bad at the moment. Like as if you aren’t the same girl in distress for being sent over for this.

“This way to your room, Madam.” one hotel staff guides you in this beautiful suite. It was a hug room with a breathtaking view of the city beneath you.

The streets are busy, people rushing towards somewhere, cars honking at each other but it didn’t spoil the ambiance of the place. You giggled and eyes shut for a couple seconds, embracing the breeze blowing towards you. It surely gives off a different vibe, the feeling of being new to the place slowly gets into your system.

Scary, but thrilling. You are feeling anxious and all but staying in a fancy hotel with a rowdy surrounding rather than secluded villa sure comforts you a thousand times better.

You are snapped out from your trance when you remembers the main agenda of your trip. Letting out a strained sigh, you walked towards your bag to fish out the well planned schedule that was prepared for you. It’s like a list of things to be accomplished along the trip. It sounds like something not of a big deal since this is a business trip afterall, but the amount is what’s gets you. Thankfully, they did left your first day vacant.

Another strained sigh liberates out from you, making your lungs feel more lighter. So much for enjoying this trip. You tried to find the brighter side of it. The things you will learn from the seminars and basically from the experience here will be much to your gain.

You ordered room service for lunch and decided to rest for a bit before roaming around near the hotel for the rest of the day. The next day, its work day so while waiting for your first agenda, you ordered food for lunch. If the place was great, of course the food was fantastic. It is expected and it didn’t disappoint. You enjoyed your meal and soon starts preparing for your errands.

Today’s task is an uncomplicated one. Pretty much a warm up for the upcoming busy two weeks of your stay here. You dress up cutely and comfortably before deciding on heading downstairs to ask the lobby for some directions.

On the other hand, multiple cars parked right in front of the hotel. People’s eyes darted curiously at the scene, some chooses to continue their day after watching for a while. Sunghoon went out of his black range rover and dominantly roams his eyes around, causing the lingering eyes of some individuals to tear away.

His intimidating aura just causes some to even stop at their tracks and give way to the handsome man. He didn’t give any care and went inside along with some of his men, tossing his car keys to the valley incharge without sparing him a glance. The boy bowed paying his respect, slightly anxious not to do any mistake.

Arriving at the hotel lobby, staffs bows as he walks by. It didn’t stop people to stare at him. His face is not one to be missed anyway.

His men clicks the elevator open and Sunghoon steps inside. After pressing the floor where his room was booked, the door closes. The people who's about to ride the elevator hesitates and decided not to join him.

As the door of the elevator closes, the one beside opens and you steps outside. Smiling to the people waiting just in front of it. They seem fazed about something that made you curious. Your eyes looks at the elevator beside you, but it was close and the lights above says its moving up the building.

Dismissing that matter, you shrug off your shoulders and walks towards the lobby to go ask for directions.

Sunghoon sighs and walks outside the elevator when he arrived the floor. The hallway was empty.

“What are you doing here?” his jaw clenches and his fist balled tightly at the sight of a man sat comfortably in the middle of the room.

He’s alone, at least here inside, and a glass of whiskey sat near him on a coffee table. The man smiles a little and opens his arms as a welcoming gesture.

Sunghoon furrowed his brows and kept his unamused expression.

“Is that how you greet your dad?” his Dad crosses his legs and gave him this stare.

Despite feeling so angry, Sunghoon grinned.

“Dad?” he scoffs. “Since when did you act like one?” his rude words pricks something inside Mr. Park’s chest, but he knew he was in no place to complain.

He took part on why Sunghoon became like this. He was part of his dark childhood that led him to be ruthless. He may feel sorry right now, but there’s nothing he can do about it anymore. All there’s left was to convince him over to do the arrangement and save him from any possible outrage of the Kwon family.

“Son,” he calls, tone longing.

Sunghoon face reflects disgust at what he heard. “Don’t you dare call me that.” he coldly rejects.

“What are you doing here? How did you know that I’m here?” his questions are full of suspicion for the older man. This isn’t the first time he did this, but its still so odd that he couldn’t help to not let his guard down.

“I’m here to talk to you.” he answers one of it, but leaves out one. It didn’t slipped off from Sunghoon and sure he isn’t someone to disregard it as well.

“There’s nothing to talk about with you.” he grunts, letting him know that there is no way he can expect him to cooperate.

He turns his heels and was about to head out when his father talks once again.

“Marry Luna.” his words were short and direct.

Sunghoon halt from his steps and the crease to his forehead disappears along the emotions in his eyes.

He slowly craned his neck to look at his dad.

“Didn’t Mr. Kwon told you what we talked about the last time he went to see me?” he smirks with no humor.

“Please, son. That is planned ahead even before you’re even born.”

“If you’re too desperate in making her marry a Park, why not you do it?” he suggests in complete taunt.

“Park Sunghoon!” his Father shouts.

Seeing his father lose composure and frustrated like this, sooths something in Sunghoon. It feels something accomplishing in some part of him. He smirks unbothered of his Father’s threatening tone.

“This will be the last time you and Mr. Kwon will bother me about this stupid marriage.” he states, back to being very serious. His eyes dark, almost mirroring his father’s.

“It will never happen. He can have a gun pointed at my head during the wedding and I still won’t say ‘I do’.” he smoothly puts his hands inside his pocket.

“Don’t make me do something you will regret. Stop pushing my buttons,” Sunghoon tilts his head. “... Dad.”

Mr. Park was lost of words. He felt shivers run his spine at how cold his tone was. He can’t remember when he became like this. What did he do for him to end up like the cold ruthless person he is right now?

His mind was occupied for a while before he snaps back to his senses. He sighed and rest his back on the chair before massaging his temple. He expects no easy way to convince Sunghoon into this. And as much as he hates how Mr. Kwon last resort of solution to their problem, he was left with no other choice.

He’s doing this for his son.

He fished his phone from his pocket and dials someone’s phone number. “Did you ask the lobby about a reservation under the name Aelia Choi.”

He waits for the response of his assistant from the other line. He received a tip that Sunghoon gathers info that the girl he’s searching for are booked in this hotel. He figured his son will come here to search for her so he decided to take the opportunity of talking to him.

“There’s none, Sir.”

His brows furrowed, a little confused. Disappointed for probably another false information. A part of him felt sympathy for his son, he’s been searching for her and still no concrete leads of her whereabouts. Another, felt relieved. He can’t comprehend what crazy things his son can do for this girl. He can only mean bad for him. If he’s this wreckless for her right now, what more if he found her.

“All right, ready my vehicle.” he commands and ended the call.

After asking for details and asking assistance for your ride to the city. Waiting patiently, your brows furrowed curiously at the sight of men in black appearing the hotel’s lobby. They aren’t that many, but enough to catch attention. Their black similar uniforms sure captures people’s curiosity.

The view makes you remember of a particular night of your life. It makes you nervous, pressing your lungs and light pinches to your heart. It wasn’t pleasant for you so you quickly glanced away and move towards a more isolated part of the hotel.

From a distance, you watch how they move in an organize manner. It was evident how disciplined and well connected they are to each other. Their built and postures sure insinuates how dutiful they are. It seems like they are there to protect someone. Someone very important.

Everybody went back to normal once they left the premises. You can hear some of them still talks about the said person that just left. Uninterested, you walks towards the lady at the front desk.

“Can I ask a room service once I get back?” you ask smiling. The lady returns and smiled warmly at you.

“Under what name of reservation?” she asks.

“Oh, under Mr. (boss name).” you pursed your lips as she tries to check something on her computer. Patiently, you roam your eyes around the hotel lobby.

You noticed another group of men wearing suits pretty similar to the ones from before. This time, you saw the man walking in between them. He seemed like a very powerful man. His hair perfectly fixed, some gray strands can be seen even from the distance but it didn’t make him look that old. If anything, he looks like a Dad of a very attractive offsprings.

You didn’t realized you’ve been staring too much. Thankfully, the lady at desk calls your attention. The moment you looked away, the man gazed at you. Both of you clueless about how each other will soon make a big change to your lives, missed the opportunity to meet due to uncertain timing

“What time will you be back for the room service, Ma’am?” she asked.

You gave her the time you possibly back from your errands. Thanking her softly before going on with your day, unaware of what lies ahead of you.

“Hello, Riki?”

He heard some muffled sound from the other line, “Yeah, hyung?” the younger one responds.

“I think there’s a rat in my men. They’ve been snitching on my Dad about my whereabouts.” he continuously says in a cold tone. He’s not yet sure if hes right, but what could possibly the reason of the unexpected appearance of his father?

He’s very strict on sharing infos of his life, specially when it involves about his search of you.

“I want you to find who it is and report back to me.”

“On it.” he replies and chuckles. “This is not free, hyung.” the younger one teased.

Sunghoon rolls his eyes, “Just send me the bill.” and he ends the call before resting his back on his chair.

He’s inside his private jet. He went straight here after the encounter with his dad. The pilot waits for his command to fly and go back, but for some reason he felt something’s stopping him.

The plan of searching for you at this place sure is already sabotaged. He hope what they received was just a false information or else he will make his Dad pay for missing you once again. He tries hard to convince himself that its also probably his father who tipped him so he can have time to talk. But he can’t get rid of the thought that you might be near him. It’s making him suffer.

He have no idea how many times he will feel this way in the future, but he doesn’t care. He will never stop looking for you, even if it means he have to spend his whole life hoping that you two will meet again without a definite certainty that it’ll happen.

here ‹ chapter one | chapter three › here

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[angel-of-the-moons]

A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc/Steven/Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None, mostly some angst.

A/N: Whaaaat? Another chapter already? Sorry if this one is a hot mess, but it was bound to happen eventually!

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool

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Chapter 9:

A House Divided

“Seriously, Jake.” Layla scoffed as they walked down the sidewalk, careful to keep her voice low so nobody eavesdropped easily on their conversation. “You didn’t have to kill that guy the other night.”

“It was either break his neck or let him shoot you.” He quirked a brow. “Would you rather I let him shoot you and you deal with a healing gunshot wound?”

“Well, my armor’s magic, same as yours, so…” She held up her hand in a “duh” like manner.

Jake rolled his eyes at her and adjusted his cap. “Ay, just shut it. And besides, Marc and Steven would never shut the fuck up if I let you get hurt. Even in your Scarab armor.”

“Oh, I could chew them out whenever one of them fronted, just chill out you damn edgelord.” Layla grunted.

“You could just say “thank you” and not be a pendeja?”

Layla clasped her hands at him and batted her eyelashes, “Oh! But of course! Jake, my hero. The man who turned a guy’s neck into bone fragments because he pointed a puny revolver at me.”

“Pendeja.”

“And no offense, but your mustache makes you look like you’re a 1970’s porn actor.” She huffed, shoving her hands in her pockets.

Now that finally got Jake to emote, as he actually dropped his jaw, furrowed his brows, and clutched his imaginary pearls. “It does not! It makes me look distinguished!”

Layla gave him a “do you honestly believe that?” look. Apparently, he’d convinced Marc and Steven to let him front long enough to grow a mustache and the beginnings of a beard. Marc, as long as she’d known him, had always miraculous facial hair growth. Where it’d take almost a month for someone to grow a thick beard, it merely took him maybe two weeks. She often wondered if maybe it was a side-effect of the Moon Knight suit, that the magic had changed that physical aspect.

But, apparently, Jake did believe it. He seriously believed his ridiculous ‘stache made him look cool.

“Ay, ay!” Jake hissed. “Don’t give me that look! It does! Plenty of people consider facial hair distinguished.”

“Maybe if you’re sporting a full beard and not some weird porno ‘stache with scruff on your face.” Layla smirked.

He jabbed a gloved finger at her, and narrowed his eyes, “You listen, cabróna, do not insult my mustache. And you will change your tune when the beard comes in! It will–”

“Oh, look!” Layla said, sweeping her arm upwards, gesturing to the sign of the shop.

Your shop.

“You little–!” Jake sputtered as Layla dragged him through the door, the little bell above the frame chiming loudly.

“Hellooooo!” Layla says cheerfully.

“Layla!” Your voice calls from deeper in the store. “Be there a minute!”

Layla grinned, but both she and Jake freeze when they see Taweret awkwardly standing off to the side, giving them a little wave with her fingers.

“What are… oh, I’ll ask later.” Layla said to her softly, shaking her head with a smile.

Jake tipped his hat to Taweret. He liked her. She was a sweetheart, and he remembered what happened when…

He shook his head free of those thoughts as he took his place in one of the reading nooks, Layla going on ahead and skittering to her usual romance section of the shop.

“You poor thing!” Taweret said to Jake. “You boys need more rest. Layla and I agreed to help in exchange for you getting your rest!”

Jake couldn’t help but smirk as she wagged her finger at him, a small frown creasing her snout. “Layla isn't suited to all of our work, Taweret. And I don’t want her to carry the burden by herself.” He said softly, keeping his voice low.

“Oh, I have half a mind to swaddle you like an infant, Jake Lockley!” She huffed, her little ears wiggling indignantly, planting her large hands on her hips as she looked down at him. “You need to stop shouldering the world’s burdens on your own! I know you’re a protector by nature, but you will seriously burn out at this rate!”

“I know, vieja.” He sighed.

“And what have Steven and Marc had to say about this?”

“They’ve been letting me front solo for a bit. Like today.” He grinned. “So, I’d say they might give me a lecture, but otherwise they’d be pretty understanding.

“You boys are so…!” Taweret threw her hands up in exasperation. “Oooh! If my hair could gray, it’d be white as snow because of how much you worry me!” Ah, her motherly nature. Both a blessing and a curse…

Jake opened his mouth to say something, but he jumped back when a furry black blob jumped onto the table in front of him, and he held his hands up as big green orbs blinked at him, the green mere slivers around the inky black of the pupils.

A cat. Wait, when did you have a cat? Did you adopt one recently?

The cat mewed softly, followed by an inquisitive “prrbt” as it looked up at him.

“She won’t hurt you, Jake.” Taweret giggled, her demeanor softening. “She wants you to pet her!”

“...Right.” He said hesitantly, tugging one of his gloves off before scritching the cat on her chin. He relaxed as she leaned into his touch, turning to run her whole body along his hand, the tip of her tail curling different ways as she happily purred.

“Well, aren’t you a friendly little lady.” Jake smiled at her, gently twisting the tip of her tail around his finger before doing another head-to-tail stroke.

The cat made a soft chirping noise as she looked at him, shaking her head as she sneezed.

“It’s getting cold out there, isn’t it, chiquita? You’re lucky the nice lady here took you in, you know? I’d take you, but our landlord would have a fit if we did that without permission.”

The cat seemed to understand, and meowed up at him. He smiled, the bushy mustache he now sported quirking upwards and twitching as she leaned in to sniff at his nose.

He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table while he allowed her to investigate him.

“Oh! I see Puck’s went on ahead and introduced herself.” He heard your voice chuckle.

Jake lifted his gaze and frankly, the outfit you were wearing suited you. Maybe a tad… old-fashioned, but cute. You wore a knitted half-sleeve burgundy sweater with some faded, black-denim overalls buttoned in the front. Taweret giggled and wandered off to go find Layla.

The two you stared at each other for a minute, your eyes squinting ever so slightly, and your eyebrow raised as you smirked. “Jake?”

Okay, he was impressed. Most people couldn’t tell when he was fronting. And when he had to, he was good at impersonating Steven or Marc if someone confused him for one or the other. You, apparently, were not such a case.

“Yeah. How could you tell?” He said, smirking at you.

You put your hand on your hip, your other arm was currently preoccupied with a stack of books you had tucked against you. “Well, Steven usually keeps his hair a bit messy, and he likes to sit at almost an angle, slightly hunched over the table, he also likes to drum his fingers on it, or bounce his leg as he sits. He’s also partial to weirdly-patterned flannels. Marc is a bit stiffer, and prefers to sit with his back against a wall, palms flat on his thighs or knees.” You tap your nose with a wink as you walk over to the counter to prep the books for your pick-up order. “You sit openly with your back to everyone else, and tend to look out the window. You’re almost relaxed in posture, but seem like you’re still on-guard.”

“And besides. You have worn that cap every single time I’ve seen you. Plus, y’know. You got that teeny accent.”

Jake chuckled and shook his head. Okay, those last ones were some obvious points. But you on the other hand, recognized their physical tells as well.

Puck mewed loudly, putting her paw on Jake’s other hand that still sported his glove. He smiled down at her and humored her voiceless request, pulling his offending leather off to pet her unobstructed. Puck purred loudly and happily while she curled around his hand as he petted her.

“Aw, she really likes you.” You say, walking over to them. "Yeah, that’s my little vagrant.”

“Ah… she’s yours?” Jake said.

“Technically? She vanishes now and again, but I keep my door open for when she comes by. I keep stocked on kibble, her favorite dreamies–”

“Dreamies?” Jake smirks up at you.

You flush slightly and you rub at the back of your neck awkwardly. “Oh, her treats. That’s just what I call ‘em.”

“Got it.” He chuckles.

“But yeah, she’s kind of a stray, kind of not a stray. I like to let her have her freedom.” You cringe slightly. “Even though letting a domestic cat outside isn’t necessarily good for the environment, but she doesn’t like to stay indoors for very long…”

“Ah, a free spirit, I can relate.” Jake smiles, scratching Puck’s little cheek.

You reach out and give Puck a hefty stroke down to the tip of her tail. “Just wait til she shows you her belly. She loves tummy rubs.”

You didn’t notice how Jake’s eyes narrow in on something, staring with his brows furrowed in shock.

“Yeah, she’s a weird one, but she’s a cutie.” You lean and pull your hand back. “But I–”

You were cut off when Jake reflexively reached out and gripped your forearm, turning it until he could see the inside of your wrist clearly.

Three moons. Three crescent moons.

The bottom left moon was full.

He felt his heart thud in his chest as he stared at it, his mind running a mile a minute as he willed himself to calm before Steven or Marc accidentally fronted in front of you. Your mark could mean anything, but him knowing what the moon meant to him, Marc, and Steven’s daily lives had his mouth go dry.

“Uh… Jake?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. You didn’t try to pull away from him, merely stared down in concern. You knew that he was upset about something, and that he wouldn’t hurt you. Like his brothers, you never got a feeling of unease around Jake; even now.

Jake shook his head suddenly and released your arm. “Ah, sorry, señorita, I… agh. I’m not sure what came over me.”

Thank the gods that Steven and Marc weren’t currently co-fronting. He would have to…

You turned your wrist up and looked at your mark. “Ohhh, this? Yeah, people tend to ask what it means because it changes. I don’t blame you for being curious.”

You hold out your wrist for him to examine, as if it were the most casual thing on the planet.

“What do you mean, it moves?” Jake asked you, not looking up from your skin.

“Well, not as in it moves to somewhere else on my body, but it… changes.” You shrug.

“Changes.” He repeated flatly.

“Yeah, sometimes one moon is full and the other two aren’t, stuff like that. Sometimes, if one is full, one or both of the others will sometimes turn into half-moons, but not always.”

Jake swallowed at the lump in his throat. “I… see.”

“Well, it’s kinda neat, but sometimes I just wish that my–what–Puck!” You sputter after the fluffy little terror bites into one of Jake’s gloves, secures it firmly in between her little teeth, and darts off somewhere into the store.

“Oh, god, I just–” You whine. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her, lately. I’ll–I’ll go get her.”

You huff and stomp off to try and locate your furry little terrorist, hoping she didn’t gnaw Jake’s glove too harshly.

Jake shoved his spare glove into his pocket and pushed himself out of his seat, rushing to go find Layla.

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“Are you sure?” Layla asked Jake as he paced on the rooftop, hands clasped behind his back as the moon shined down on them.

Both their faces were bare, but they were both wearing their divine armor that they were bestowed as Avatars.

“Yes, what else could three fucking moons mean? She said sometimes that one will get full while the others don’t, Layla. I saw it.” He growled, turning to fix her with a glare.

It wasn’t one laden with malice, but of frustration, concern, and… fear.

“What do Steven and Marc have to say?” Layla replied calmly.

Jake pinched the bridge of his nose as he resumed pacing, keeping his breathing level so his panic wouldn’t rise and alert the other two within their headspace.

“They don’t know.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “I…I don’t want them to know. Not… not yet.”

“Jake, they have a right to know!” Layla gasped. "If she really is your soulmate--"

“No!” Jake snapped at her. “She’s not… she can’t…”

He gripped his usually immaculate hair in his fingers and bunched the raven curls between them.

“She’s innocent. We can’t just... I can’t bring her into this world on a hunch that she might be…”

Layla fixed him with a soft, sympathetic look as she took a step closer to him. “Jake…”

She slowly put a hand on his shoulder, feeling him stiffen beneath the dark trappings of his suit.

“...Remember when Marc was hurting and said his hand felt like it was burning? And that he had a headache?”

“Yes…” He slowly lifted his eyes to look at her suspiciously.

“Well…” She said awkwardly. “Um.”

“Layla.” Jake said sternly, feeling a bit of anger start to rise. “Did you know?”

“I’m just saying!” Layla continued, taking her hand off of him to raise both in a placating gesture.

“But, when I went into her shop after I got here… her hand was burned. And then she mentioned she tripped and hit her head…”

“LAYLA!” Jake shouted.

When she winced, he snorted out a hot puff of air from his nostrils, rubbing his temples. “Sorry. But we had a right to know.”

“But you’re being a hypocrite by not telling Steven or Marc.” She said softly, looking at him from beneath her lashes.

“...Layla. She’s an innocent person. I don’t want to expose her to Khonshu and his schemes, I don’t want him to use her like a weapon against us like he did to you!” Jake said, waving his arms at her.

“I don’t want her to be put in danger! She’s the one normal spot we have in our fucking lives, and it would be nice to just have one normal friend!”

“But she might be more than that.” She narrowed her eyes sharply at him. “What are you planning to do, keep it a secret from the other two and reject her for them?”

“No!” Jake said, his eyes widening in shock.

No, no, no. He would never dare to do that to you. He knew what rejecting a soulmate did to the other party. He couldn’t live with the guilt knowing his rejection of you might curse you to some sort of half-life, living in a gray, colorless world.

And… god. Everything they've been through, every injury they’d gotten… you felt it, too. Even when Marc’s mother would beat them, even when he was hurt out in Egypt, when they wore the armor… everything bounced back to you.

Either way, you would suffer no matter the choice. It was unfair and cruel to you, cruel to them.

Why the fuck couldn’t fate have given you a less complicated partner?

Just this once, why couldn’t they live their lives without causing somebody else’s suffering?

And no doubt if Layla figured it out, that means Taweret and maybe Khonshu knew, as well.

He looked over the rooftop and down through your window, seeing you curled in on yourself on your couch as Puck snuggled into you, sitting like a cute little black loaf in your lap.

You were so blissfully unaware of the evils and supernatural surrounding you. Surrounding them. You… you deserved peace.

Jake felt his heart tear in two, one part indecision and the other telling him to damn the consequences and tell you.

Why… why was fate so cruel?

Above all else, he knew… god, Jake knew that whatever he–or they--did, they couldn’t let Khonshu get his bony hands on you.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, biting down the surge of anxiety to keep from alerting his headmates. He felt tears of frustration burn at the edges of his vision when he opened them again to look down at you.

You were still sitting innocently, laughing at something on your television. But Puck was looking up.

Right at him and Layla.

The pain of knowing that you were possibly their soulmate, and you had been so tantalizingly close this entire time ate him up inside; it was like dangling a loaf of bread in front of a starving man, but he knew if he reached out for it, he could face his limbs being lopped off, or the bread snatched away from him at the last possible second.

Either way.

Suffering was assured.

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 10: Link

[melodygatesauthor]

Chapter 1: The Awakening

prof!Steven Grant-Jake Lockley-Marc Spector X f!Reader

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake (she's the real MVP)

Mood Boards - Book Cover - Masterlist

Summary:

Doctor Steven Grant accepted a job as a professor at a prestigious college in New England. While you're on your way to your first history class in your second semester of your junior year, you run into an attractive English man at the coffee shop. The two of you hit it off, and since you're both headed in the same direction upon leaving, you decide to walk together. You're both excited to have met someone you have clear chemistry with right off the bat until...you realize that you both were headed to the same building, and that he's your new history professor.

When you discover that there's even more to this man than meets the eye, things get even more complicated than you could've imagined. Loving one man who's almost twice your age in a place where your relationship is forbidden is hard enough, nevermind three.

Chapter Summary:

It's your first day of class, and you meet a nice guy at the coffee shop on your way in. Too bad when you find out he's just out of reach.

Tags/Summary (these are for the ENTIRE fic):

college AU, no powers/not in MCU/no Khonshu, talk of mental illness, Marc has DID, forbidden relationship, age gap, reader is 21y/o, Boys are 38y/o, reader attends college in America but isn't necessarily American, smut, sex, masturbation, p in v, creampies galore, reader is on birth control, dubious consent due to identity issues, ANGST, romance, fluff and smut, oral sex, falling in love, reader is not race coded.

Word Count: 3.8k

It was the first day of the semester and you were already looking forward to it being over. With the holidays out of the way, you should be feeling refreshed and ready for the second half of your junior year, but when the sun beat through your dorm room and directly into your eyes, in combination with your screeching alarm, you wanted nothing more than to stay in bed. Your roommate was stirring on the other side of the room in her own bed, and you were sure she felt the same.

Coming back from winter break was never easy. You had to get used to a new schedule, and leave behind the laziness of gorging on food and festivities with your family. You picked up your phone and turned off the alarm with a groan before flopping back over on the mattress. It was only 7:15am.

Layla grumbled into her pillow. “I don’t want to go.”

“Yeah, me neither.” You agreed, throwing your blanket off in a huff.

“What class do you have first?”

“History with… Dr. Grant, I think.” You rolled your eyes.

“Oh, he’s the new professor who came over from England I think.” She sighed and got out of bed.

Her dark curls were a mess and bouncing all around her as she walked over to the small mirror in the wardrobe and picked something out of her teeth. You remembered hearing there was a new professor for this history course after the last one got kicked out for having inappropriate relations with a student, but you had forgotten the name of the replacement until now. History wasn’t really your strong suit anyway.

“My parents told me I have to ask him for tutoring.” You said, picking some clothes out of your drawer. “I flunked last year.”

“I remember.” She said with a hair elastic in her teeth while she pulled her curls back into a messy bun.

You got yourself dressed, put a little makeup on and finished getting ready. The air outside was chilly, and you pulled your coat tightly over yourself. You stopped in at Moonbean Coffee to get your usual pick-me-up before your first class. One of the perks of an open campus was the luxury of grabbing a real coffee before spending hours in a lecture.

The line in front of you was fortunately short, only one person stood between you and the barista. You noticed the man in front of you fumbling around in the pockets of his gray jacket. He let out a sound in frustration.

“Bollocks.” He said under his breath, patting himself down. “I think I left my wallet…”

He looked panicked, and you felt bad, having been in that position before. You decided it was time to do your good samaritan act of the day and you pulled your own wallet out of your bag.

“Here.” You reached around the man and handed the woman at the register a bill.

The man turned to you and his lips curled into a big smile. His tired eyes looked you up and down. You took note of his disheveled appearance. He clearly needed his drink as badly as you did.

“Oh! You don’t have to do that, I’m just-erm…I don’t have to have it.” He said, clearly anxious from your kind gesture. You took note of his thick English accent.

You shrugged and smiled at him comfortingly, “I’d die without my morning coffee. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good morning…” the barista said your name.

“Morning, T.” You said as she got started on your usual drink.

The man still stood there to the side. “That really was very kind of you. Very sweet.” He sipped the cup. “Oh bugger.” He cursed. “That’s hot.” A small chuckle escaped him.

You giggled. “Don’t mention it. I’ve been there, done that.”

His gaze lingered on you, lips still curled in a cheeky grin. He gasped when his wrist buzzed. He looked at it quickly.

“Oh, I really have to get goin’. You come here often, yeah?” He asked, looking at you eagerly.

“Y-yeah, I do.” T handed you your coffee as you handed her another bill and told her to keep the change.

Following him to the door, he opened it for you, letting you out first before exiting as well.

“Good, maybe I’ll catch you another time then, I’ll getcha back.” He nodded. “Alright then. Bye!”

“Yeah, sounds good!” You smiled foolishly at him, “bye.” You waved before realizing he was walking the same direction you were going.

He let out a laugh as you kept pace with him. “Well of course we’re walkin’ the same way. That’s not awkward at all.”

You chuckled, “Well, you can make it up to me now then, walking alone can be boring.”

When you saw the way he looked at you, your stomach fluttered. You’d seen that look before. He was interested in you. The man was clearly older than you, but you didn’t care. He was good looking, and judging by his messy curls, gentle gaze and overall demeanor, he was just your type.

“Alright sure, yeah, I can do that.” He said eagerly.

You introduced yourself. “…what’s your name?”

“Oh, name’s Steven, with a V.”

The two of you started walking in the direction of the building your class would be held in.

“So, Steven, clearly you’re not from around here, what brings you to a small college city like this?” You sipped your warm drink while the two of you walked through the chilly September air, not wanting to rush.

“Well, a job, actually.” He sipped from his cup, too, this time not flinching at the temperature.

“Oh, what do you do for work?” You asked, realizing you were approaching the brick building where your class was held all too quickly. You wished it was just a little further so you could get just another moment with Steven.

He stopped in front of the building, as if he knew you were stopping there before you told him your destination.

“I’m a history professor. This is my stop actually! Sorry, not a long walking partner.” His friendly and naive smile was about to fade when he realized the awful irony of the situation you were both in.

It hit you like a truck, “a-are you…Dr. Grant?” You asked, brows stitched together as your heart dropped into your stomach.

It made sense now: the English accent, out of place in a New England college city, the messy hair, the messenger bag and binder of notes that you just then took notice of. It should’ve been obvious from the moment you met him, everything about his appearance screamed ‘college professor’.

For some reason, this felt awkward. It was obvious just in the short time you’d known this man that you both were somewhat attracted to one another. Not that it was serious, of course, but there was an undeniable flirtatious air surrounding the whole encounter. The way he looked at you, and the way you looked at him, sharing timid smiles between promises of coffee, it was plain as day.

Now, he was shifting awkwardly in front of you as you were tapping the paper cup in your hand deep in thought. There was nothing wrong with buying your new professor a cup of coffee when he forgot his wallet, and there was nothing wrong with your new professor walking his student to class. You were both walking the same way anyway.

“Erm…yeah, yup.” You could see him trying to shake off the fog, the fantasy you both had entertained for the two minute walk.

“Well, that’s so ironic.” You tried to push past it, hoping it would help diffuse the new tension. “I’m in your class.”

He nodded despondently, his dark circled eyes looking to the ground to avoid your gaze. He hastily opened the door for you, and you thanked him as you walked in. You were stiff as a board as you made your way inside the classroom. Even though there was really nothing wrong with the interaction you’d had, something felt maddeningly nerve wracking about the whole situation.

You took a seat somewhere in the middle next to someone you remembered seeing around in other classes last semester, but never remembered her name. You hoped Dr. Grant would take you sitting in the middle table as a way of saying, “that whole interaction was totally normal, not awkward at all, see? I’m sitting in the middle instead of all the way in the back corner to avoid you.” You silently hoped the message translated.

You pulled your laptop out of your bag. You opened it and peered over the top. Dr. Grant’s eyes were stuck on you for a second while he shuffled the papers on his desk before he nervously looked away and sat down. 

You tried to look at anything other than him, but you couldn’t help stealing glances at him over the top of your screen. He put his laptop on his desk and opened it. You watched him inconspicuously as he put his jacket around the back of his chair and he pulled out a pair of glasses, placing them on his face. They made him look older, but you didn’t think it made him any less attractive. In fact, you liked the way they looked. You quickly shook the thought from your head.

You need to stop this, you’re acting ridiculous, you told yourself.

“Alright, well.” He stood up, let out a deep exhale, and put the glasses back on the table. The final students were trickling in. “I’m Dr. Grant, but you can all call me Steven. Dr. Grant is a bit formal, innit?” He chuckled, but the rest of the class remained silent. “Alright.” He rubbed his hands together nervously.

You felt bad, seeing him clearly trying to connect with the uncaring class. He messed idly with his dark blue tie before patting it down and clearing his throat.

“Well, I won’t start us off with anything too flashy today. It is the first day after all.” He began.

The lecture was a couple of hours, but Dr. Grant made it feel like it was much shorter than that. He was like a completely different person than the anxious man you’d met at the cafe. He was excited, smiling and full of energy while he taught the first lesson. To see someone so passionate about something sparked excitement and admiration inside you, even if the subject itself wasn’t your strong suit.

The amount of times he said, ‘I mean, wow’, was surprising and more than a little endearing. He certainly had a way of making a topic that you weren’t very adept in much more interesting just from his own enthusiasm. As he was wrapping up the lecture, you checked the clock. 10:20am. Your next class wasn’t until 1:00pm, leaving you plenty of time to talk to him about tutoring. Only tutoring, you reminded yourself.

You felt anxious though, standing there after the last student left. You clutched your satchel to your side like your life depended on it. He didn’t notice you at first, because you’d started to walk away with the crowd, trying to decide if you were even going to ask him to tutor you or not, but then you remembered your father’s words. I’m not paying for you to waste your time in school, you already picked a meaningless major, the least you can do is get decent grades.

You stepped up to his desk and cleared your throat. He peered up over his reading glasses and jumped when he saw you.

“Oh, erm, hi, class is dismissed.” He said anxiously, so different from the person speaking with utmost confidence to fifty or more students just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you started, “I know, I just needed to talk to you about something.”

He started getting nervous, you could see sweat beading on his forehead above his strong eyebrows. If someone asked you why you were so anxious about asking your new history professor to tutor you, you’d tell them you had no idea, but deep down you knew it was because the two of you definitely had a weird connection at the coffee shop.

“Oh, is this about…it’s about the coffee, yeah? I really-”

“N-no, Dr. Grant-“

“Steven.” He corrected you.

���S-Steven.” You cleared your throat once again. “No, I’m, uh, I’m not worried about the coffee. I need to ask for tutoring.”

He pressed a hand to his chest in relief, “Oh, heh, right, yeah, ‘course.” A large smile on his face. 

He felt the connection, too, you thought, and he’s relieved you didn’t bring it up.

“Well, there’s plenty of other students around who do that, yeah? Maybe go to the library, I think that’s where you sign up for something like that.” You didn’t know what it was about this man that captivated you, but when his eyes locked on to yours you felt your stomach twist in yearning.

“Um…yeah.” You were wearing a faint smile while accepting his rejection. “Yeah, I guess I can try that. They didn’t have anyone last semester, but maybe they will this time. Thanks.”

It was probably for the best that he didn’t tutor you, judging by his reaction, and that’s not even considering if the connection was real and you hadn’t just made it up. You gave him a friendly nod and turned on your heel toward the exit. Just as you were grabbing the door handle, Steven spoke up.

“Wait, hold on.” He said, standing up. You turned to him. “They probably aren’t very good anyway, the students they have tutoring. Why don’t you come by after your last class on Wednesday? Not sure why time you get finished, but I can make something work.”

“M-my last class on Wednesday gets over at like seven.” You explained.

He shrugged, “M’sure my goldfish will be alright if I get home a bit later than usual.”

“Wow, okay, brilliant, yes Dr. G-uh-Steven!” You couldn’t contain your toothy grin as you thanked him profusely and left.

You felt like you were in a trance for the rest of the day. You’d thought that by not having Steven in your direct line of sight you’d be able to move on from the feeling in your gut, but it only festered. He was occupying your mind. The way he laughed, the way he talked, the way he looked at you, it was maddening.

You kept thinking about his messy hair, wondering what it would feel like to run your fingers through it. When he got nervous just from looking at you, straightening his tie, you wondered what it would look like to have him loosening it, maybe unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. His eyes are what really captivated you, he looked exhausted, but they still shined so brightly when he looked at you, before he’d realized that you were his student.

When you got back to your dorm and turned in for the night, you took it upon yourself to look up your college’s specific rules around student and teacher relationships. Even though the last history professor got fired, you were trying to convince yourself now that there had to be a different reason. There just had to be.

There wasn’t a different reason though. The rules were plain as day: student and professor relationships were a no go. No one seemed to care what happened when you graduated, but until then, it was strictly forbidden. There was even talk in some resources you found about the student being expelled since they are, after all, a consenting adult who knew the consequences of their actions.

With that, it was time to lay your growing need to put yourself in Steven’s presence as much as possible to rest. At least, you wanted to. You couldn’t though, while you lay there in the dark, with Layla snoring on the other side of the room. You couldn’t stop thinking about the way he looked you up and down, his hooded eyes drinking you in, the way he exuded confidence to the class, and then became shy around you immediately after. 

Your hand trailed down under your pajama bottoms to your already soaking folds, slick with your desire to know what else Steven was proficient in. You thought about his hands around the coffee cup earlier, how big they looked, veins rippling under the skin when he brought the cup to his lips. You wondered what they felt like, what one of his thick fingers would feel like inside of you. Slipping one of your own fingers inside wasn’t enough, you wanted more, you wanted to feel him.

You wished that you could fit a second finger inside, but it was too tight. You felt hot with need as you pumped in and out of your slick hole, imagining Steven hovering over you. He would tell you how wrong it was to be doing what you were doing as he trailed his hands up your ribcage and to your breasts. Would he moan loudly when he came, or would he be quiet but breathy, pressing his face into the nape of your neck to muffle his sound?

You didn’t know much about sex, not outside of porn that is. You’d done other things before. You’d tried going down on someone, but had a hard time figuring out how to do it right, at least according to the guy you were with. He had tried eating you out, but you found it was either very overrated, or he was really bad at it.

Thinking about those things made you wonder what Dr. Grant’s cock tasted like, or what it felt like. If you couldn’t even fit two fingers, you weren’t sure how you were going to manage to take him. Just thinking about it was making your arousal become unbearable. You needed him, badly, no matter how wrong you knew it was.

You could hardly take it, feeling your orgasm approaching as you fingered yourself to thoughts of your history professor. You decided you didn’t really care what he sounded like when he came, you just ached to hear him. It almost hurt how hard you bit your lip when your cunt clamped in waves over your lone digit. Your breathing was heavy, and when you felt clarity once more, you fell back onto your pillow. You had to let it go, you had to get over him somehow.

But Steven had to get over you, too. 

When he got home that night after a long day of classes, he found himself standing in front of his mirror. It had been so long since he’d heard their voices. At least a couple of months. They said they wouldn’t come back, they said they would stay in the headspace, and that they wouldn’t say a word. They hadn’t said anything specific yet, but he could hear them becoming more active since that morning.

That wasn’t the only thing bothering him, the thought of you danced in his mind. You were there, causing his heart to race; causing him to feel a pang of guilt that was vastly outweighed by the arousal building behind his zipper. He had been fighting the pressure all day, fighting the heady thoughts. Steven liked to think he was mentally stronger than the primal desires that came with sex, but just seeing you in that coffee shop that morning, and the way you looked at him, it kept playing in his head over and over again like a movie.

It got to a point that he couldn’t bear the ache any longer. He took off his pants and boxer-briefs, freeing his weeping erection. He crawled into bed, not even bothering to remove his jacket or shirt, as he was too eager. Nothing had inspired him to relieve himself like this in a long, long time. He crawled into bed and laid down on his back, taking his cock into his closed fist.

Dry…s’dry, need some…

He leaned up, spitting a glob of saliva into his palm before going back to work on himself. He gripped his length, sliding over it with his fist much easier now, tossing his head back as he reached the tip. He ran his hand through his curls to get them out of his face, looking down at his cock while he thrust upward into his fingers.

“F-fu…” He said, trembling slightly.

He kept thinking about you, your hair, your sweet lips, the way you giggled when he burned himself on his hot coffee that morning. He whined, reaching down to grab the sheet at his side. He exhaled sharply, continuing to glide into his palm smoothly, increasing speed as he got even closer. The way your face lit up when he agreed to tutor you was etched into his memory.

So young, though…he thought, too young…

It didn’t stop him from bringing his hand back to his mouth, adding more saliva to continue jerking his length. He was putting his hips into it now, imagining what it would be like to have you, just for a second he let himself go there in his mind. He thought about having you on top of him, legs on either side of his hips. You, lowering yourself over his cock, taking him all the way to the hilt. Another whine escaped him. You were so pretty, he imagined looking up at you, maybe you’d bite your lip and throw your head back with a moan. Maybe you’d grab your breast, pinching the nipple, maybe you’d tell him how good he felt inside of you. That’s all it took. He filled the apartment with his moans as he coated his fingers and abdomen in hot sticky cum.

Steven’s brain was empty, other than thoughts of you that still plagued him. He’d hoped that by doing this, it would help him let it go, but now he wished you were there for different reasons. You were so bubbly and full of energy. He wanted to talk to you, he wanted to learn more about you, get to know what else makes you laugh.

With a heavy sigh, Steven slid off the bed, careful to keep his cum coated fingers from touching anything. He turned on the light in the bathroom and started rinsing his hands in the sink, finishing and grabbing a towel. When he started drying his hands, his eyes looked up into the mirror again. 

His heart stopped. He waved at himself, checking to make sure his reflection kept up. They said they weren’t coming back…

Next Chapter

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TAGLIST (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @lia275, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @ninebluehearts, @outmodead, @sleepyamaya, @pimosworld, @ababynova, @flordelalunas, @360iris, @momo-mochiball, @missdragon-1

[ivystoryweaver]

Based on a request by @mintellaine: Moon Boys married prompts #6&7: being able to predict the other's moves & predict the other's words

Content: f!reader, established relationship, action, violence, fluff, kissing, mentions of food

Word Count: 805

Moon Knight's cape swished valiantly behind him as his muscular thigh thrusted outward in a punishing kick. The foul-smelling, ghastly supernatural creature yelped, its phantom bones crunching as it careened toward you.

"Drop!"

"Yep!"

Your body had already instinctively reacted. Sprinting forward, you dropped to your knees, skidding under the creature. Raising your arm, you dragged your curved dagger through its hairy abdomen.

Your enemy's ear-piercing shriek momentarily disoriented you, propelling you into a stumble, rather than you flipping to your feet with your usual grace.

Before even your shoulder could graze the bruising asphalt, a white gauze-wrapped arm slid underneath you, absorbing your fall. Tucking you in tightly to the solid safety of his chest, the two of you hit the rooftop with an "umph."

Heavy breaths pushed past your lips as you came down from your adrenaline rush, cocooned carefully inside your husband's white cape. His glowing, moonbeam eyes narrowed into slits as he inspected you for injury.

"Give me a second?" You panted, grateful for his protective embrace.

"Yeah, I can do that," he answered, his mask disappearing.

"Hi," you breathlessly whispered, smiling at his handsome face.

"Hey," he casually returned, admiration etched into his cute smirk. "That was a hell of a move."

"Thanks, I - "

" - learned from the best," he grinned.

Pulling you to your feet, Marc grasped your arms to steady you.

Suddenly, white gauze melted away as a shining, three-piece deliciously tight suit appeared.

"Darling, you were amazing," Steven bragged...but before he could compliment your attire, which he was always prone to do, even mid-fight, his warm brown eyes widened in panic.

You were already ducking as the word left his mouth. Scrambling away from this newest threat, you heard the crunch of bone.

White, gloved fists brutally connected with the jaw of yet another vile creature. Where were these things coming from?

Rolling out of the way, you scurried around behind the beast, mindful of the roof's edge. But before you could attack with your daggers, it lunged backward, knocking you dangerously close to your doom.

Steven, whose white mask was in place now, leapt into the air brandishing his signature heavy batons. "Get away from her, you!"

Having gained the creature's attention, it turned and attacked him with a screeching howl. Steven became a flurry of moonlit precision, striking blow after kick after thud with his batons. This gave you time to attack from the back. With a cry of fury, you lunged forward with all your might, sinking two daggers into the creature's gangly back.

It screeched - its ghastly body arching in agony as Steven tipped his sassy chin in a final salute. "That's m'wife, mate."

Then the creature was ash.

You stood across from your husband - a dagger in each hand, hair a wild mess, chest heaving, hoping that was your final fight tonight.

"Wow...look at you," Steven marveled, his mask disappearing once more.

"I probably look as crazy as that thing...before it disintegrated," you laughed, tucking your daggers away.

"Not possible," he chuckled. "But let me guess: you're bloody starving." You always were after a good fight.

With a cute shrug, your nose crinkled in delight, "You read my mind."

"Dumplings?" He proposed, knowing how much you loved them.

"Mmm, the way to my heart," you murmured, yanking his tie and pulling his lips to yours.

The adrenaline of a fight always brought some spice to your marriage, and your knees gave out a little as Steven's tongue ran along the seam of your lips. Opening your mouth to him, you felt the beautiful proof of his life - his hot, panting breath, mingling with the slightly salty tinge of sweat from his exertion.

He was safe. And all yours.

Strong arms swept you up into a possessive embrace. Marc. His tongue licked in hotly into your mouth, tangling with yours, as the fullness of his lips caressed your own deliciously.

"Do we have to get vegan dumplings?" He pouted, nibbling your lips one at a time.

"Babe, you know that place on the corner always adds pork dumplings to Steven's vegan order."

With one final kiss, his mask and hood cloaked his face once more.

"Ready?" Marc proposed, nodding down to the street below.

"Do you even have to ask?" You teased, wrapping your arms around his neck trustingly. The moon was full tonight, so its Knight would glide across the sky with ease.

With you tucked closely to his side, Marc leaped into the night sky. The thrill of flying...or falling gracefully overwhelmed you, making you giggle childishly in delight.

"This is my favorite way to travel!" You called over the whoosh of air around you.

"Thanks, but - "

" - don't tell Jake, I know," you finished his sentence, knowing how much Jake liked to drive you around (and drive you wild).

IvyStoryWeaver's 500 Follower Celebration

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[justmeinadaze]

Take It Out On Me Part 11 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

A/N: It's about to go down. Ya'll ready?!

Enjoy <3

Warnings: Dom Steddie & Plus Size Sub Y/N and all that implies (I regret nothing!), Smut and ALL the angst. These three confront the parents and as you can imagine it doesn't go well. Steve's dad is a douchebag and Y/N is referred to as a whore a few times. Eddie gets hit *cries*. He in turn gets a little rough with the reader but Steve intervenes. A bit of a cliffhanger ending... I mean I guess lol I think that's everything!

Word Count: 3335

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you slowly open your front door and enter your house, Eddie and Steve following close behind. 

Both your parents are standing in the living room and to your surprise so are Steve’s. His dad visibly looks a mess, his hair and suit completely disheveled.

“Oh, Steven!”, his mother exclaims as she runs to give him a hug.

“You can leave.” Your dad gestures towards Eddie.

“I could but I’m not. Do I need to call my uncle so we have everyone who needs to be here present?”

“It’s not like you can call his dad.”, Mr. Harrington sasses under his breath as you angrily glare at him. 

“Mr. Munson, you don’t need to be here. I asked for my daughter to come home with Mr. Harrington here—”

“Yeah well, my understanding is you have a problem with me to so…”, Eddie shrugs. Your dad turns to your mom and whispers something to her before she rises to head for the kitchen to use the phone. “He works at the mill up there. He should be in by now.”

You three sit on the couch as you try to keep your emotions in check. The way everyone is staring at you guys terrifies you but you were also extremely angry, knowing how this conversation was going to play out. No matter what they said, you loved Eddie and Steve. You weren’t leaving them. 

“Wayne said he would be here in 15 minutes.”, your mother notified the room. 

“Good. He can take his nephew when he gets here. Now while we wait, Steven, I’m just going to say this out right, stay away from my daughter. This thing you two have is over.”

“Dad—”

“And as for you, you disobeyed us. We told you to stay away from him especially since he’s associated with this one here.”, he points to Eddie. 

“Which ends today to. I don’t want you spending any more time with this freak.”, his dad adds.

“Well, what does it matter, dad? According to you, I’ve already tarnished our name by not making into college, right? I’m too fucking stupid and lazy. Isn’t that what you said?”

“You’re goddamn right! We raised you to be better than this.”

“You didn’t raise him at all!”, you defended. “He’s spent half of high school alone in that big house.”

“Y/N!”, your mother scolds and you immediately fold back into yourself. 

The boys glance your way before looking back down at the floor. “I guess we see now why she was so meek and scared before.”, Eddie softly smiles as he reaches for your hand. 

“Hey! Don’t touch my daughter.”

“I love your daughter! No one has ever cared about me or made me feel the way she does.”

“Wait…”, Steve’s dad rubs his palm over his eyes. “I’m confused. Steve, you told me you were dating Y/N.”

“I am and I love her to.”

“But he just…”

Your eyes meet your mother’s before hers drift towards the ceiling. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

A knock on the door brings everything to a halt and your dad quickly answers it to allow Eddie’s uncle entry. “Get your nephew and get out of my house.”

“Wait. What is happening?”

“You to, Bill! Get your son and leave. It’s obvious we need to have a long talk with our child.”

“We can talk as long as you want, dad, but that’s not going to change how I feel. I love them to and after we graduate, we’re moving in together.”

“Huh…well that explains some things.”, Wayne smirks as he looks at all the other adults in the room. “I mean I had a feeling but didn’t want to assume.”

“You’re ok with this?!”, your mom shrieks. 

“Yeah, I mean… they aren’t doing anything wrong. They aren’t a gang or something. They’re three people in love. It’s nice and rare at such a young age.”

“Exactly! ‘Young age’! You three are way too young to understand what you are feeling!”

“ENOUGH!”, your dad booms as all conversation ceases. “This is over.”, he points his index finger towards you. “End it now. As long as you are under my roof, you will follow my rules. You are not allowed to see either of these boys again.”

“You can’t keep us from her.”, Eddie responds as he grips your hand tighter. 

“I sure fucking can! I’ll call the cops! I’ll send her to live with family in other states! I’ll—”

“You’ll call the cops and tell them what? Your daughter is spending time us? And you can send her anywhere you want, no matter what, we would follow her.”, Steve interrupts reaching for your hand as well. 

“Steven Harrington, you think about this now. If you insist on staying with this…whore…I will cut you off—”

“Hey now.”, Wayne cuts in. “No need to be rude or disrespectful. If you say something like that again, I’m ending this and taking all three of them back to my home.”

As Eddie’s uncle spoke, your eyes scanned your parents. Their angry eyes were staring into a void they seemed to stuck in. What killed you most was while Wayne defended you, your mom and dad remained silent, seemingly agreeing with Steve’s father. To them…you were a whore.

“Cut me off, dad. I don’t care. I’ve spent my whole life trying to impress you and be what you wanted me to be. Now I just want to figure out who I am and I want to do it with this woman here. I may not be the best student, man, or even fucking son but I am good at taking care of baby girl here.”

“Do you agree with his dad?”, you blurted your question as you addressed your family. “Do you two think I’m a slut?”

“What-what are we supposed to think, Y/N?”, your mother stutters. 

“It’s not like I’m-I’m opening my legs for all of Hawkins! I’m in a relationship with these two. I—”

“Stop it, Y/N.”, your dad warns.

“No!”, you suddenly rise to your feet. “I’ve never done anything wrong or given you two any reason to worry before. You both always said I was smart and knew how to make my own choices! Why is this ONE suddenly wrong?”

“Sit. Down. Y/N.”

“Sweetheart…” Eddie tries to pull at your hand to get your attention, getting to his feet as well. He recognizes that look and tone from your father; he’s seen it before on his own. 

“Dad, they are both so good to me. If you just got to know them—”

As your dad’s arm rears back, the metalhead slides between you two, taking the slap that was meant for you. Wayne moves forward as Steve stands, tugging you behind him. 

“We’re done here. I’m taking them to my trailer until Steve and Y/N feel safe coming home if at all.”, Wayne growls.

“You can’t do that.”

“Oh, I assure you I can. Unless you want to call Hopper down here so we can explain to him how you just assaulted my nephew.” His uncle reaches for Eddie’s arm and guides him towards the front door. “You kids get a head start. I’ll be right behind you.”

Without speaking, the three of you exit the house and quickly move to Eddie’s van. 

“Do you want me to drive?”, Steve asks.

The metalhead shakes his head, opening the passenger door for you before slamming it shut. As he begins the drive back to the trailer, you start replaying everything in your head. You knew your parents weren’t going to approve of this relationship but you never expected them to be this angry to the point where your dad would react the way that he did. 

 Eddie got hurt, Steve was cut off, you and he didn’t have a home anymore. Then everything that happened last night… this is all my fault… 

You tried to hide the tears that flowed as you curled into the window. After a while, the trailer came into view but even after the man parked no one moved. You glanced over at the driver, suddenly realizing his chest was rising and falling rapidly. 

“Eddie… are you okay?”

Steve followed your eye line as he shifted to the other side of the van. “Munson. It’s okay, man. You’re okay.”

Eddie’s eyes shut as his mouth opened to release a loud scream as he repeatedly hit at his steering wheel. His hair blocked his face as his head hung to his chest. The driver’s side door gradually opened as Wayne leaned against it, reaching for his nephew’s arm. 

“Come on, son. You’re okay.”

Gently, he tugged his nephew out and the rest of you followed suit. As you entered the trailer, you and Steve sat on the couch while Eddie’s uncle looked him over. 

“He got you pretty good but…it would have probably done way more damage to her. That was a brave thing you did, Eddie.” The metalhead’s shoulders deflate as he exhales. “You two are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Y/N, I can give you some cash and after school tomorrow you and the boys can go into town so you can buy some essentials.”

“I’m sorry…”

Wayne came over and bent down on his heels beside you. “You have no reason to be sorry, honey. You are not a whore; you’ve done nothing wrong. Okay?” He smiles when you nod. “Ed, I have to get back to work. Are you three going to be alright?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

As his uncle straightens up, he reaches over to pat Steve’s shoulder. Once he leaves, Eddie abruptly turns and heads for his room. You two trail after him, finding him in a chair with a cigarette dangling from his lips as he tries to light it. 

“Fucking…piece of shit…lighter…”, he growls before angrily throwing it to the floor. 

Slowly, you place yourself in front of him, extending your hand out to run your fingers through his hair. Eddie sighs again as he leans forward and rests his forehead on your stomach. 

“I’m…thank you…” The tears start flow again as you hug him to you. His hands glide up to your lower back as his lips press against your tummy. The metalhead’s eyes glance up to meet yours for the first time since you left your parents house and the pain you found within them killed you. It was like the man now was fighting with the scared little boy he was back then, trying to remind himself that he was in control. You lean down to kiss his lips before nodding you head, whispering against them. “Use me.”

With incredible strength, Eddie lifted you under your arms and all but threw you onto his bed. He tore off your clothes, rapidly trying to do the same with his own. After opening your legs, he spit into cunt, gripping the base of his cock and guiding himself roughly into your body. His hips pounded aggressively into yours as he remained pushed up on his palms, long hair blocking his face from your view. As you reached up to move it out of the way, his hand flew to your wrist, pinning it flat to the mattress. 

You winced at the feeling of each hard thrust; he had never been this rough with you before. He began muttering things under his breath you could barely hear as you caught every other word. 

“Fucking…asshole…I could…knock him…out.”

“S-sir?”, you whimpered as Steve knelt by the bed, scanning your face.

“Color, honey?”

“Yellow, Da-daddy.”

“Eddie, she needs a minute.”

“They think…tell me…what to do…no. I’m…in control.” Your eyes widen as his hand suddenly flies to your throat, gripping it hard between his fingers.

“Eddie! Stop!” Steve quickly shoves him back and he tumbles off you, releasing you from his hold. “Y/N, are you ok?”

You cough as you try to catch your breath. 

“Fuck. F-fuck, Y/N. Sweetheart, I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t even hear you. I…fuck!”, he shouts as he hits the trailer wall with his fist. 

You glance over at him before looking up Steve, assuring him you were alright. “Take these off, Daddy.” You tug at his shirt collar and he nods, rising to his feet.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me. I don’t want to hurt you again.”, Eddie’s voice shakes as you turn and place your hand on his chest. 

“Do you trust me?”, you whisper.

“Yeah, I just…don’t trust myself.”

Leaning forward, you tenderly kiss his lips as you push him carefully on to his back and straddle his waist. “I do, Master.”

A moan escapes his beautiful lips at the title, his palms coming to rest on your thighs as you carefully slide his cock into your entrance. Balancing above him on your hands, you grind your hips as you tilt your upper half closer to his chest.

“You’re always so protective of me. I feel so safe with you and Daddy.”

Steve climbs on to the bed behind you as you crane you neck to watch him spit in his hand and stroke it along his length. His eyebrows raise as if to ask if you’re ready and you subtly nod, allowing him to grab your waist and push himself into your ass. 

Once again, you felt so full by both of them immediately, moaning at the delicious stretch of them inside of you. Steve’s arms came into your field of view as his chest pressed against your back and his hands rest near yours against the mattress. 

Your eyes rolled as he began rolling his hips into yours, panting against your skin. 

“You both feel so good. Oh my god… Please, Sir. I NEED you to move.”

“You need me, princess?”

Eddie licks his lips as his hips thrust upwards eliciting a loud moan from you both. Steve leans back onto to his knees, guiding your movements with his palms as he glances between your bodies.

“F-fuck, baby. You take us both so well.”

The metalhead nods underneath you, agreeing with his friend. “Such a good girl.”

“Mmm—use me. Fill me up, please. I need you to. I need to—mmm-- feel you cum inside me.”

Eddie’s fingers reach up to caress your face before gripping the back on your neck, bringing your lips to his. 

“I love you, Y/N. You are safe with us. I’d never—God—I’d never let anyone hurt you like that.” His glassy, blown out eyes lock with yours as he pumps into you harder. Steve tries to match his pace, slamming his hips into yours. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your pussy clenches around him as you cum. Eddie grunts below you at the feeling, clinging to your waist as he follows you.

The other boy holds you against his chest as he chases his high, his arms holding you tightly as he thrusts his spend into your body. 

Without a word, they each gradually pull out of you making you hiss and wince at the slight sting. The metalhead gently takes your hand and walks you towards his shower. After cleaning you and making sure you were comfortable, he places you back on the mattress in front of Steve who casually begins brushing your hair. 

“Wayne doesn’t need to give you too much cash. I, um, I bought some stuff and have them here for when you spend the night like that brush.”, Eddie gestures towards Steve. “We just need to find you some clothes more than anything. In a couple days, maybe my uncle can talk your parents into letting you swing by to get your stuff. You may have to wait till we find an apartment to bring everything… Trailer is kind of small.”, he smiles. 

You fingers reach out to move some of his hair back so you can see his face. 

“I’m really fucking sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to… Your dad hit me and I just felt like a boy again, you know? I got lost in my brain.”

“It’s okay. I understand. I genuinely do. I’m sorry he hit you.”

“I’m sorry for my dad to…talking down to both of you like that.”, Steve sighs. “You’re not a whore, Y/N. That goes without saying but…”, he chuckles. “I know you like to be called that in bed—”

“By you two. But even then, when you say it, I know you don’t mean it like they do.”

They nod at your statement, each man leaning in to kiss your lips. The rest of the night, they kept an extra close eye on you; making sure you were fed and comfortable before falling asleep in their arms. While Eddie leaned out his bedroom window smoking a cigarette, you shot up in bed, grabbing your heart as you panted. 

“Hey! Whoa, sweetheart. It’s ok, you’re ok. It was just a nightmare.”

Silently, your head feel back against the pillow as you sobbed. He tossed the end of his smoke out into the yard, closing the window, and enveloping you in his arms. The metalhead tenderly kissed your forehead as you rolled over, pressing your face into his bare chest. 

“I know, baby. It’s ok. I’ve got you. Master’s here for you.”

##########

That following morning, Eddie gave you a shirt to wear so you could at least have on something different than yesterday. All eyes felt like they were on you as you three climbed out of his van and headed for the campus. 

“Is it just me or are there more eyes on us than normal?”

“Well, King Steve did just show up with the freak so I imagine there’s a lot of gossip there.”

You squinted towards the metalhead, pursing your lips. “I hate when you call yourself that. You aren’t a freak.”

“Y/N?”, Masie called as she waved you to her locker. 

“We’ll see you in class, alright? Everything is okay.”, Steve soothes as he tenderly pets your head. 

“Hey Maze. What’s going on?”

“I was going to ask you that.” Your best friend takes a few steps closer to you as she lowers her voice. “Is it true that you’re fucking Steve Harrington AND Eddie Munson?”

“I—what—I mean—where did you hear that?”, you ask as you stumble over your words. 

“Y/N, Mr. Harrington went to the bar last night talking about how you ‘corrupted his son’ and how delusional the three of you are. The whole town knows about it. Is-is it true? I mean I know you spend a lot of time with them but I thought they were just friends.”

“I…um… what if I was in a relationship with them both? Would that be so wrong?”

Masie’s eyes widen as she takes a step back from you. “I-I-I don’t know what to say.”

Your eyes begin to water as you slowly back away. “No. I completely understand. Um, take your time and I’m just, um, going to go to class.”

“Y/N, WAIT!”, she screams after you as you run away from her down the hallway. You don’t stop till you’re outside your first classroom which is currently being blocked by students.

“Move! Everyone out of my way!”, Mr. C pushes through the crowd and you follow close behind. 

A couple of boys were on the floor wrestling with Steve and Eddie. The desks were pushed out of the way and blood had already began staining the linoleum. A few other teachers with campus security ran in pulling everyone apart. 

“What is going on?!”, your teacher shrieked. “Mr. Munson? Mr. Harrington? Care to enlighten me?”

They were furious, you could see it reflecting in their beautiful eyes even as they tried to avoid your gaze. Another student finally piped up and pointed towards the blackboard where you and Mr. C quickly turned to look. 

In big bold letters, written in yellow chalk read the words, “Y/N Y/L/N. CLASS SLUT OF 1984.”

#########

@manda-panda-monium @sherrylyn628 @needylilgal022

@local-stoner-bitch @katethetank @danandphilequalsmemes

@alienthingstwo @sidthedollface2 @mandyjo8719

@bexreastoomuch @chelebelletx @shayeddie @anaibis

@wroteclassicaly @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

@siriuslysmoking @raptorbait529 @miarosso

@micheledawn1975 @paleidiot @unfocused81

[soulsforsales]

Professor Steven Grant x Reader

Warning: This is my first fic (Idk if that should be a warning but I am scared lol), fluff, age gap, no use of Y/N, sorry for any grammatical mistakes

Summary: You always had a weak spot for nerds but Steven Grant might just be the man of your dreams.

Pairing: Steven Grant x reader (yes, we do have Marc and Jake in the next chapters!)

Thankyou @ivystoryweaver for your ideas and support <3

Chapter 1

It is a warm Tuesday afternoon in October. You are browsing the books in the "classics" section at the bookstore. Usually, you come to the bookstore on weekends but you've decided to meet a friend this week, so here you are.

Your eyes roam the bookshelf along with your hand in a straight line until you hit something. Someone. You step back, an apology already on your lips until you turn and see the man beside you and suddenly you are at a loss for words. You stare at him.

Normally, if you run into someone at the bookstore you would just turn away and apologize, which happened a lot since you were always lost searching for your book but it wasn't a rom-com movie where anyone you accidentally stumble upon turns out to be your soulmate - but, god, right now you wish it were.

Honestly, you have seen your fair share of good-looking men, but this guy was, you dare say it, gorgeous.

He had a defined, sharp jawline with dark brown eyes, and his hair was a mess of curls. He was wearing baggy clothes but it suited him just fine and a messenger bag slung on his shoulder. 'I'm sorry,' you hear him say and he gives an apologetic smile. O.K. If you thought he was good-looking a moment ago, his smile was absolutely beaming - and it wasn't even a real smile. 'You okay?' He asks, his fingers grazing your forearm for the slightest second, bringing you back to life. He is looking down at you, confused. Really? Could he not see what he was doing to you or did he not know how good-looking he was?

You nod, saying, 'I am fine. Sorry about that.' He waves his hand in front of his face, 'No worries,' he replies with a smile. He looks a bit older than you, thirteen years or some.

You are staring at him again. You can feel yourself getting red. So embarrassing.

'That's a nice book you've got there,' he says, pointing to the book in your hands that was now wrapped around your chest. The blush on your cheeks deepens, he doesn't notice.

"Wuthering Heights, by Emily Bronte" you trace your fingers over the cover of the book.

'Yeah,' you say, pushing the book closer to yourself, 'you too.' Alright, you do not know why you said that, but he was holding a book and it only felt right to return the compliment.

Or maybe you are just really bad when it comes to conversations with someone who's got you fawning.

He shows the book to you, "The Ennead" it reads. Suddenly, you are intrigued. Yes, you work for a textile company but History, especially Egyptian, has always been interesting to you. And before you know it, you are both somehow in a long, elaborated conversation about the Ennead, Egyptian history, and the pyramids.

He knew so much that it left you speechless. You could only admire him as he kept spitting engrossing Egyptian facts as if it were the weather report. He talked animatedly, with his hands moving and his eyes gleaming. His hands, wow, his perfect, sleek hands were totally distracting you from his stories.

He stopped abruptly when his phone rang. He was telling you something about Ammit, the sinister goddess of the Underworld but he had to stop and pick up the call.

He held the phone close to his chest, saying, 'Looks like I'll have to leave.' He looked like he was in a hurry but he glanced at you once more before walking out the place, as if he wanted to say more.

He disappeared soon as if he'd never even been here.

Your heart is beating fast and it feels almost as if, you have never had a conversation like this one before. Maybe it was the person more than the conversation itself.

You didn't even ask for his name, you wince at the realization. You should've totally asked for his name.

Maybe you'll see him again.

For some reason, you are sure you'll see him again.

•------🌙

You are a few feet away from the coffee shop's door when you notice your friend. She's sitting at the table with someone, you can't really see who, and is typing aggressively into her laptop.

Your friend is in the last year of her University, she's a year younger than you. You always knew that University was not your thing but you'd attended it anyway because your parents wanted you to and being exceedingly wealthy, they had proposed to pay your study loans for you.

So now you have a full-time job, a good paycheck, and an apartment of your own without any piles of loans above your head. While your friend, still in Uni was drowning in projects and assignments and you knew she needed to loosen up a bit, hence, the reason you two were meeting today.

You enter the shop with a smile, but it drops the moment you notice who your friend is with. You freeze a few feet away from the table. You couldn't be sure if it was him but the resemblance was there.

Your friend looks up from her laptop, noticing you. She waves at you, grinning, which makes, whoever it is, sitting in front of her turn to you.

You almost trip. He looks even better than the last time you'd seen him. He was still wearing baggy clothes, his hair tousled and curly but it looked purposely done. And he was wearing glasses, red colored glasses perched on the top of his nose. Adorable.

You always had a weak spot for nerds but he might just be the man of your dreams.

Your friend asks you to come over and have a seat and you do. You can tell that he remembers you. He's been staring at you ever since you walked in and you can't breathe. What's happening to you?

Your friend, however, is oblivious, she introduces you to the man, telling him your name and he introduces himself, 'Steven Grant,' he says, shaking your hand clumsily. You nod. His hand, oh god, the handshake sent tingles all over your skin.

'He was just helping me with a few assignments, thank you so much for this,' your friend adds and after telling her that it's no big deal Steven leaves the table to get his order.

You watch him go. Steven Grant. You had met him at the bookstore almost a week ago and yet, you couldn't stop thinking about him. It felt foolish but you'd never, in your life, daydreamed about a guy the way you'd daydreamed about Steven Grant.

'Stop drooling,' your friend says interrupting your rail of thoughts. A blush spreads on your cheeks. You aren't drooling... are you?

'How do you know him?' You ask her

Your friend grins, 'he's my history professor.'

Your jaw drops, 'he's a professor?' You repeat, placing your hands on your chest dramatically, 'he's like everything I've ever wanted.'

She chuckles, 'You should ask him out. He's exactly your type and I am sure he's single.'

Your eyes turn to Steven who's now getting his coffee, 'how's he still single?'

'Because he's the most awkward person you'll ever meet and the only friend he has is a goldfish named 'Gus', it is one-finned or something. He loves talking about it,' your friend tells

You smile to yourself but your heart's hammering against your chest and you know you'd never have the courage to ask him out.

'I could never,' you say, biting your lower lip. Before your friend can reply Steven comes back with a flask that the barista had filled for him.

Your friend smirks as she closes her laptop and leaves the table the next moment. You silently beg her to stay but it's too late.

Steven looks at you and you can't stop blushing. You are praying that your complexion doesn't give it away. 'Correct me if I'm wrong,' he speaks sweetly, 'but... have we met before?'

Your cheeks redden, 'yeah,' you say, 'Yes actually, at the bookstore... that day, I - I had no idea that you were, would be - what a coincidence, right?' You give yourself an imaginary facepalm. Someone must remind you how to form a coherent sentence again.

'You're at University too?' He asks

You shake your head, 'Oh no, not anymore.'

Steven smiles in reply and you two fall into an awkward silence. You want to say something - you know you should say something but he hasn't stopped smiling since you arrived and you can't think straight when he's looking at you with those deep, soft, brown eyes.

Maybe you should ask him something about his job - anything would be better than staring at him like an idiot.

You open your mouth to speak but Steven cuts you off, 'that day when we met,' he says, taking his glasses off, 'I wanted to ask you something, actually...' he pauses to take a good look at your face, you can swear you are as red as a tomato by now. 'I was wondering if - if you would want to - maybe - uh, have dinner with me sometime? I was just thinking if...' You don't hear the rest of the sentence. Your breath hitches in your throat. Was he asking you out? Was Steven Grant, the man you had been reeling after - asking you out on a date? This felt unreal.

'I'm sorry,' his voice reaches your ear, interrupting your thoughts, 'I think I might be reading too much into it. I understand if you're not interested.'

Your eyes visibly widen at his words. It wasn't that at all.

'No.' You almost yell, 'I - I am interested. I want to, I mean. I would love to go on a date with you.' You are smiling hard and you can feel the butterflies rummaging in your stomach. 'If - if that's what you are implying.' You add.

This is bad.

Steven lets out a small laugh, his cheeks turning pink, 'Yes. Yes, th - that's what I meant.'

You grin, not because you want to but because you can't help it. He's so nice and so absolutely beautiful.

Steven fiddles with his sleeves nervously, saying, 'Well, there's this really nice restaurant down the street. They have all kinds of food options. I - I was thinking maybe we could, you know, check it out.'

You nod, still smiling. Still feeling the butterflies in your stomach. He looked ten times better when he smiled.

'Yeah,' you say, 'yeah, sounds great.'

'I'll see you tomorrow then? If - if that's okay with you. I get off work at 5'

'Tomorrow's good.'

'Yeah?' He's smiling with his eyes now, crinkles appearing around them and oh, you could just die.

Steven's expression softens as he starts to get up, 'I am terribly sorry, love,' he says, with a weak smile, 'I would really like to stay but I have to leave now - I have a meeting at work. I could, uh, text you the details, though?'

You tell him that it's alright and exchange phone numbers.

'See you tomorrow, then?' He asks, sliding his messenger bag down his shoulder, his curls toss as he fixes the strap and you fight the urge to push your fingers through them. You really wanted to.

'It's a date then,' you say, biting your lower lip. It was hard to contain your giddiness.

'I'll call you.' He says, passing you a little smile before finally walking out the shop.

Oh my god. It happened! You are going out on a date with Steven Grant. You are acting like a teenager getting asked out for the first time but you're too happy to care. You are happy - excited even - for a date, you haven't felt this like this in a long time.

Your friend finally comes back to the table, holding a sandwich in one hand and a coffee cup in another.

'You were ages.' You say, adding Steven's phone number into your contacts

'Was I?' Your friend replies, slurping her drink, 'well, the barista was super cute - not really my fault, besides, what were you chatting with Mr. Grant about?'

You smile. Your cheeks hurt from smiling now but you can't help it, 'I am going on a date.' You tell her, 'With your professor.'

Tagging: @wittyjasontodd (I didn't know if you'd wanted to be tagged since this is not DC related but here it is!), @fandxmslxt69 (bcs I was inspired by your math professor lol >.<)

Anyone who wants to be tagged, just lmk!

[autismsupermusicalassassin]

the santi problem 🌙

Moonknight single dad au

ft. Dad!santiago

plot: when shopping a flee market with “auntie” Layla in the park they come across a familiar face

A/N: dad!santi belongs to @reallyrallyauthor and I don’t own anything but Isaac Randall lockley Grant Spector also holy mother of comics this is a long one!

<Prev. Next>

GLUNK!! As Jake wince at the fact isaac tries to throw his plastic bowl into the sink. “Mijo no we don’t do that” he told his messy son who is just smiling without a care in the world, you see today Layla is coming to visit for a day or two and the flat kitchen is kinda a mess and there’s hardly anything to eat due to the recent setbacks that they been dealing with taking his son off the high chair and into his playpen Isaac crawls fast to play with his bunny and a taweret stuff animal while Jake reculting force to clean up the dishes while hear Steven trying hard not to laugh which Jake looks at him in the reflection of the kitchen knife glaring at him “ríe y mueres” he scold making Steven to be quiet. “Jake give him a break” Marc said in the headspace “Layla seen the flat a big mess before Isaac became involved in their lives.

Marc took control of the body and cleans up some stuff as a knock on the door “she’s here early” Marc mumbles as he dries his hands as he opens the door to reveal Layla standing there her curly hair pulled up into a ponytail as she smiles “hello Marc” she said giving him a hugs, which Marc gave one right back to her, it as if they were still a married couple even though after the events with harrow and his fallowers in Egypt and such, they remained good friends no matter what “hey Layla” Marc gives a tight hug before Letting her go,so she could greet Isaac “ your here earlier today” he said with small smile at her “well I had to get ahead start since there’s gonna be a bit of traffic for a flee market that’s happening in the park” she replied leaving Marc to muttered ‘flee market?’ in confusion as Layla turn to see Isaac in his playpen making his bunny and taweret stuffie kiss causing her to chuckle“now there’s my quote unquote nephew?” Isaac looks up and squels in excitement to sees his “aunt” dropping his stuff animals and attempting to walk towards Layla but crawls towards her instead , she picks him up and lets him play with her loose curls “looks like someone is happy to see his auntie” layla joke bouncing isaac causing him to laugh “Layla what do you mean by flee market?” Marc ask her while picking up whatever toys his son threw on the floor “oh there’s a flee market happening in the park” she replied with a shock expression “I’m surprised Steven didn’t tell you about it”

with that Marc side eye the mirror as Steven throws his hands up in defense “mate that slipped my mind” answer honestly and Jake just snickers in the background. “Must’ve slipped his mind because we were busy finding a new day job that isn’t Jake’s driving” Marc replied as smirk at Jake’s cursed words in Spanish “plus we’re taking care of the baby anyways and trying to say dada or walk so…” isaac blows a raspberry at him making Layla holding back a snicker when a baffled Marc looks at them “well are you coming?” She asked him, sighing Marc softly smiles and nods when the three of them left to the flee market.

the market was lively in the park it reminded of him and Jake times when they were back in the U.S seeing farmer market at certain locations in cities where he just browsed around and similar to Egypt flee markets , “sir would you like a handcrafted jewelry for your lady friend?” A shop owner asked with a kind smile which Marc responded “no thank you she’s already perfect and doesn’t need anything else” he said fixing his cap as Marc turns to see Layla checking out the books while smiling that the stroller hood is up protecting Isaac eyes and the suns heat which bizarrely tries to make his baby nap as he about to approach them he suddenly spotted khonshu wearing the Mr.Knight suit and sitting on the bench making marc muttered a curse words as he goes up to the moon god crossed arms knowing that Khonsu wanted to talk to ether him or Jake about something.

Meanwhile, Santiago was in the market alone and being a bit grumpy because he and his family were supposed to be together today on their vacation only to have his toddler getting sick with a stomach ache and a pregnant wife taking care of his son. Sighing Santiago basically browses the market in the park to find something for his wife and kid only to find hand crafted stuff and foods that he thinks they would enjoy it , “come on kiddo you gotta burp up” santi heard a voice and turns to a curly hair woman,Egyptian desenct, (Santiago hasn’t been in Cairo during one of the delta missions to know) has a burp towel on her shoulder while holding a baby boy wham by the looks of it is trying to get them to burp on the burp towel but she was failing to get the baby to do so, “how do they get you to burp so was?” She mumbles giving him a sigh and then starts walking up to her knowing that it shouldn’t be his business but she was struggling so he gonna help her with the baby burping issue.

Layla was struggling with this trying to deal with the boys baby son “come on kiddo come on” she tried the baby talk to no avail Isaac was refusing to burp for her “you need help?” Layla turns to see Santiago walking up surprising her “yea I think so but-” Layla gets cut off as she witnesses Santiago gots Isaac to burp surprising her “there you go kid” Santiago says as he hands Isaac back to Layla “how did you do that?” She asked him , he smiled “had practiced with my kid when he was around this buddy’s age” santi said trying to hand Isaac over to Layla when Isaac was blowing spit bubbles and babbling “huh seems like your kid likes me or something” she blinks in surprise “oh no Isaac isn’t my son” Layla exclaimed “I’m his aunt” that caught him off guard “oh sorry I thought-” santi was about say until marc shouted “Layla , Isaac”

When he approached Isaac smiles and reaches for his dad to get to him forgetting that Santiago was right there and ignoring his staring at Marc , santi recognized Marc from before “Steven Lockley” he said making Marc finally notice him and frowns at what he said, then he heard Steven and Jake speak up “bloody hell it’s that man we met Jake” “Mierda, Steven your right it is him” yep Marc instantly knew now that both his alters were co-fronting each other, one day in America when Marc was asleep in the headspace and that’s how this man gotten the mix up of his alters names “uh hi, who are you?” Marc asked as a confused Layla realizing that she too hadn’t gotten santi’s name either and Santiago sighs “I’m Santiago Gracia” he answers arm crossed and looks at Marc like his a criminal or some shit “and I have a bone pick with you Steven Lockley-“ “actually it’s Marc Spector” Marc correct him as Isaac sees khonshu over Marc’s shoulder slowly starting to tear up at the sight of the moon god.

“okay “Marc” can you tell me why my son suddenly saying khon after our first meeting? my wife thinks it’s just a phase” Santiago gets straight to the point and Layla is about to prevent this from going out of hand but Marc stops her “look man that wasn’t me that accidentally caused your toddler to say Khonsu-“ Marc told Santiago while getting Isaac to calm down so his little baby doesn’t start a big crying fit not only from Khonsu standing behind Marc but this conversation that is about to cause scene if it doesn’t died down “it’s hard to explain but I just don’t mean to sound rude, but I have no memory of meeting your kid or anything like that but all I have to say is I’m sorry for Steven and Lockley accident you and your family encounter with them” and then Santiago takes a deep breath and says “Iforgive you…for now” both men nodded in understanding “I have to go now to check on my wife to see if she’s alright” santi replied and bids them a goodbye as leaves them be.

“that was…” Layla said to Marc “weird I know but that’s what world we live in layla” he turns to look at her as Isaac started to be fussy causing him to get back in his stroller with a toy to be distracted while Marc and Layla continue shopping at the flee market while having a adult conversation “so.. what did Khonsu want ?” Layla asked,Marc gives her a surprise look “Marc I’m not blind, I noticed you walked over to a park bench where he was seen sitting there” Layla said “I’m Taweret avatar remember?” He rolled his eyes playfully, “we know that” he said bluntly “to answer your first question ….” He sighs readjusting his cap “Khonsu wanted to talk about trying to go after a pervert and some other gross guys in East London tonight…” Marc wasn’t happy about it but at least the usual babysitter is coming over to watch him tonight “to be honest…I’m need a break from doing this moon knight stuff just to rest” she nods sympathizing at his situation and hand him a chocolate ice cream bar “at least you have the suit to protect you from the harm” marc takes the ice cream bar and takes a bite of it , “true” he says “but it isn Going to be easy since taking a role of a three dads in one body situation here” groans and looks at his son and smiles “your a good dad Marc..and so are Jake and Steven “ Layla pointed out softy as they leave the flee market with baggies of food and vegan food on the way back to the apartment.

“you know something?”

“what?”

“that Santiago guy remind me of you on our first meeting before learning the truth of our meeting”

“oh my god Layla I’m 36!”

tagged: @reallyrallyauthor, @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @itsmiguel2099 @angel-of-the-moons, @guruan,

[daphnefisherofficial]

bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER FIVE

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER FIVE - TIES AND STRINGS THAT BIND.

The late afternoon sun painted long shadows across the cityscape, casting an amber glow over the bustling streets of London. After his peculiar encounter with the enigmatic Mira Batala-Carter, Marc Spector finally returned to his apartment located just a bus ride away from Trafalgar Square. He staggered into the dimly lit unit marked 502 on the fifth floor, his footsteps echoing in the silence of their cozy living space. The long flight had left him weary, jetlag gnawing at his bones from all the excitement that unfolded. 

Marc let out a deep sigh as he glanced over at Steven Grant’s reflection looking at him from the nearby mirror. 

"You've had enough of the spotlight for one day, huh?" Marc’s alter grinned, his arms folded as he watched his head mate push the luggage beside their wooden cabinet with his right foot, not even bothering to unpack.

"Yeah, I need a break”, Marc chuckled weakly, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him. “You go ahead and be the life of the party"

Immediately surrendering control, Steven took the reins as he was already bustling around the apartment, completely at ease. Ignoring the chaotic mess that is his study and bedroom, he deposited his duffle bag on the couch. 

Wait until Mira sees this mess of an apartment, Marc piped into their headspace once more. You should send her a picture.

Steven flipped a bird at Marc’s direction in the mirror reflection, which was uncharacteristic of his British upbringing yet his teasing reaction was expected. Shrugging off his charcoal-gray suit with slow, deliberate movements, he changed into a crisp white t-shirt before slipping into a pair of dark pants. His stomach then growled in mild hunger, prompting him to pad into the kitchen for a light meal, selecting a bowl for what would soon become a delightful reprieve from the day's fatigue.

Vegan cereal filled the ceramic vessel, and he poured fresh almond milk over the golden clusters, watching them slowly soften as they embraced the creamy liquid. It was simple, yet comforting, and he savored every spoonful. But it wasn't long before Steven’s thoughts wandered to the sweet delicacies Mira had generously shared with him and Marc back at the airport. Her exciting recommendation weighed on his mind, and curiosity got the better of him.

He retrieved the ziplock bag of treats from their duffle bag and perused the contents, the vibrant colors and exotic flavors beckoning him. With a grin, he decided to involve Marc in the tasting adventure. 

“What do you reckon we should try first?” Steven spoke excitedly as Marc's eyes widened from his silver spoon reflection.

“You’re vegan, right?”, Marc replied as he surveyed the array of options before them. “I think you should go for the dried mangoes first”

Steven, ever conscious of his vegan lifestyle, appreciated that Marc’s particular choice aligned with his dietary preferences. With eager anticipation, he plucked a slice and bit into the chewy fruit. The taste sensation was an unexpected revelation. The dried mangoes burst forth with a symphony of flavors—sweet, tangy, and slightly chewy. Steven's eyes widened, and he exchanged an amazed glance with Marc. It was as if a tropical paradise had been captured in a single, delectable bite. The decadence of this newfound treat made their eyes twinkle with delight, and they couldn't resist reaching for more, savoring the afternoon's unexpected adventure into the world of exotic flavors.

Like night and day, the two of them had developed a remarkable understanding over the past few weeks, unlike the first few months when they were still sharing lives apart from each other. Marc’s life was a whirlwind of chaos and unpredictability, and every time he thought he had found some semblance of stability, it slipped through his fingers like sand. 

Steven, on the other hand, was the steady anchor in Marc's turbulent life. He was the one who managed the day-to-day affairs, kept their finances in check, and ensured that Marc didn't do anything too reckless. He was also the one who helped Marc cope with his dissociative identity disorder, a condition that had plagued them both for years.

After finishing the bowl of cereal and putting it away in the dishwasher, the full force of jet lag clung to them like a heavy shroud. Without further ado, Steven (and Marc) finally retired to their bedroom, taking the former’s previous precautions of taping their door, spreading sand around their bed and tying their foot to the wall post to prevent sleepwalking. Against their will, it had become a shared routine born of necessity.

Marc and Steven knew that they weren’t alone in the body. Their last battle as Moon Knight in the streets of Cairo cemented that fact as the unknown third alter made his unexpected appearance. While the two of them and Layla were on the doors of death at the hands of Arthur Harrow’s newfound power, the mysterious entity acted on his role as the body’s protector and saved them all from a sure demise. 

You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you? Marc spoke gently in Steven’s head as the latter finally collapsed into their bed.

“Can’t help it”, Steven sighed, remembering the night Khonshu freed them from their servitude to the moon god. “It would’ve been nice if we knew who really saved us that night”

I’m not really sure if I would want to know. Marc murmured, slowly blinking his eyes closed as he and Steven slowly succumbed to their well deserved respite. Determined to not think too much about the events of the past month, their shared consciousness slowly drifted to their encounter with Mira Batala-Carter instead. They collectively recalled her with fondness - her graceful presence, her captivating beauty, the way she had intrigued them both – these thoughts brought a soft, endearing smile to their faces, even as sleep began to claim them.

The next morning, however, would bring a new twist to the tale. Marc awoke to the soft chime of his phone. He reached over to his bedside table and groggily picked up his phone, flipping it open and squinting at the bright screen. It was a text message from Layla, his ex-wife.

I’m back in Cairo. Hope you got home safe.

His mood immediately sombered, his emotions shifting as though he'd been doused in cold water. It had only been a day after his divorce was finalized for Christ’s sake, and the idea of entering another relationship shouldn't even begin to cross his mind. Yet the high walls he built within himself were effortlessly brought down by Mira - the very woman who he recently met on the plane from last night and shouldn’t even be the sole, primary occupant of his head. 

Marc, what's wrong? Steven called out in their headspace, sensing Marc’s ongoing turmoil. He was briefly puzzled on why Mira was currently on the forefront of their shared thoughts, until his eyes finally caught Layla’s latest correspondence on their phone. Ever the perceptive one, Steven started to piece together his alter’s current dilemma.

You know, Marc, sometimes we can't help how we feel. Steven spoke softly, ever empathetic as he offered his counsel. It's okay to be drawn to someone. You don't have to beat yourself up about it.

"It shouldn’t even happen in the first place”, Marc ran a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed. “Our mind’s all over the place already. I don’t need to drag her into our collective shit”

I mean, you don't have to dive headfirst into anything. Steven’s voice was calm and understanding. You can take your time, get to know her as a friend first. If it's meant to be, it'll happen naturally.

“No, Steven”, Marc softly shook his head, cursing himself for falling so easily for Mira's charms. He couldn't help it; her beauty and intelligence were truly captivating. "I need to keep my distance. Hell, I should be better than this”

I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Steven nodded, his eyes filled with empathy. You deserve happiness and companionship just like anyone else. 

“I don't need that”, Marc shook his head, his frustration evident. "I need to get our life together, and I can't afford to get involved with someone right now, especially with our current circumstances"

Steven nodded in understanding, although wishing that Marc would have a different perspective. He knew that Marc's fear of being rejected due to his condition was a powerful motivator for his self-imposed emotional distance. 

We'll take it one step at a time, lad. Steven continued to reassure. Just remember that you don't have to go through this alone, I’m here for you.

But Marc’s resolved hardened, very determined to protect his fragile heart. He couldn't afford to get too close to anyone and let his guard down. Keeping his new acquaintance, Mira, at arm's length is becoming an evident solution to his problem. Friendship would be the only connection he will allow to develop between them, no matter how much his heart might yearn for more.

That morning, Steven took the reins of their shared life to hopefully keep Marc’s stormy thoughts at bay. He started to go about his normal routine, dutifully feeding their pet goldfishes, Gus II and Fig. Settling down before the office desk, he opened his laptop and started to work on his CV. He started updating the details regarding his work experience and past education, and the possibility of securing the tour guide position that Mira potentially offered for the British Museum was becoming too enticing of an opportunity to pass up.  

As Steven typed away, he couldn't help but think about Mira. Her passion for her work and her kindness had left a quite deep impression on both him and Marc, and the prospect of working closely with her was both exciting and intimidating. He knew he had to be at his best to secure the job, so he plans to put his best foot forward.

After a few revisions, Steven finally keyed in Mira’s email address from the calling card she gave to Marc and clicked send to his composed email introduction. He can only hope that this upcoming job opportunity would allow him to see you more often and get to know you better.

Meanwhile in a bustling corner of London, you were deeply absorbed in your role as the curator of the British Museum. The burst of caffeine energy you received from your morning coffee was deeply focused on receiving and cataloging the latest shipment of Egyptian artifacts and relics, which was a crucial addition to the upcoming Ennead exhibit scheduled to open next week. 

Your passion for your work was evident in the way you handled each artifact with care, your fingers tracing the intricate details of ancient history. You couldn't wait to share them with the world.

Most of the artifacts for the Ennead exhibit had been recovered by the Scarlet Scarab - a mysterious figure known to the people of Egypt and the antiquities community. Albeit anonymously, you had received emails from the enigmatic vigilante, explaining that it was her way of returning "stolen goods" to their rightful owners and ensuring they were used for the benefit of the community. It was a curious and unexpected turn of events, but one that filled you with gratitude.

Taking a brief break, you leaned back in your office chair and let your thoughts wander. The museum had always been your sanctuary, a place where you felt most connected to the past. But lately, it seemed that your world was expanding to include new acquaintances like Marc Spector and Steven Grant. 

Your laptop chimed with a new email notification, pulling you out of your reverie. With a curious smile, you opened the email and the sender's name immediately caught your attention.

Subject: Application for Museum Tour Guide Position - Ennead Exhibition

Dear Mira,

I hope this email finds you well. I am writing to express my keen interest in the Museum Tour Guide position for the upcoming Ennead exhibition at the British Museum. As a passionate advocate for Egyptian culture and history, I am excited about the opportunity to contribute to the visitor experience and help bring this extraordinary exhibition to life.

I’ve worked previously with the National Art Gallery, where I have developed a deep appreciation for the cultural significance and historical context of artifacts. I am confident that my ability to communicate complex ideas in an accessible and engaging manner, combined with my enthusiasm for the subject matter, makes me a strong candidate for this role.

Please find my attached CV providing more details about my qualifications and experience. I look forward to meeting you this Saturday to discuss the job opportunity further. If you could kindly disclose the dress code for that occasion, I highly appreciate it.

Thank you for considering my application. 

Sincerely,

Steven Grant

You promptly composed a response, a smile tugging at your lips as your fingers danced across the keyboard. As you hit send, a flutter of anticipation you haven’t experienced in a long time coursed through you.

Subject: Application for Museum Tour Guide Position - Ennead Exhibition

Hello Steven,

I’m delighted to receive your application. Please come to the British Museum after lunch at 1PM for the museum tour guide interview. The dress code for this occasion is business smart-casual.

I look forward to meeting you this Saturday.

Sincerely,

Mira Batala-Carter

The days passed quickly, and Saturday finally arrived with a sense of anticipation. As the curator, you were tasked with welcoming the final batch of tour guide applicants. You stood in the grand entrance hall of the British Museum, where a diverse group of eager tour guide aspirants began to gather before you, their eyes filled with anticipation and enthusiasm.

They all had a common dream – to become a tour guide at one of the most prestigious museums in the world.

You had meticulously prepared for a mini-program before you got into the actual process of the job interviews, where you would briefly introduce yourself and explain the application process to the attendees.

“May I have everyone’s attention, please?” you politely called out to everyone in the vicinity. “We will start the program in about ten minutes. Thank you all for your patience”

You ended with a quick smile, walking away briefly towards the double door entrance on your way out to the nearest cafe to grab some much needed caffeine. But before you could even take the next step, a strong body unwittingly collided against your own, prompting you and the culprit to fall down together on the cement stairway.

“Oh, bugger! I am so sorry”, a soft, British accent greeted your ears before muttering under his breath. “I’m such a plonker, I should’ve looked where I was going”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it”, you said breathlessly, brushing off dust from your beige pencil skirt as you felt muscular arms slowly hoisting you up. A shock of unruly dark hair greeted your vision, with but a few curly strands framed carefully over his forehead. Your eyes trailed down to finally meet his familiar striking brown eyes surrounded by a subtle network of laugh lines. 

“Marc?” you gasped at the eerily familiar man before you, his shoulders hunched low as his own eyes widened in recognition. 

“Not him, sorry”, his British speaking voice startled you once more as he spoke, and you were definitely puzzled by the way he’s carried himself right now. “Although, he has told me a great deal about you” 

Your eyes then flickered with recognition, as if two puzzle pieces were finally solved together. The resemblance between him and Marc Spector is quite uncanny, as if they were just one and the same person.

“Steven Grant?” you muttered, prompting the man before you to let out an apologetic smile, looking slightly disheveled in comparison to his twin brother.

“Spelled with a V, yes. It’s nice to finally meet you, Mira”.

END OF CHAPTER FIVE.

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[rosey100]

When you don't pick up your protective girlfriend's calls

So, picture this

The Kratt crew are in the outback of Australia when they got a call from Wild kratts kid Steven, He was adventuring when he saw a baby emu wandering around, and The Wild Kratts they rushed over when they got there Ruhan was there playing with them the Kratts help Investigate the area with alot of baby emus and eggs alone so the crew came over to help watch them with mindset on a emus power suit but at the same time Zach is walking around his plane turns out is getting the eums for Donita who's also in the plane wanted to make the feathers into stylish coats and so the Zachbots and Mannequins were on the trails for more emus. Long story short after Martin following a Zachbot caring to the plane Chris and the WK kids went to find him both getting them all trapped in Zach's plane but not without Monie's senses on something so half the time she was calling both Martin and Chris until she got Koki to tell her. Monie used the tracker she on Ruhan all the way to the plane.

🐛Ruhan: Hey Mister, I don't know if you should keep me too long

🔻Zach: And why's that?

🐛Ruhan: Cause she might think I got into WMB

🔻Zach: WMB? What's WMB mean?🤨

🐛Ruhan: Wild Momma Bear Mode

👛Donita: Well, if she can come over here

🌊Martin: I feel like you shouldn't have said that

🌲Chris: Wait, haven't she gotten a tracker on you, Ruhan?

👓Steven: What's that sound?

🌸*Basses through the doors* MARTIN!!!!

🐛Ruhan: MOM?

🌲🌊: Monie!

🔻👛: MONIE!?*🤨*😳

🌸Monie: Martin!😠

🌊Martin: Hey Monie, what's up 😅

🌸Monie: What's up is you were not answering my calls and why on earth give you that idea to get my son involved

🌊Martin: Well, he just with us, so he's not really involved so far

🌲Chris: Ya, so it really is just a little bit of late minute takeover

🌸Monie: Understood. I'll deal with you two. Now, you two have a full amount of nerves to be able to make this happen, and emus what in earth are y'all doing with the EMUS!

🔻Zach: Ah, you mean the fast, fluffy bird things

🌸Monie: Don't play with Boy the Fluff, you know what I mean with this

👛Donita: Um, I have nothing for you to be here,dear

🌸Monie: Well, that depends. Miss, what your name

👛Donita: Donita Donata

🌸Monie: Right, Miss Dusty Dutchess, OK (🐛*🫢|🌊*😲|🔻*😳|🌲*😨|👓*🫣|👛*😠) You better watch where your hands go on my man before you be ready to go to a hospital messing with me then them feathers, alright so🙏🏽

Martin remembering the Flight of the Draco

🌸Monie: I'm gonna need to ask you to put back all of..? them back where y'all got them and I can go take my son and leave

👛Donita: Well, let's see how about You take your son and leave, and we keep them

🌸Monie: Aha, now I know I say what I say and say it pretty clear again put them animals back

👛 Donita: And I don't like repeating myself now. How about you go on with your kids while we'll be going with our day. You probably have something better to do except running your mouth

🔻Zach: Ah, can we get on with it already? These varmits aren't going to sell themselves

🌸Monie: I said PUT. THEM. BACK 😡

🔻Zach: And what you gonna do abou- AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

( Monie unleashing terror on them)

🌲Chris: Oh, right, I forgot she was a Marine. I still don't know if it is part of it, but how would I know?

🐛Ruhan: And takes boxing classes

🌊Martin: Ya, you gotta love her 😏

🌲Chris: You're just loving Monica fighting for the birds, are you? 🙄😒

👓Steven: Bro, your mom's a Mission savage

🐛Ruhan: Get the pose beams, Momma

( Monie jumps, breaking all the pose beams with the Zachbot's arms as a weapon )

🌊Martin: Hahahaa! that's my girl!

|Meanwhile, at the Tortuga|

⭐️Koki: Umm, you think we should do something

🕹Jimmy: Should we call someone

( Monie still beating up the villains up)

🔧Aviva: I think they're good

[thisisarcanereverie]

Your Dark MoonKnight fics are my oxygen right now. They are incredible! If your taking requests could i request a #14💔 or #15💔 with a dark Moonknight system?

Monster (DARK! Moon Knight x Fem! Reader)

A/N: So there will be a part 2 to this, I didn't use any of the prompt words but they will be in part 2.

Word Count: 3.8K

WARNINGS: Dark themes; mentions of abuse (domestic, physical, mental),Marc being an absolute wreck of a person, unrequited love, Layla being ooc, Marc being a little ooc, 18 + MINORS DNI.

Summary: Marc has loved you for ten years, ever since he met you, Layla's best friend. But can you truly love the monster beneath the skin?

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Marc has loved you for ten years. 

Not that you ever knew.

You were Layla’s best friend and from the first moment he saw you he felt this instant connection that he had never felt before. It was unnerving how attached he had grown to you by time a year came and went, but he never realized what he was feeling was love until the day he came to ask you for help. 

His mother had just died and he started to feel himself slipping, losing control and for once, he didn’t fight it. But he knew he couldn’t be Steven all the time, being Khonshu’s avatar was keeping him back from that and Steven had started growing suspicious. Leftovers from the night before being covered in mold and dust covering books that he had opened a few hours before. So he came to you, explained everything and asked that you housekeep for him while he was away. Now he knew it was a lot of information, you already knew about Khonshu and the suit, but everything else was new. When you went silent he felt this shame bubble inside him, it was familiar and dark as he already was berating himself for unloading all of this on you. He expected you to run away from him like the monster his mother always called him. Instead you took his war worn hand in yours and smiled at him and agreed, but that you had one condition.

That you became friends with Steven. 

It was in that moment he knew just how deep in love he was with you, like the shit you read about in Greek tragedies or Arabic poems. 

You met Steven eventually and became close. Marc watched like a fly on the wall as every laugh and smile towards him made Steven blush and smile. Every brush of your hand against his would send shivers down his spine. It was almost too good to be true. 

But then he couldn’t hide himself any longer from Steven, the lines keeping them separated were blurred beyond recognition. Steven became aware of everything, Layla, Khonshu, Marc, even the fact that he, himself, was an alter. But everything turned out right in the end. Sure they were still working things out but there was one thing they had in common. You. 

You still do housekeeping for them, three times a week. Marc pays you extra if you get groceries as well because often times than not both him and Steven forget that food is a necessity. Marc or Steven would often help you as you cleaned, although sometimes they would be counterproductive and create a mess while you were still there to keep you around for longer. Once the cleaning was done you tended to stick around, talk about your day and what you were planning this weekend. Even after the hell that had been Khonshu, divorcing Layla, and figuring himself out, you were still there. You would occasionally tell him a thing or two about Layla and what she had been getting into but he didn’t care. Layla was the past, he realized it was doomed from the start and there really had been no other way for it to turn out. 

Today was Thursday, one of the days you came in to clean and make sure he was alright. He had gotten up early and put a pot of coffee on. He knew Steven liked tea better but today was his day with you. He showered and sprayed that good cologne sparingly on his skin, messed his hair in a sexy (but not trying) way, and got his best sweats on along with his tightest shirt, (gotta show off the goods) was how he thought of it. By the time everything was done he sat on the couch and waited. You usually were either a few minutes early or on time exactly. So when ten minutes passed by the time you said you’d be there he was a worried mess. His thoughts raced and Steven’s incessant anxious ramblings didn’t help. 

“London can be dangerous, what if something happened?” 

“What if someone took her?”

“Maybe she didn’t look both ways before crossing the street and now she’s a bloody wreck.” 

Steven was good at coming up with different scenarios of horror, the one thought that shook Marc to his core however was What if she finally realized that I am a monster?

By twelve minutes he was getting his shoes on, no longer able to wait in the apartment wondering what happened to you as he opened the door and saw you. The sight of you immediately relieved the tension in his shoulders and that sinking gut feeling subsided. You smiled and waved as you made your way to him, seemingly nothing amiss. 

“Hey Marc,” You greeted as you slid past him, “sorry I’m late I ran into Layla on the way here and got distracted.” Marc caught a whiff of your hair as you passed him, the sweet and slightly floral scent of apple blossoms brought a smile to his face unknowingly. He wondered if your kiss was as sweet. He was brought back to earth as he heard the dull thud of the brown grocery bag you carried hit the counter. He closed his door and shook away the romantic thoughts that clouded his mind. 

“I was starting to get worried,” Marc said as he helped you unload the bag full of both vegan friendly and not so vegan friendly options and put them in their proper place. “What did Layla say?”

“Nothing much,” you responded as you put the brown paper bag away and began cleaning off the clutter that had gathered on the various counters, “she asked me if I wanted to go to the club with her Saturday.” 

“Oh?” Marc tried not to sound too caught off guard by this. He remembers the club scene, the blinding lights, horrible music, the stench of alcohol, and the crowded dance floor with strangers grinding on each other. It wasn’t a place for a lady like you. “Whatcha say?” 

“I told her sure,” You said, turning to face him with a smile, “I haven’t hung out with her in a while and who knows,” your smile turned mischievous, “I might get lucky.” you winked as you moved past Marc who had, at that point, become a statue. It took everything in him not to press you against the wall and confess right there in some sort of desperate plea to not go. 

Maybe you will get lucky, Marc thought as he turned to watch you put away the books Steven had left out the night before, humming an aria he’s sure Steven had heard before, maybe you will get very lucky indeed. 

Friday came and went and Saturday arrived. Marc had no trouble locating the club you and Layla would be attending. It’s one that he knew well, having been an occupant a time or two when he tried to fuck the feelings he had for you out. A brief time that had lead nowhere but to him looking for you. 

He entered the club and it was just as he remembered, blinding lights, alcohol, and people with no inhibitions left in them. He decided to go to the crowded bar, get himself a beer while he stalked the dance floor from afar, trying to spot you. 

He eventually did, he didn’t know why he expected to be able to think clearly when he spotted you. The multicolored lights reflecting off your hair, the dress that hugged you enough to leave him imagining, and the alcohol induced flush on your cheeks leaving your skin glowing. He knew that if he were to kiss your cheeks right now that they would be warm. His eyes traveled lower as his gaze fixated on the light sheen of sweat that covered you and made you glow. Marc had seen gods and goddesses, he’s seen beautiful places and horrible tragedies. But nothing could compare to you, you who was so full of life that it made him ache. His mind wondered if your body would glow like that in moonlight, how you would sound as he worshiped you like you deserved. Would you gasp or moan, what would they sound like as his war worn hands felt you, how would you feel? He already imagined kissing every curve and stretch mark that stretched across your skin like lightning, he had imagined it every night for almost ten years. 

When he saw you approaching the bar he turned away, back to his beer. He tried his best to blend in with the crowd, even started talking to the person next to him. 

“Marc?” 

Shit

Marc looked up from his beer and met every man's worst nightmare. 

His ex wife. 

“Layla,” He greeted, for all things considered the marriage ended amicably, even after finding out he was part of the reason her father was killed and that he had hid this whole other life from her. 

“You look well,” Layla pointed out, as she quickly flagged down one of the bartenders and asked for a cocktail of some kind, “I thought you hated clubs?”

“I was lonely,” He lied, “decided to try the club scene again.” 

“And?”

“I hate it.” Layla laughed as she called out your name, ushering you over to her. He could see your eyes widen ever so slightly as you saw him. 

“Marc?” 

“Yup.” 

“I thought you hated clubs?” you asked quizzically 

“Still do.” Marc watched you sip from the glass you had before setting it back down at the bar. 

“So why are you here?” 

“Decided to try it again and see if it was any better.” you were about to respond when Layla told you she was headed to the restroom, you offered to join her but she declined. You stood there for a fraction of a beat after Layla left before you both said something. 

“Do you wanna-” 

“Why don’t we-” 

You both laughed for a minute before Marc ushered you to go first. 

“Maybe you’ll like the club a little more once you dance.”

“Are you offering?” 

“A dance,” You said, reaching out your hand, “yes.” his half drank beer was long forgotten as he accepted your hand. It was soft against his own, and oddly a little cold, not that he minded. You led him to the floor as a new song began to play, not that he could really tell. Personal space became minimal as you both danced in time, his hands on your waist as your hips moved in time with the music. His hands never wandered although he desperately wanted them to, he was close enough to you that all he could hear, see, or smell was you. You invaded every sense, except for one, though he wasn’t sure if that was going to be a problem much longer as he drew you closer. He could feel the beating of your heart in time with him, and never for one moment did his gaze stray from you and the way you moved with him. Your eyes shimmering with the lights and a smile adorning your painted lips. It was all so tempting, you were tempting, you were the forbidden fruit hung on a low branch just begging to be eaten. All he had to do was bend down, that’s all, tilt his head and connect your lips with his own and he would finally know what temptation and hope tasted like. 

“I’m going to go look for Layla!” You yelled, though even still Marc could barely hear you over the music. He didn’t even comprehend what you had said, still in a trance, until he could no longer feel the warmth and beating of your chest against his, and his hands no longer held your waist. In a matter of seconds he went from being surrounded by you to being alone on the floor. Marc groaned in frustration as he exited the dance floor himself, ignoring the others who invited him in. He had no intention of dancing with anyone but you. 

He himself was about to enter the men’s restroom when he heard your voice carry into the hall. 

“Layla I swear it’s not like that.” 

“Maybe not for you,” he heard Layla say her voice quivering slightly, “but for Marc, most certainly.”  Marc finally understood what was happening, he was about to leave the hall had it not been your voice responding to her. 

“I don’t like Marc like that, he’s like a brother to me.” . 

“In Alabama maybe.” He could hear the disdain in Layla’s voice. “He loves you, he’s loved you since he first met you. I’ve seen it, he used to whisper your name in his sleep, and when push came to shove he came to you when he needed help…not me, not his wife.” Marc heard the clacking of heels and sink turning on, muffling them a bit. “I suspected it for years but I didn’t want to believe it, I- I didn’t want to believe that all those years were nothing to him but repaying a debt that he owed. Not when they were everything to me.” Marc felt a heavy, painful weight on his chest, one that he was familiar with. It was the same one he had every time he looked at Layla during those years they had spent together. Guilt. 

“Layla,” he heard your voice, soft and apologetic, “I’m not in love Marc.” 

“No, you’re not,” Layla responded, “But you’re intrigued by him at least. That is as clear as day, you like the fact that he’s dangerous. You’ve always liked men like that, the type with full lips to kiss you and a sturdy boot to kick you with.” 

Silence, nothing but Marc’s breathing and the bustling of the club going on to fill it. Not even the sink was running anymore and he was sure that any other woman still in there was keeping silent as well, wanting to see this play out. 

“You’re drunk Layla,” You say, your voice eerily calm, “you don’t mean it, let me call us a taxi and get you home.” 

“Oh I mean it,” Layla said, “I mean every word, I’ll get my own damn taxi homewrecker. Enjoy the club.”  Marc entered the men’s restroom after hearing Layla walk towards the door, and as he waited for a suitable time to pass before exiting thoughts clouded his mind. 

What did Layla mean by you’ve always been attracted to men like him? Layla should never have said that to you, who does she think she is? Layla liked him for the same reasons she claims you did. Are you crying, had Layla made you cry?  The thought of your tear stained face was enough to make him absolutely violent, how dare she make you cry. His nails bit into his palm painfully, he was sure if he unclenched them tiny droplets of crimson dotting along crescent moons would be what he would see decorating his palm. But he didn’t care, he’s never cared about what happens to himself. But to you, oh gods, did he care about you. 

Layla was going to pay for tonight, he promised himself, but right now he needs to comfort you. He needs to make sure you’re ok, because that is all that matters. Period. 

Marc exits the bathroom to already find you in the hall, sure enough he could see unshed tears sparkle in your eyes as you stare at the empty space in front of you. He noticed your body language, you were hugging yourself and seemed to tense every now and then. Marc recognizes that look, those mannerisms and stance, he did the same thing for years before the marines. He takes off his coat and approaches slowly, before softly calling your name. You turned to face him, sharp eyes studying briefly before looking away. 

“You wanna talk about it?” He asked, unsure of what else to say. 

“You heard, then.” You say, “what Layla said.” 

“We don’t need to,” he replied, coming to lean on the wall next to you, “if you don’t want to.” He knows it’s alright if you don’t, he’ll find out one way or another. 

“It was a long time ago,” you said, “I was in this relationship and it wasn’t great. He only hit me once but once Layla saw the bruise on my cheek she almost killed him, she helped me leave him. She gave me a place to stay until I got back on my feet, I went to therapy, I honestly don’t know where I would be if it wasn’t for her.” the tear on your cheek was wiped away almost as fast as it appeared, “it took me years to get here, and her saying that I just-” a sob left you as you sank to the floor while Marc wasn’t far behind. He grabbed your hand and just held it, soon enough your head was leaning on his shoulder. You both didn’t say anything for a long time, just sat there and looked like individual train wrecks. 

After a few more minutes of silence you both hailed a taxi, Marc had insisted that you stayed at his for the night. That you shouldn’t be alone. When you got there neither of you bothered to turn on the lights, the only light filtering in through the window were street lights. But it didn’t matter, Marc lent you a pair of sweats to change into as well as a shirt. He let you have the bathroom first as he made his way to the kitchen to put on a pot of tea. He didn’t like the stuff but Steven certainly did, as well as you. Steven helped instruct him to make a proper cup of tea while you showered, by the time both teas were made you were out of the bathroom, your hair was still damp and hung around your bare face. His clothes suited you well, he thought, you really could be wearing a potato sack and still look like an angel sent from heaven to him. Marc handed you your cup before excusing himself to the bathroom, he took only ten minutes before he was out and dressed. You had already made a bed out of the couch. 

“You can take the bed sweetheart.” He said as he made his way over to you, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“This is your flat though,” you replied, “I don’t want to intrude.” 

“It’s no intrusion,” He said, “please, take the bed or else I’ll carry you there myself.” 

“I’d like to see you try Moon boy.” You dared, not thinking he would actually do it. A second passed before suddenly you were lifted from the couch and into Marc’s arms. A sharp yelp of surprise came from you as Marc chuckled lightly. He actually enjoyed your reaction far more than he thought he would. Your arms wound themselves around his neck as you held onto him for dear life. He carefully brought you to his bed and set you down gently onto the sheets. Tucking you in before you could protest. 

“Told ya,” He said, his mouth tilting to that side grin of his. 

“I guess you did,” you said breathlessly, eyes never leaving him. 

People are braver in the dark, they do things they never would in the light of day. They dare to lie, cheat, and steal. But they also dare to do wonderful things, like write and dance and sing. But they also dare to love, which is the most dangerous thing of all. 

Without realizing it his hands drifted to cradle your face gently, maybe it was how your eyes looked at that moment. So wide, holding so many unspoken words he knows you must be thinking. Or maybe it was your lips, opened slightly, inviting him to press his against them. Or perhaps, it was just you, everything about you. From every crooked toe on your feet to every stray hair on your head. 

Before he could stop himself he felt himself dip down and capture your lips with his own. God was it intoxicating. You tasted divine, you tasted like something so holy he could only imagine that this is what heaven was like. He could taste the apple chapstick on your lips, along with the mint of his mouthwash. His thumb brushed gently over your cheek as he felt you return his kiss. And just as soon as it had begun it stopped, he pulled himself away. And unsure of what else to say, he only said one thing. 

“Good night.” 

He left the bed and went to the couch where he stared at the ceiling, you must have not known what to say either as you didn’t get up or say anything else. 

Did he push it too far? Were you telling the truth when you said you were not in love with him? Was he reading everything wrong? Would it matter?

He didn’t know when he fell asleep, all he knows is when he woke up you were gone. There were no messages on his phone and you were gone, like he had dreamt last night up. The only reason that he knew he didn’t was that as he laid down on his bed he could still smell apple blossoms and the warmth your body emitted throughout the night lingered. Like smoke from a burnt out candle. 

The days passed by and he was in torment. If he focused enough he could still feel the warmth of your cheek in his hands, and the soft press of your lips. He could even smell fucking apple blossoms. It was torture to have had you so close and so far. Marc had gotten a taste of paradise and everything he had ever wanted and hoped for, only to rip it away from himself and scare you off. Even Steven was of no help, he was in agony too. He was there in the mirror when he kissed you, while if Marc focused he could still feel you; Steven could not. To him it was he had been kissed by a ghost, a wisp of something you could never quite grasp. 

In between the two men moping they slept, they had thought about sending you a message but didn’t. You were radio silent as well, but he didn’t blame you. 

It wasn’t until Tuesday, the day that you usually came to clean did he hear from you again. The London rain had been pouring and Marc had fallen asleep, when he woke up half the day had gone by and your number was blowing up his phone. He immediately answered, wanting to hear your voice, 

“Marc?”  Your voice was trembling, something was wrong. 

“What happened? Are you ok?” “It’s Layla-” you started, “Can I come over?”

[minigirl87]

Peaches & Cream with Marc.

Marc Spector X f!Reader mentions of Steven grant & Jake Lockley.

Edited by @melodygatesauthor ❤️

I really want to thank @melodygatesauthor for her help in editing and the encouragement to write fanfiction for the first time! And for putting up with my daft questions. You're a 🌟 so thank you again.

Please leave your feedback as it is appreciated ❤️

Word count: 491

Tags/warnings: NSFW, "no smut" & "sexual themes/implications"

Summary: Reader bakes some cakes for Marc and he doesn't mind the mess. Marc is cheeky in a fun way.

P.s I just love this piece of music and thought it would suit live with the boys.

As Marc slowly walked back to the flat, the sun shone down with a soft warmth, on his golden skin and bounced of his chocolate curls. London was unseasonably warm but comfortable, with the breeze wafting the smells of summer that only a big city can conjure.

To anyone walking by Marc, they wouldn’t notice anything amiss, except maybe his overly stoic expression. Internally, though, he was having a discussion with his alters, Steven and Jake, about Y/N and baking. All three loved your baked goods. Each for their on reasons Steven liked find different vegan recipes, Jake liked to make cultural foods, and Marc homemade felt like love to him.

When Marc opened the door to the flat, keys jingling to announce his arrival, He could hear soft jazz playing quietly, and you trying to hum along to melody. He could also sound of Steven’s old oven still trying to survive another day. Excitement surged through his nostrils. Peaches he smells peaches, he softly smiles and calls out to you, “Y/N Baby I’m home” as he walked into the small kitchen.

You jumped slightly as you felt his arms snake around your middle. When he kissed your shoulder, his chocolate curls tickled your ear as they brussed over your skin. You turned to face him still in his arms, He bent his head down to kiss you deeply. A small moan escapes from you both.

“You taste so sweet, Baby” he leaned in for another, to which you pulled away giggling

"If you like that, then you’ll love these.”

You pull away to go and, get one of your baking tins. You smiled remembering when Marc bought you the set in your favourite colour. Marc starts to comment on the mess and was about to ask about flour he saw on an inexplicably high corner of the kitchen wall, But then he noticed the cupcakes. His eyes go wide and he links his lips.

“I didn’t expect them to turn out like this” you said with another giggle. Marc stared at the vulva shaped cupcakes in awe, He groaned louder than expected at the familiar sight.He looks up at you as you smile innocently back at him.

“Do you or one of the boys want to try one?” You asked holdingone out to him.

He took it from your hand and he licked the peach first before eating it.

“Baby that’s amazing, can I have another one?” His eyes were pleading.

How could you say no? As you turned to pick up the tin again, nodding your head to say yes. Marc grabs you as you let out a squeal.

“what about your cupcake? Hm? He asked as he carried you to the bedroom. “You’ve already got the cake Baby and I’m bringing the cream.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Steven and Jake groan, and Marc well he’s too in love to care, regardless of the mess.

[infiniitefrequency]

@ayoungeststark liked for a steven stark starter:

The landing had been rough, to say the least. Falling out of a hole the sky in center of Manhattan directly into the Hudson River would do that to you. The fact he was still breathing was a miracle to him at all. After being eye to eye with a super novaing Scarlet Witch, surviving wasn't on the menu.

He was running on auto pilot at this pint, especially with given how his suit's internal systems weren't wanting to respond, not that he had much voice left to give commands, so at this point he was flying blind.

He emerged from the water a mess of sparks and leaking fluid, half in a daze, at least one eardrum burst, Steven just wanted to get home. The only thing he could think at this point was get home, make sure there was a home left to get to.

It took. twice as long as normal, the rocket boosters working at best at 25% efficiency, but eventually he landed on the landing pad of Stark Tower. He stumbled forward, already starting to shed the pieces of his armor that weren't fused to his skin, making it almost to the door, when all the wind knocked out of him finally, adrenaline depleted.

Falling to his knees against the glass, he called out hoarsely, "Kali, send- send distress signal."

"Sending distress beacon now sir. Connecting to Stark systems-"