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gosmigenergy · 2 months ago

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KINKTOBER 2024 / Day Nine

ANAL / PRAISE KINK / FOOD PLAY (@absurdthirst)

Starring: Steven Grant x F!Reader

Summary: You thought it was only you who had a praise kink until you realise Steven was a very good boy.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No use of Y/N, language, praising, P in V, unprotected sex (protection in real life, please, thank you)

Word Count: 1.8k

There was no denying you had a praise kink.

With any guy you’d been with, Marc Spector included, they could call you a good girl, tell you you were taking them so well and you would fold faster than a bad hand at a poker game. Yet with Steven, the dynamic shifted.

Somehow when the pair of you shared a bed or wherever you decided to allow your primal instincts to take you, you were the dominant one.

He always loved an evening in and tonight was one of those nights.

The cheesy d-grade film based on Indiana Jones was chosen, the British air turning cold enough for the pair of you to snuggle under a blanket, your comfiest attire that you hoped wouldn’t stay on too long. All you prayed for was that this one wasn’t set in Egypt because if it was, you were going to lose him and though you love his enthusiasm, it wasn’t in your plan.

You were already wrapped in the blanket when he joined you.

“What are we watching?”

You shrug, “It’s the sequel to that one we watched the other week.”

“Oh,” he scoffs, “hope it’s not set in Egypt.”

“I hope so too.”

His brows furrow not necessarily at your comment but at the way you give a lascivious look, he sinks into the sofa under your gaze, lifting the soft fabric to his shoulders.

The film was almost alike to the other, boring, but at least last time you had Steven’s commentary about how it should have been done. You’d already brought your body close, your thighs touching his, your fingers playing with his loose curls as your eyes remained fixed on the television.

He was on the brink of falling asleep, the action of you messing about with his hair almost soothing until your hand slipped under the blanket, a gentle squeeze above his knee.

His body flinched, muscles tensing.

“You alright, honey?”

You try to frame your innocence yet he knows what you’re doing.

His heart rate picks up but he likes this kind, not like when he’s asked to become Moon Knight or Mr Knight or whoever he his, this one leads to a more pleasurable outcome. He can’t help getting caught up in himself, body refusing to relax as your hand travels further up his leg.

“Uh-huh.”

You smile, he took too long to answer and he couldn’t say any actual words so your plan was definitely working.

He blinked, dropping his head slightly, his hooded eyes trying to remain focused on what was happening in the film. He began to chew the inside of his lip when your fingertips fell into the crease leading towards his crotch.

The heat rose through his body, his cheeks gaining a nice rosy hue, your lips burnt when you kissed him.

“Fancy doing something a little more exciting than this?”

You use your head to gesture to the screen, moving your upper body in an attempt to block it from view. He struggled not to make eye contact, the quick glance at you revealing the yearn to have you.

“Yeah,” his single word came out with a laugh.

The corner of your lips curled as you dropped your hand into his lap, fingers curling until the weight of his balls was in your grasp. He let out a strangled moan as he arched back, head tilting over the back of the sofa.

You hum, “I always love hearing you moan, it’s like music to my ears.”

His body relaxes, his head falling back even further and when you massage his balls more noises escape him. The bulge began to grow under his sweatpants and in his distraction, you climb over him to settle between his legs. He naturally makes room for you, unfurling his legs to a wide stance so you can perch on the edge.

You roll your shoulders, the blanket falling to your hips, opening Steven up to you.

You tuck your free hand under the hem of his tee, the muscles of his stomach rippling as you spread your warm palm over them. Your fingertips swirl, nails grazing lightly on his tanned skin, encroaching on the drawstring waist that he prays you’ll undo yet you don’t.

He swallows thickly, resisting the urge to say anything.

“Look at you,” you coo, “being so patient…”

He scrunches his eyes shut as you move, pulling up the cotton material, exposing his abs, his chest. Your other hand continues to work him as you stretch to press your mouth to the shell of his ear.

“Good boy.”

He whines as your palm crushes his balls and inflicting a bit of pain makes your pussy clench.

Sometimes, it feels a little bit mean to use Steven in this way, he was sweet and harmless if you take away the fact he turns into a superhero who beats up bad guys. You move both your hands to his neck, allowing him some breathing room as you feel his pulse race underneath.

You sigh, “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“I don’t?”

He opens one eye, sounding genuinely surprised by your admission. You shake your head, sitting back on your heels, watching as he lifts his head drunkenly.

“You sit there, looking adorable…”

Your fingers reach for the waist of his pants yet your eyes are set firmly on his face. His mouth parts, brows knotting as if he doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, all he can think about his is where your hands are. You yank the fabric down, his cock swinging, bouncing between your bellies.

“When you have this fine specimen between your legs.”

He blushes, “It— it’s not that impressive.”

Now he can’t look you in the eye so much so you place each palm to the side of his face to bring him back to you.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

You kiss his lips, slipping away before he has chance to return the favour. Your dewy lips meet the skin under his jawline, the crook of his neck.

“I’d say it’s the perfect fit.”

Your kisses trail down his chest, your hot breath teasing like licking flames.

“Just the right girth to feel that stretch…”

You place a foot on the floor as you crouch to kiss down his navel, your cheek brushing against his stiff cock.

“The exact length to hit that sweet spot.”

His cock jerked when you brought your mouth to the tip, the kiss you deliver featherlight. You hear a ragged breath, you eyes flitting up to see his chocolate eyes wide with anticipation.

“Would you like a demonstration?”

You don’t give him a chance to respond, you’re already straightening up, reaching for your own waistline. Ripping yourself from your pants, you stand there, presenting yourself to him and leaving him dumbfounded.

What he didn’t know was that you’d already prepared yourself, you had imagined how you wanted tonight to go, touched yourself whilst you were getting changed so your folds were already slick with your juices.

You straddle him and he comes back down to earth, his hands meeting the backs of your legs. Leaning forward, you nudge his curved nose with the tip of yours before kissing him squarely on the lips.

“I’m gonna show you just how good you make me feel.”

He nods enthusiastically.

Taking his cock in your hand, you rock back and forth a little, lining yourself up. You tease his tip along your folds before sinking, pushing it into your entrance, clenching the ridge between your walls.

He releases a long exhale, head falling forward to get a better look.

The pair of you moan harmoniously as you go further down, taking inch by inch slowly as you stretch to accompany him. When you settle into his lap, feel him deep inside you, you circle your hips in a figure of eight.

“How do I look?”

He peeked up at you, the glow of the television making you appear heavenly, celestial. You hook a finger under his chin and you don’t need him to say anything as he gazes upon you like all those goddesses he’d fawns over.

You bring your lips softly to his as you start rolling your hips, riding up and down without a hurry.

His hands follow your movements before they rise over the swell of your ass, skimming over your hips before wrapping around your waist. He presses his forehead to the centre of your chest, resting in the valley of your breasts.

He breaths you in, your natural scent mixed with an intoxicating aroma of spices from the perfume he’d bought you.

“Your cock feels incredible.”

Your voice breaks through the sounds of his own shallow pants, his cock twitching as the words manage to sink into that head of his. He allows every one of his senses to be engulfed by you as he pokes out his tongue to gain a taste.

“That’s it.”

Your fingers entangle in his thick locks, burying him deeper into your chest as you pick up the pace, a honeyed sigh escaping you.

Each slap of your hips echoes louder as you force your weight down on him, the tingle of your building pleasure dancing along your back. You keep riding, compliments overflowing as your tongue loosens.

Steven is pleading with himself to not come though he can feel stomach curling in on itself. His licks grow sloppy, moans more exaggerated as his heat consumes him. The hold of his arms on your waist strengthens.

“You’re taking me so well.”

You grind your mound into his frame, the delicate friction on your clit sending shockwaves across your nerve endings. Your walls tighten around his stiff length and his desperate cry vibrates through your bones.

“Not much longer, I promise.”

He holds you stronger, his nails digging into your flesh.

You keep going, your hips finally stuttering when your legs begin to vibrate. Pulling at his scalp, he cranes his head up to look at you and though his vision was blurry around the edges, he still thought you were radiant.

His face was flushed, his saliva dribble from his bottom lip.

Neither of you spoke, all he needed was your approval, a single nod for him to find his release.

His eyes fluttered shut, the crease in the centre of his brow disappearing as his jaw slackened, a hoarse cry coming from his throat. His hips raised slightly, the tip of his cock notching deeper as his load coated your walls.

You pulsated around him, your own pleasure dissipating into a satisfying warmth.

Your hold on the back of his head relaxes and you follow the line of his jaw, thumbs rubbing his hot cheeks calmly.

“My beautiful boy.”

Three words you’d never said aloud before but ones he needed to hear.

He lifts his heavy head, eyelids drooping before a lopsided grin drew across his face.

“Nah, you’re the beautiful one,” he slurs.

The temperature rises in your cheeks and chest and immediately, you cover your face, heart skipping a beat.

“Steven!”

#kinktober 2024 #kinktober #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x f!reader #fanfic #moon knight fanfic

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bowieandqueen11 · 1 year ago

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Honeymooning With Steven Grant Would Include...

I’m so so sorry to the lovely anon who requested this - I tried to copy this into my drafts and accidentally deleted half of it :( I remember it being for honeymoon headcanons, so I hope this is alright love!

(I do not own Moon Knight or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @marc-spectorr.)

Warning: nothing too explicit, but NSFW so 18+ please!

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Do you have any idea?? How soft I am for this?? I am so soft I am YEARNING you have made me yearn god I love this concept so much

I feel like the two of you would go somewhere sunny: perhaps a couple of weeks in Egypt, staying in a nice resort by the Red Sea, since Steven is so fed up of the dreary London weather. Just a really nice spot, where the two of you can hire out a boat for the day, and he can sit holding you at the back and feed you strawberries. If he’s not too busy trying to taunt you with the fruit, or giggling like bursts of sunlight as you nip at his fingers, he’s leaning awkwardly over your head to give you a sweet upside down kiss. His lips are so plump, so tender as his top lip latches onto your bottom one, that for a moment the two of you are lost in a sweet abyss where the only thing that exists is the tart tang of each other’s mouths. Or, the poor man is holding onto your biceps for dear life, only being drawn away from your lips by the feel of the boat rocking wildly from side to side.

As twilight began to flood in, flitting past your eyes like a gliding moth chasing the last drop of the honey sun with its velvet tail, you and Steven perch up from where you’re entangled on the chaise longue. Underneath the silver flecks of the waves, a few hawksbill turtles languidly glider underneath the navy froth. Steven’s eyes immediately light up, seeming to glow like shining jewels against the strung lights hanging from the masts. ‘Turtles’, he whispers and points towards the water, turning to look at you as if he’d just seen true magic. You grip onto his finger and place his palm flatly against yours, doing your best not to laugh when he squeals and buries his head deeply into your neck. ‘Yes love’, you caress your free hand through his stubborn curls, ‘those are definitely turtles.’

He nearly loses his mind when a dolphin appears above the crest of the water line. He has to lie down for a little bit against your chest, panting like crazy and his heart racing a mile per minute because even though it’s day one, he’s becoming a bit overwhelmed by all of this bless him. You just snuggle down around him, rubbing your nose against the shell of his ear and whispering sweet nothings until he finally calms down. He looks so calm, so peaceful, with his pursed lips rising and falling in time with his chest, that you’re not too surprised when he begins to snore a few minutes later.

He makes you leave the hotel room before dinner for a couple of minutes while he gets dressed. With an ear pressed up against the door, you ignore the weird looks you’re getting from the elderly vacationers heading down to the dining hall as you listen to the thud of Steven falling across the floor. He seems to be... jumping, probably trying to pull his trousers up quickly, which is followed by the sound of a hanger crashing onto the floor and a squeaky ‘oh, bollocks!’. You’re pressing a finger to your lips to stop yourself erupting when he finally unlatches the door, but it immediately drops down to your side when you take him in. He’s wearing his best polka dot yellow tie and sheepish smile, gazing down in terror at his feet and back up at you. He’s got a squashed box of chocolates in one hand, and a rather pressed bouquet of roses in the other; it almost takes your breath away, since he looks almost identical to the way he arrived at your doorstep for your first date. Even though you’re married now, his arm is still shaking as he offers it to you, and he still sighs a breath of relief when you loop your own through enthusiastically.

‘I’d been dreaming of this moment ever since I first put eyes on you, you know that love?’ He manages to say between shaking words as he leans you downstairs. ‘Every night. All I could blooming think about was how lucky I would be if I could hold your hand every night. You might as well pinch me right now, ‘cause I must be blinking dreaming.’

You spend a lot of your honeymoon down by the sandy strips, sharing a sun lounger and lying together underneath the warm shelter of a beach umbrella. He would read to you, his lips brushing against the tip of each with the pronunciation of each word: hot, tingly, the inside of his lip dragging against your earlobe from time to time. Eventually, when he noticed you were starting to fall asleep from where you were tucked up around his arm, he would become like a big child. He would teasingly shove you with his shoulder with a booming ‘tag, you’re it!’, before giggling as heartily as birdsong and running off across the sand. You finally manage to rugby tackle him down after a solid ten minutes of him skiting around the place, and he looks up at you as if you hung every swinging star in the sky as you hold him in place. Your legs are firm against the taut muscle of his calves, your hands pinning his trembling wrists above his head, and his breath is shaky as you press your weight against his lower abdomen, your bottom resting firmly against his groin.

He feels he’s about to pass out as you let go of his left wrist to run your fingers gingerly across the stubble of his jaw, before cupping his chin to hold in in place. He squirms beneath you, beginning to mewl as you lean down to kiss him. You’re quickly thrown to the side before lips can meet, though, as Steven manages to get you turned and shelters you from the massive wave that comes breaking onto the shore. When he looks down at you, sea water dripping down his wet hair and onto your nose with the most disappointed face in the world, you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut in laughter.

This man is the BIGGEST softie in the world oml. You come wandering out of the bathroom that night, not expecting to see Steven biting his bottom lip and jutting his chin out. He’s muttering nervously to himself, a quiet ‘oh dear, oh dearie me’ busting out of him as he squats down and runs back and forth across the floorboards like a terrified little crab. He’s grabbing at rose petals he tried to shower across the floor, not realising the cool night breeze would burst in through the French doors and steal them away. When he notices you from the corner of his eye, he quickly straightens up, hiding the woven basket behind his back. He pretends he doesn’t know what’s going on as you walk over to him, but when you drop your towel and grab the back of his head to bring him down for a fervent kiss, the basket is quickly dropped to the floor and the jig is up.

Bro.. bro... oh my god, the body worship this man is hellbent on showing you is beyond crazy on your honeymoon. Like, dear lord, turn it up by a hundred and you might get a little closer to understanding how this emotionally vulnerable, touch starved, drowning in love man might be. I mean, Steven’s always been a giver if you know what I mean, but this is just next level. He’s so nervous though the sweetie pie, that you decide to help him out by loosening his tie. He’s nearly drooling on the floor by the time you throw it off of him, standing there like putty in your hand and just watching with lovesick eyes as you undress him. When his mind finally registers the almost inaudible pop of his shirt buttons though, he’s full on racked by whole body shivers as your palms glide the material apart from his chest. His firm pecs tighten against the feel of your bare skin against his, and behind the breathless inhale he swears he could die quite happily right now as long as you just don’t stop.

When he finally can’t take it anymore, it’s your turn to groan as he grabs onto the back of your thighs and shoves you backwards, pulling your bottom until it’s resting at the edge of the mattress. He slots his frame between your legs, knees coming down onto the floor as he buries himself between your soft flesh in ineffable bliss. Your thighs tighten around his head, and he breathes against your inner thighs as he kisses a path up them, gripping tenderly onto the back of your leg. When a little bit of extra oomph seems to overcome him, and his teeth nips across your panty line as they try to pull the seam of your underwear down, he immediately starts cooing and pressing a delicate brush of his nose against the mark, as if in apology.

Although he’s far better around you, some nights Steven still doesn’t sleep very well. You do your best to wake him up gently on these days, unlatching him from where his legs have tumbled onto yours during the night to start the kettle going. The smell of peppermint tea always perks him straight out of his dreams, and so he curls the duvet around his head like a hedgehog diving into the soft mound of a giant marshmallow as he goes looking for you. His feet slog around the room until he reaches the kitchenette, and he feels his heart begin to fizzle and pound as if a thousand scarabs were flitting around trying to escape the mortal walls when he spots you bopping around to the static hum of the radio. He immediately scares the pants off you by wrapping his arms around your waist, joining in your dance by swaying your hips side to side in time with his own. He’s impossibly close, his warm breath tingling against your neck as he kisses you. Suddenly, you’re enveloped by darkness, realising Steven’s taking the opportunity to assimilate you into the duvet fortress as well, so he can lean down and kiss every inch of exposed skin on your face and neck as he can, with a billion rushed pecks. You finally manage to push him off by pressing your hand against his mouth, and he relents to go get some tea.

The two of you sit knee to knee, criss crossed on top of the unmade bed. ‘We’re married’, he suddenly says, sitting bolt upright as if he’d been shocked between sips from his cup. ‘Yes, Steven’, you reply as he turns to look at you with a smile of pure wonderment, ‘I remember. I was there too.’

‘But it wasn’t a dream. That actually happened. You married me. This isn’t a joke, is it?’

‘It’s not a joke, Steven. I love you’, you state plainly, grabbing onto the back of his hand.

You can see the tears begin to gather behind his bloodshot eyes, his bottom lip blubbering out as his fingers turn to grip, almost painfully, the ends of your own. ‘I love you more than everything in the universe, Y/n.’

I mean, it’s Steven Grant so you 100% go sightseeing around the place! He so delicately holds your hand on the bus, nearly vibrating out of his seat he’s so excited. He even manages to ignore the side-eyes of fellow passengers as you pass by a really exciting historic site, Steven’s shoulder butting against your own as he points out to everything through the window. He hunches over your side until he’s nearly fully leaning onto you as he begins to rush out a boatload of facts he’s learnt from his books back at home. By the end of the night he’s so exhausted he’s fully lying across both the seats, legs planted in the aisle and his head blissfully cradled in your lap. His content smile is literally beauty incarnate, and you can’t help but disturb him from his sleep by kissing the tip of his nose. He replies by latching onto your top lip when you go to pull away, pressing his tongue tiredly against your own before flopping back against your knee as if he’d just won the lottery.

Steven definitely makes you take silly photographs in front of everything you go to see: the picture he took of you jumping in front of the pyramids past Cairo end up pinned on the wall next to his fish tank. After he kisses you goodbye in the mornings before work, it’s become part of his routine to also press a kiss against your cheek in the picture <3

Although he did manage to come round one of the market stalls holding a stray cat in his arms. With pleading eyes, he sounded like he was about to burst out crying as he looked at you, sniffling.

‘Can we keep him?’

‘Steven, how are we supposed to smuggle a cat back in our suitcase??’

‘He can have my plane seat instead, I don’t mind :(’

He tugs you down back alleys during your last few days in Egypt, running down cobblestoned streets hand in hand, flying across the dusty ground like loose kites free in the breeze. He’s on the hunt for a second hand bookstore: one he gets lost in almost immediately. You finally manage to find him hunched over by a knobbly looking bookshelf in a dusty side crevice near the back of the small shop. You have to literally hitch yourself over a pile of pretty worn, ancient looking encyclopaedias, shimmy past a dusty looking globe, and brush through a gap between two lined oaken bookshelves before you spot him. He doesn’t realise you’re behind him until your arms are squeezing around his soft belly, and you’re kissing the bunched material between his shoulder blades. His hand comes up to squeeze your fingers as he gives you a loving, slightly embarrasssed ‘oh! Hello love! Fancy seeing you here!’

He becomes even more shocked when, after you’ve finished resting your nose against his back and just breathing him in for a moment, you spin him round to face you. His eyes widen as he drops the book he was looking at onto his feet, but the confusion is quickly replaced by his features melting into one of intoxication as you press a lingering kiss against the side of his mouth. His eyes are blinking slowly, trying to shut as he crumples against your chest, his elbow knocking backwards and nearly knocking over a few piles of books domino style.

He literally tells you he loves you at least ten times a day. It just blurts out of him, as if he’s going to burst if he doesn’t get to say it. Baby. Baby boy. He deserves this forever love, and has wished for nothing more since the two of you first met.

#moon knight #steven grant #steven grant imagine #steven grant x reader #steven grant headcanons #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #moon knight headcanons #marvel #marvel imagine #oscar isaac #x reader

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angel-of-the-moons · 6 months ago

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A Rose Under The Moon

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

TW/CW: Guilt, grief, angst, some self-harm tendencies

A/N: Sorry for the cliffhanger last chapter aslhdlshl enjoy this one to compensate for it! This one feels.... All over the place I'm so sorry if it doesn't make any sense, y'all! 😭😭😭

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @meowmeowyoongles @kate-ohara @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

Chapter 14:

Chaos

You woke up that morning crying. A stone settled in place of your heart, thudding around your ribcage to the point you felt pain.

Did he reject you? What was it he was so afraid of? Who was this "He" the boy mentioned? Why was he so scared to let you be close to him?

What was going on?

You wanted to scream, you wanted to hit something. But all you could manage to do was sob into Puck's velvet fur.

The feline sensed your discomfort, licking you with her sandpaper tongue, rubbing her head on your cheek in her best efforts to soothe you. You were aching from a wound you couldn't place, an injury you couldn't bandage.

Puck's tongue scraped the inside of your wrist, right where your soulmark was. It was still there. So it wasn't a rejection... a... a warning, maybe?

You felt the stone lurch from your heart and lodge itself into your throat. He was trying to protect you. From whatever he was afraid of, you were certain, but...

You were soulmates. You should be there for him, to make him feel safe. You couldn't do that when you were children; you lived such vastly different lives... But god damn it all, you needed to be there for him, now.

Your heart throbbed as Puck purred and rubbed her head over your mark. The top moon was full, today; whatever that meant, you still had no idea.

You only wish you knew his name.

You heaved a sigh. It was a rather slow day today. You weren't surprised.... it was beginning to get colder out. Sleet had crusted over into ice, so navigating sidewalks had become tricky.

Puck purred happily, content to snuggle in your wadded up sweater on the table by the door as she groomed herself.

"It must be nice to not have to worry about stuff like soulmates, bills, taxes..." You sigh, chin resting in your hand as you watched her simply exist in feline bliss. "You just sit there and lick your tummy and your little butt, eat your dreamies..." The cat didn't seem to pay any mind to your one-sided conversation.

Puck would occasionally turn from you (and her grooming) to look out the window. If you didn't know any better, you'd swear she was waiting for someone. But sadly, it looked as if nobody was to come into your shop, today. Nobody was interested in trekking out in the frigid conditions to buy an old musty romance novel.

Layla mentioned that she had some sort of important business to attend to here in London, so you knew that whatever it was was very likely more important than coming to hang around your shop and chat over tea or coffee.

You hadn't seen Jake in a while, Marc and Steven for longer. You were beginning to miss all three of them, they were the most interesting people you'd ever met; and you missed the enthusiastic conversations between you and Steven, the reserved talks with Marc over some stupid shows on the telly, even the silly conversations you'd have with Jake, asking what he was knitting or working on next...

Your routine had become droll, tiring... where it had been previously a joy to do, it has now become a tedious thing you wished you could pass to someone else for a little while. You looked down at your wrist after pulling up your sleeve, at your mark.

The top moon was full. The bottom right was a quarter full, and the one on the bottom left was practically a sliver. You wondered what that meant. Was it an emotional gauge? Was he upset? Happy? Sad?

God, all you wanted was to hold him, let him scream and cry his feelings out, let him just feel... safe and vulnerable, for once in his life without feeling like he was going to be abused for it afterwards. You wanted him to trust you, to know that you were never going to hurt him, but... He had been so abused that you weren't sure if he even knew how to trust anymore. At least not entirely.

And who was this "He" that he was talking about? Whoever it was, how could he possibly assume this "person" was sending you to torment him? How was that possible? Why was he so scared of him? Was he his current abuser or--

You almost jumped when the bell dinged, your hands slapping onto your counter as the chilly air washed in, drowning out the heating for a moment as it swung back closed.

Your eyebrows rose when you see...

"Marc?"

He spun, turning to face you, his eyes sunken, glassy, his hair not as styled as he usually kept it. He cleared his throat and straightened up, running a hand through the rebellious curls to smooth them out. (Yeah, that was not happening.)

"Uh--yeah. Hey." He said a little too quickly, rubbing his hands together; he looked at Puck, his eyes widening as the black little creature stood up, meowing loudly at him, hopping to balance herself on the back of the booth before nudging her head against his elbow. "I, uh..."

Your brows furrowed as you took in his rather... "wet poodle" state. His hair was messy not because he hadn't styled it, but because it was positively soaked. In fact... He was soaked. You could see the dark wet patches in his jacket and pants and shirt as he fumbled about nervously.

"Oh, my god! Marc!" You gasped, almost tripping yourself as you rushed over to him, a tea towel in hand as you began to pat his shoulders, "You're going to catch your death!"

"Oh, if only." He muttered, not looking you in the eyes. That statement caught you completely off-guard.

Something was... off. He didn't seem like himself, despondent--scatter-brained, even.

"Marc, that's not..." You shook your head, wiping some frigid droplets from his cheekbones. "Look, what were you doing? You're soaking wet, it's almost the dead of winter. You could get frostbite."

"I'm fine, uh--coffee." He babbled, his eyes finally tracking yours; the umber depths uneasy.

"Huh?"

"Oh, I mean... Can I please have some coffee? I--don't want to go to one of the cafes, today. Too crowded, to loud, too..."

"Overwhelming?" You supplied.

"Yeah, uh..." He watched as you laid the towel on his shoulder, walking around him to the front door of your shop. You flipped the sign in the door to "closed" and locked the door, "What are you doing?"

"Come on, I'm taking you up to my flat." You say, tugging his wet sleeve, "I know I have some sleep clothes that should fit you; you're going to get sick if you don't get out of those clothes! We can have coffee while your clothes are in the wash."

"But, I--but--" He stuttered as you closed the register, locking it as well and turning off the coffee pots off, too. You could live with it if you had to toss them; but you certainly didn't want to have to scour the pots because you let the coffee scorch when you walked away to tend to your friend.

"Oh, please." You snort at him, untying your apron and setting it on the counter. "Jake couldn't talk me out of dragging him up there, you sure won't."

Marc's head rocked back as you smiled, hands on hips. "Wait, what? Jake went to your... when did he--?"

"Couple weeks ago. Caught the dork trying to eat some pre-packaged meal for dinner." You shrug, "Dragged him back here and made him a proper meal."

"I... he, uh... he didn't mention that." Marc replied, mumbling as he rubbed at his arm, looking over at Puck, whom still continued to rub up against Marc.

He seemed... weirded out by the little cat. Puck liked him already, which made you happy. You'd hoped she would get along with Marc and Steven as well as she had with Jake; especially after that day where she attacked that poor student and clawed up your arms.

Marc squirmed, feeling like a bug under a microscope. He had been restless, ever since that last dream he'd had with... her. Something inside of him had been rubbed raw--painful. It always had him on a livewire; jumpy at a moment's notice.

As he opened his mouth, Puck leapt at him. Marc instinctively flailed at first, but then went to cradle her as she scrambled to nest in his arms. "I, uh... think she likes me."

You laughed, clapping your hands as you giggled, "Oh, yeah... I think she's got a little crush on you!"

Marc pursed his lips tightly, squirming once more as you tugged his sleeve, pulling him behind you to the back of your shop, through the winding labyrinth of bookshelves and to the door that led upstairs to your flat.

You smiled at him over your shoulder, "Relax, Marc. I'm not gonna kill you or anything."

He wasn't sure how it happened, why it happened, or even... Shit, where was he going with this?

All he knew was, that one minute he was walking--just... walking through the parks and streets of London, not bothering with an umbrella. The icy sleet had chilled and numbed him, as it often did when he ran away from home as a boy.

The icy weather of Chicago would soothe the burns, the cuts, the bruises--would numb the injuries so he didn't have to worry about them for the time being. His feet carried him, not knowing where he was going, or what awaited him when he finally stopped.

He hadn't even expected to wind up at your shop, but when he finally felt the pain creep into his fingertips; the frigid sensation of his hands beginning to lock up snapping him out of the spell of guilt he was drowning himself in. He was cold; and, well... he knew you had one of his favorite coffee flavors stocked, and would likely welcome some form of company on a slow and dreary day like today.

He didn't want to go back to the flat; the air in the place felt stifling. And with Layla taking the shift of daylight crime-fighting with Taweret for Khonshu, he didn't want to be alone.

Steven was just barely aware of what was going on, hardly even a fly on the wall at the moment. And he hadn't heard from Jake since that night he woke up with his hands wrapped around Layla's throat.

Marc was practically alone, today. And he didn't like that, not when he's been so upset. Steven was aware of the dreams he'd been having, and how Marc had scared off the woman in his dreams, forcing her out, pushing her away.

Steven had chewed him out majorly over it when he found out; lecturing Marc. That the poor woman didn't deserve to be rebutted without a reason, that she was likely confused and hurt... And Marc had to agree. They just couldn't risk that poor kind soul being swallowed into the darkness that had almost claimed him forever.

But he didn't want her to be drawn into this magical, gods-involved bullshit, too. He'd suffered enough when he let Layla get mired in this mess, he didn't want someone innocent and normal to suffer, too. Even if it hurt them.

And now, somehow... he was here. In your flat. That Jake had been in your home, too. A part of him wondered when exactly it happened, too. And what exactly transpired between you two.

A part of him was worried that you and Jake had slept together, and the thought almost enraged Marc. He wasn't sure why, but imagining Jake doing that to you, was... well. Let's just say he was happy to have his mind preoccupied with the small black cat in his lap, kneading his thighs through the fuzzy pajama pants he now wore.

The clothes you'd supplied him were pajamas you had bought on a whim at a thrift store. You hadn't had a chance to wear them after you bought them, so they sat in a drawer in your bedroom for the past month-and-a-half. They fit Marc almost perfectly, and he was grateful for that. He didn't exactly want to wear hot pink short-shorts with unicorn heads on them and a spaghetti strap.

He would have rather kept his soaked clothes, if you had insisted he wear something like that. He wanted to keep his dignity, thank you very much.

You set a fresh mug of coffee down on the table in front of him, grinning as you dropped onto the cushions next to him, "Your clothes are almost done in the wash. Then I can pop them into the dryer and you're all set."

"Thanks." Marc replied on a mutter, carefully leaning over to grab the mug and not displace little Puck. He'd already gotten a little attached to her. He wasn't allowed pets as boy; a rule of his father's because they might destroy the furniture. Sure, he had Gus n co., but he couldn't exactly pick up one of the pudgy goldfish and give them a pet, now could he?

"So," You said, sipping at your own mug and hoping to lighten the mood. "How was your trip?"

"My... trip?" Marc asked, sipping the bitter brew. He was thankful you'd left it black, with only a few lumps of sugar; especially since that was how he liked it.

"Yeah, Jake said you and Steven took a trip to the States. To show him around where you grew up? He mentioned that Steven had been curious about it for some time." You said, your brow quirking upwards curiously. "He said he and Layla stayed behind to... feed your fish?"

"Oh! Oh, right! That trip, uh..." He swallowed nervously. Of course Jake had to come up with an excuse as to why he and Steven had been "absent" the past few weeks. He couldn't exactly tell you that he needed to give his headmates a mental vacation from all their stress, hmm?

"It was... fine. Showed Steven some, uh--some baseball games, and some parks. He uhh... had fun in the museums."

"Of course he did," You chuckled with a shake of your head, "How was it for you? Did you two and... see your parents?"

Marc's jaw tensed, and for a moment you thought you'd overstepped your boundaries, pushed a button you shouldn't have as his hand shook slightly, the coffee sloshing bit by bit. Did something happen?

However, as quick as that shift in his demeanor appeared, if washed away like the sand being beaten back by the tide, and Marc was back to his previous self.

He shook his head, "Our, uh--my mom died a while ago. Had a bit of a falling out with my dad after that, so..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, honey, I didn't mean to..." You cringed, "I'm sorry."

Marc rolled his shoulder stiffly, a little perturbed when you called him "honey". He wasn't sure why it made him lightly uncomfortable, or made a tickle creep around in his belly like a spider frantically crawling around its web when prey was trapped within.

"It's fine. We're adults, and... Steven, Jake and I all respect each other's space, now." He sighed.

"I'm sorry you guys didn't get to grow up together."

Marc looked up at you from his mug to see you frowning into your own. Your eyes looked... tired. Exhausted. Was work getting that tiring for you? Had another rude bastard barged into your shop when he wasn't aware? If somebody laid a hand on you...

"It's fine." He said once again. "As long as... you know. We're together now, that's what really counts, right?"

"Yeah, you're family, right? It's good to keep them close." You say, locking eyes with him and smiling. He found himself smiling back, your energy infectious, and nodded.

"Yeah... Yeah."

You heard the phone by the door ring, and you groaned. Marc found the childish reaction a little endearing, and snorted softly when you apologized to go and answer it.

He sighed, setting his mug down and going to stroke Puck's fur. She stared past your open bedroom door, her fur standing on end. "Hey, hey, sweetie, what's wrong?" Marc asked the little cat. Something had her upset, and it had him wanting to coo to the animal, to stroke her chin and soothe her.

Until... he looked up. And saw exactly what was upsetting her.

There, perched at the edge of your bed, was Khonshu.

He tipped his head to the side, huffing in amusement. "I thought I'd find you here. I am not surprised. You are drawn to any sense of normality like water is to a sponge."

The dim light in your bedroom made him look spooky--the dreary daylight barely filtering into the room past the cracks in your curtains to cast rays across his body. His massive staff lay across his shoulder, his arm hanging on it casually. As if he had been her a number of times before.

Maybe he had. Marc had to wonder just how many times.

Marc chewed his bottom lip, looking at you. You had your back turned to him, chattering into the receiver at whomever was on the other end. His heart beat faster and faster.

When he looked back, Khonshu was standing over him, and Puck had her back arched, growling very lowly in her tiny throat.

No. No, no, no, no. Not here.

"I have been curious about her for some time, I must admit. Curious as to why you three seem to gravitate towards her."

No.

Not you.

"This fallacy is pathetic. You cannot have a normal life. Anyone you get close to is doomed to suffer." He stomped his staff on the floor, scaring Puck away to hide under the coffee table. "Leave this woman be, Marc."

"Go. Away." Marc hissed softly, standing up from the couch, his hand trembling and his jaw clenching. He wanted to shout, wanted to punch, wanted to knock his stupidly large beak askew. But he couldn't risk blowing it all out of the water in front of you...

His eyes kept flitting over to you, blissfully ignorant of the terrifying entity within your home. A place you should have been safe.

A place... that they--that he--had brought Khonshu into.

His fists clenched at each other, shaking as he tried to keep his rage in check. No. No, no, no. No!

"You cannot swat me aside like the fly you wish I was, Marc Spector." Khonshu leaned back, his head just barely brushing the ceiling. "You cannot lock me out of anywhere you do not wish me to be."

Puck hissed, yowling as she skittered out from her hiding place, to run over to you. She turned, facing Khonshu, her back arched and tail puffed out as she spit and hissed, swatting towards him.

"Pesky little creatures. I cannot stand them, sometimes. Must she always harass me when it suits her?" Khonshu growled, stomping over to where you were.

Marc immediately moved, his eyes wide and frantic as you turned around.

You couldn't see Khonshu, that much was obvious. But Puck could. You set the phone down and hung up, looking at your feline companion with confusion. Spotting Marc standing, his hands outstretched as if he were about grab something. You tilted your head to the side, smiling awkwardly as you reach down to pet Puck, but she spits and hissed, swatting at something that didn't seem to be there.

It couldn't be Marc, even if she was facing him. She had just been coiled up and snuggled in his lap for the past half hour! What on Earth could have triggered this?

"I... I'm sorry. The phone was, uh... A shipment I put a bid on, recently, and..." You say bashfully, rubbing the back of your neck, watching Puck. "I'm beginning to think my place might be haunted, ha ha... she's been staring off into space and growling at nothing, lately. Don't, uh, please don't take it personally?"

You began to babble, feeling a cold sweat erupt in your palms, rubbing them together. You weren't sure why there was so much tension in the air, the aura of it weighing down on your shoulders like a lead blanket.

"I, uh... ehm. I feel like maybe I should call a priest, right? Ha ha..."

You were completely unaware of the god looming down; so close to you that he would touch you if he reached out. And Marc knew he didn't want Khonshu's rotting, horrible hands to touch you. His robes flowed around you, curling and undulating on the floor like papery tentacles. One of his hands began to lift, almost gently curious as he reached for your hands.

"No! Get the hell away from her!" Marc shouted, rushing forwards to push you back, his bare feet slapping on the polished wood as he used his body to shield you, thrusting his hand out to ward off whatever it was he apparently saw.

Puck hissed, launching herself at Khonshu, hopping on her little paws to spit and hiss, making the deity growl and step back, looking down at Marc with what he could feel was a sense of superciliousness, superiority. "She will inevitably become wise to this, Marc. Do not try and keep her from me. It will end badly for you."

"Shut up, shut up!" Marc shouted, curling in on himself, slapping his head over and over. "No! No, no, no, no, no! Fuck you! You won't hurt her, too! She's our friend!"

You grasped Marc by the sleeve, disturbed by the scene unfolding in front of you, forcing him to turn towards you. "Marc! Marc, who are you talking to? What's wrong?"

"No! Stop..." Marc whimpered, watching out of the corners of his eyes as Puck continued to thrash at Khonshu, only serving to irritate the god into vanishing in a puff of mist. Puck growled lowly, walking in a little circle; checking to see if he was still hanging around.

"Marc? Marc, it's okay! What--"

"No, I can't stay here. This was a mistake." He choked, turning to make a dash for your front door, his hand wrapping around the knob, not even caring about his clothes still in your washer.

"I'm sorry..."

How could he be so stupid? Of course Khonshu would stalk him! Of course the old bastard would try to use you, the one normal thing in their lives against them! He should have known!

He did know, and still he made the stupid decision to get close to you; Jake, too, damn it! And now you were on his radar, now he would inevitably interfere with your life, put you in danger!

Why.

Why was the man known as Marc Spector such a curse on those around him?

Ever since he was a boy, he was a plague. He hurt people, even if he didn't intend to.

"Marc, stop!"

Your voice was drowned out by the pounding in his ears, his blood rushing like a waterfall.

(Marc, no!)

But before he could stop himself, halfway out of your flat, Steven surged within him, trying to project his gentle and calming influence into the frantic and fearful Marc.

It wasn't working.

"Marc!" You gasped as you watched him suddenly tense, jerk his head back a little, and seize, beginning to fall forwards with his eyes rolled back; towards your stairs. Instinctively, you reached out and gripped the back of his sleep shirt you'd let him wear, clinging to him with all your might as his body went limp and he began to stumble.

You were fast enough that you were able to haul him back, tumbling with a loud thump! to your floor, your tailbone now aching as you cradled an unconscious Marc.

Your chest ached; pain radiating through you. Half of you wanted to run and call 999; the other half demanded--no, screamed--that you check on your friend. Hefting him up a little to rest his head on your lap, Puck was right there, sitting on Marc's chest and staring at him with wide eyes, her ears flattened back and her tail tucked.

You grab his face, ignoring how your heart felt like it was about to explode. "Marc? Marc, talk to me!" You pleaded.

"Oh, please, please, please, please don't tell me you had a seizure and be dead!" You begged, beginning to tremble with hysteria as your eyes watered and burned. What happened? What had caused this outburst? Did he really have a seizure?

And thankfully, much to your relief, his eyes opened and he made a loud gasp, his back arching as he sat up straight, Puck fleeing to sit on the floor to stare at the both of you.

"Oh, thank god!" You cried, wrapping your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

"Oh, uh... oh, bollocks." An unmistakably accented voice blabbered out; heavy hands gently patting your back. "I, uh--eh--s-sorry, luv... Oh... Oh, this is a mite awkward, innit?"

You pulled away from him, then--your eyes wide as you grip his shoulders, staring into his eyes. Much softer than Marc's, sweeter... almost innocent. You felt like the floor had opened up beneath you.

"Steven?"

Chapter 15: Link

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #A Rose Under The Moon

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panic-in-the-multiverse · 1 year ago

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Venom

Pairings: father Miguel O’Hara x gn!teen!venom!reader, Venom x teen!reader

Imagine: what it would be like to be Miguel’s son and a spider-man along with venom, spider-venom? Idk guys

Warnings: mention of death, mention of parent death, mention of injuries, father Miguel O’Hara, idk what else, not proofread

A/N keep in mind the first part of this is before Gabriella died. Second I am aware that Miguel has a son somewhere out there in the comics, third don’t mind me referencing Moon Knight in some parts, lastly this is actually based on one of my ocs, but I made this fic x reader instead :)

Side note: I did imagine reader to be male (like my oc is) but I made it gn!reader so that everyone can read it

You lived on earth-TRN1042 (is that the name, it was when I searched it up, might be wrong tho), with you father Miguel O’Hara and your sister Gabriella O’Hara

Your canon event as tragic as it is was to watch as your father died — which would eventually lead you to become Spider-Man

You’d been bitten a few days prior and was still adjusting to the whole power thing

But we are getting ahead of ourselves, Here’s the thing Miguel (earth-928) lost his family on his earth and when he found out a way to go into other earths he found your earth. The one where he still had a happy family

His original plan was to just watch from afar, but when your father died, Miguel made the rash decision to take your fathers place, which didn’t go as smoothly as he thought, after all you had watched your father die

At first you thought you were going crazy when you first saw Miguel, apparently he’d been with your sister all day. You didn’t trust him one but, you knew for a fact your father was dead so when you saw him playing with Gabriella and her dolls you were in shock, you’d told Gabriella to go to her room, once she did the interrogation started, you’d felt your father take his last breath so you sure as hell would find out who this imposter was.

“Who are you?”

“I’m your father”

“No, no, no, no, I watched my father die, who are you?”

Miguel knew you wouldn’t stop your interrogation until you knew what was going on, this led to him giving you a long explanation about different earths, his family and everything in between, how he got his powers and literally his whole life story, only to ensure that you would let him stay, he wouldn’t stay against your wishes

You let him stay, not only because you knew what loss felt like, but you hadn’t told Gabriella yet and you didn’t know how you could tell her that her actual father was dead, and it would prove to be good to have an adult raise your little sister with you, so you let Miguel stay, eventually you saw him as your father too, Gabrielle being none the wiser when it came to her fathers true identity.

The first time you called Miguel “dad” or something alike, he was overjoyed

Miguel didn’t really enjoy you going out to beat bad guys up but he never told you not to, he knew why you did it so he never stopped you, and he used to do it so it would be kinda hypocritical of him to force you to stop, instead he’d be at home, and every time you snuck in through your window you could find Miguel in the living room ready to patch you up, telling you of every time for being reckless and getting hurt so many times

Don’t be offended when he calls you an “reckless idiot” (he’d probably say it in Spanish though) when you get home nearly half dead (Miguel might of overreacted a bit)

It was around this time when you started to get memory gaps from time to time, some fights you didn’t even remember how you defeated the enemy, and some days you woke up in an alleyway, (kinda like Steven in episode one of moon knight)

Before it all went to shit I’d like to think that Miguel gave up on the spider-man part of him and was just a single dad with his two kids working a boring job — not at Alcehmax, he won’t do that mistake again

You all lived rather peacefully for the most part, you’d help Gabriella get better at football/soccer, going to an ice cream shop every time after one of Gabriella’s matches, loss or win didn’t matter there was always ice cream after a match.

And then in a single day it all got taken away from you, in just a couple of minutes all you had ever known was gone

Your whole earth started to disappear along with the people in it, you’d been out on your daily spider-man patrols when it happened, you saw your father/Miguel running with Gabriella and so instead of trying to stop whatever was happening — or more like knowing you couldn’t stop it as you had no clue what it was — you went into the direction of your family.

And when your sister disappeared you didn’t know what to do anymore, Miguel at least able to think somewhat took your hand and soon enough you were on earth-928, and from a screen you watched as your dimension disappeared into nothingness

This left many questions and problems but the question you were mostly focused on was the fact that you hadn’t disappeared

Turns out the spider that bit you had bonded (idk if this works but it does now) with a symbiote — Venom — who was from another earth, and when the spider bit you, you’d not only gained spider-powers but Venom transferred over to you and the two of you bonded, this changed your DNA and caused you to be able to coexist on your own earth along with the earth that Venom was from (does this make sense ain’t got a single clue)

Turns out Venom hadn’t made an appearance (to your knowledge and Miguel’s) because he protected you whenever you couldn’t yourself, and all those memory gaps that you had was the times that Venom had taken over (you know kinda like Jake with Steven and Marc in Moon Knight)

Fast forward a bit and you’d joined the spider-society

You had learned to coexist with Venom, it took some time but it worked out in the end, at first people would think you were crazy as you yelled at nothing (except for you you were talking to Venom who was speaking inside your mind), a lot of spider-people stayed away from you not wanting to be near Venom as he is supposed to be a villain, but when they realized you were one of the good guys they stopped avoiding you and Venom

Venom would deny it to his grave but he is extremely protective over you, if anyone hurt you he wouldn’t hesitate to hurt/kill/eat them

Miguel also became way more protective, after he lost Gabriella he only had you left and he would only send you out on the easy missions — that is until you snuck out on one of their worsts missions and got hurt because no one else new you were there — cue Miguel letting you go on dangerous missions so that you wouldn’t sneak out again and possibly die, at leas if he knew where you were he could make sure you didn’t die.

Not only did Miguel become more grumpy and strict with all the rules, you also become a lot more grumpy as you grieved your sister, and friends

And then all the shit with Miles happened but that’s for part 2,3 (part 2 siding with Miles, part 3 siding with Miguel idk which will come out first)

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scarletttries · 1 year ago

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NSFW Headcanon Request: Steven Grant (Moon Knight)

Pairing: Steven Grant x F! Reader

Word Count: 1.8k (Explicit)

Request: "If you are still taking requests from the prompt list… what about Steven Grant and the Alleyway/Alley corner? I recently found your blog and it is *chefs kiss*"

Steven Grant + Alley/Alleyway: (prompt list here)

- Working under the guidance of an ancient Egyptian goddess was hard enough, without having to track one of your counterparts halfway across the globe every time he had a crisis of confidence. Marc Spector had been a thorn in your side for years on the job, his stubborn and erratic personality making him a nightmare to work with and the last person you'd willingly spend time with.

- So when you landed in London and started tailing him to see what shit he was pulling before you made your move, you could hardly believe the the change you saw in him - his arrogance facade faded into a sweetheart who took pride in showing little kids around a museum and helping them pick out toys, even if it seemed like a bittersweet irony that he always strayed into the Egyptian exhibits first. The man had become a creature of habit, taking the same route to and from work every day, stopping at the same places, and generally being far too easy to track for your liking.

- You were sure it was a trap, some fucked up game Marc was playing with you, but that didn't stop you deciding enough was enough and confronting him one night. He'd just finished his shift at the museum, leaving late after being punished with inventory, and as always got the bus back to his side of town. You were sure he'd noticed you sat with your back to him on the bus, but he chose not to say a word which only left you feeling more confused about this game of cat and mouse.

- Finally he slipped down the dimly lit alley that took him almost all the way home, footsteps speeding up slightly, like subconsciously he could sense that he wasn't alone on his journey.

"Marc!" You called out, stepping into the alleyway and blocking his path, his strict daily pattern making him just too easy to intercept. You expected him to start running, to scale the walls beside you, but instead you just heard a quivering voice, with a slightly unplaceable accent, reply,

"Umm, my name's Steven. With a v."

- As you strode closer the cowering man didn't back away, or even try to move a muscle, his wide eyes tracing over your silhouette as he took you in, surprised by the colour flushing to his cheeks and his rumbled brain choosing your beauty to focus on above all else.

"Fuck off Marc, you don't think i'm falling for that do you? We have work to do." You sighed frustratedly, feeling a tinge of guilt as he shook his head vigorously, eyes apologetic and soft, the antithesis of every interaction you'd had with Marc Spector.

"I'm really sorry, I don't know who that is, but I promise I'm just Steven, and we've never met before. Except you were on the bus before right?"

"So you did notice me tailing you?" You countered quickly, trying to get the truth behind the spark of recognition in his eyes. He gulped and nodded, suddenly very self conscious,

"It's hard not to notice a woman as pretty as you."

- His gentle smile, the warmth in his words, the slight hint of both fear and excitement in his eyes, this was definitely not Marc - and you were starting to feel more and more pleased with that fact as you let a smile creep across your cheeks, like everything that bothered you about Marc was reversed here, but in same gorgeous muscled package that you'd wanted to get a better look at for years.

- You only had to take two steps forward before Steven backed himself against the wall, desperately confused by the overlapping feelings of intimidation and arousal building up inside him, sure no-one had ever looked at him quite this way before, the happiest a deer has ever been to be in headlights.

"You're not so bad yourself Steven with a v, and SO much more charming than the guy I was looking for." You purred, inching forward until your body brushed lightly against his, the contact enough to know he was just as interested as you are.

- He didn't know quite how he ended up here, but Steven's mentally cheering himself on for managing not to mess this up yet, confident that anything else he says might be the thing that scares you away - not that you seem like the kind of person who's ever scared really. So he decides not to open his lips again, and instead listens to the voice in his head that tells him to lean forwards, setting his lips lightly against yours, testing the tempting waters he'd let himself sink straight beneath.

- You're leaning into him in no time, fingers trailing through his hair as your lips part, tongue taking control of the kiss and showing him he really doesn't need to be gentle with you. It's been a long time since you'd been able to take a break from work to have a little fun, and even if you still have to hunt down Marc, you can take a night off to enjoy a sweet British guy who takes way too long to build up the nerve to put his hands on your waist.

- You use your arms looped around his neck to pull his body flush against yours, grinding your hips against him and swallowing the whimper he lets out in response. His eyes are clenched shut as he tries to keep some semblance of self-control, mortified by each of the soft moans that slip out at every brush of your hips, determined not to let this opportunity get away from him. He lets his hands drift down your hips, skimming over your thighs as one gingerly reaches under your skirt, stopping when it finds the wet patch starting to form on your panties in all the anticipation.

"Bloody hell love." He breathes out as he starts to toy with you through the slick fabric, the sweet noises his touch elicits emboldening him to apply more pressure, rubbing firm circles over your clit, feeling your breath falter against him. He captures your lips in a greedy kiss as slips his fingers inside the fabric, his thumb returning to your clit as two fingers slide inside you, the delicious stretch almost enough to buckle your knees. His free hand keeps you pinned to his chest as works you up, every touch leaving you panting against him, your kiss trailing to his neck, leaving a bruise he'll wear with endless pride tomorrow.

- As his relentless pace starts to build the pressure inside your core, your thighs tremble again, making it harder and harder for you to keep upright in his arms, his own aching need growing inside his straining trousers. When he hears you moan out his name, he decides it's now or never, taking his hand away just short of your bliss, the whine that escapes your throat entirely involuntary.

"Just a second love, I'll be all yours again soon." Despite his clear power over you, he still stumbles over the words as he glances over his shoulder before undoing his belt, slipping his trousers down just far enough for his throbbing manhood to spring free, the cold night air making him hiss through his teeth at the sensation. Dropping to his knees he places a constellation of gentle kisses on your inner thigh as he slides your soaked panties down your leg, handling you oh so delicately as he helps you step free of them, stuffing them in his pocket before bringing his lips to sensitive skin again.

"You really know how to make a girl weak in the knees." You praised, surprised by the sweet giggle your comment drew from the man. The comment spurred him on to pull your thighs around his waist, rising back to his feet and pressing you against the wall behind you, now face to face again with so little fabric between you.

- Reading the uncertainty on his face you quickly nodded, squeezing your legs around him until you felt him start to slide inside of you, his fingers barely doing his size justice. Pure elation flashed across his face as you moaned out his name, the way he filled you quickly bringing your building pleasure back to the brink again. His hands gripped your ass hard as his hips bucked against you, sharp thrusts fucking into you over and over, his lips hungrily swallowing yours like he'd been starved pf the sweet affections of a kiss for as long as he could remember.

You grabbed at his broad shoulders, struggling to stay upright as his pace quickened, holding off his own release with everything he had before he could give you everything you needed. You were grateful he lived a pretty quiet side of town, the noise of the two of you echoing through the alley, the danger of getting caught only heightening all your senses as Steven's needy whines grew with the frantic pace of his hips, fighting his release but losing the battle in such a salaciously hot situation. You couldn't help but think you might need to extend your time in London to find out what other talents this Steven held, all thoughts of Marc long gone as a his new heavy rhythm brushed just the right spot inside you to have your head rolling back against the cold brick wall as you clenched down around him, your release all the more satisfying for his immediately following it. He clung to you like you were the first life preserver he'd been thrown in a very long storm, panting and moaning as your waves of pleasure seemed to ripple straight through him too, his lips chasing yours even as he desperately struggled to fill his lungs.

- As you come down from your high you'd have to tap him on the shoulder,

"Steven, you can put me down now." Straight back to bashful and embarrassed he'd apologize and pull out of you, cursing the whimper he let out as he finally left your soft warm entrance, dropping to the floor to ensure you were safely back on your feet, and feeling his heart do a flip as he caught a glimpse of his cum starting to drip out of your pussy and onto your thigh.

- By the time he's started to redress himself you're halfway down the alley, disappearing into the dark, leaving him calling after you,

"Am I going to see you again?" He wants to shout your name, but realises he never found it out.

"Maybe. I know where to find you Steven with a v." You replied without looking back, smirking to yourself at the thought of showing up at his door any time you wanted. You only missed the proud smile he gave himself as he pulled your underwear out of his pocket, knowing he'll struggle to think of anything else on his lonely nights now, mumbling to himself 'more like Steven without a v.'

#writing #fanfiction #one shot #requests #steven grant fluff #steven grant smut #steven grant x reader #steven grant imagines #moon knight headcanon #moon knight smut #moon knight imagines #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine

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astroboots · 2 years ago

Text

Cherry Lips

Summary: Steven really likes your lipstick.

Content: Inappropriate use of lipstick, messy blowjobs because like L'oreal, Steven is worth it.

Word Count: 2.4k

Author's notes: Inspired by this beautiful piece of artwork by @guruan-is-not-here

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

The lipstick you're planning on wearing tonight is a striking shade of red. The shocking brightness of a stop traffic light. The bursting richness of pomegranates. Eye catching, alarming and dreamy all at once. It's your favourite and they stopped manufacturing it a while back.

Since you can't up and buy it anymore, you only pull it on special occasions. The last time you've worn it was at a close friend's wedding. You're not going to any churches or galas tonight, just the local cinema, which isn't an extraordinary occasion that justifies pulling out the old favourite shade. But it doesn't have to be the location that's special. Sometimes, what matters is the company you're with. And who is more special to you than Steven?

You're standing in front of the mirror that hangs over your hallway. On an ordinary day, when you're standing here on your own, the tiny hall can already feel a bit cramped, considering the size of your micro-studio of a London flat. Today though?

Today, the way that Steven is standing behind you, almost plastered to your back, you can barely maneouvre your hand far enough to apply the lipstick without jabbing your elbow into his eyesocket.

"Steven, shouldn't you be getting ready too?" you say, in a gentle attempt to goad him into moving into the main space of your flat. But Steven stays unmoving.

He can't hear you.

Mouth dropped open, jaw slack, he's staring at your mirrored reflection with wide-eyed attention.

You turn around and tilt your head in his direction to try to catch his attention. But even though he's staring right at you, he remains frozen. Trapped in some spell, his eyes are vacant. You have to repeat his name for a second and third time and even then the only physical reaction you get from him is a hard swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing in the hollow of his throat.

At this pace, you're going to have to break out the smelling salts to snap him out of it.

"Steven, everything alright?"

"Red," he murmurs, and you squeeze your eyebrows in confusion at his lack of coherence.

"Your lipstick..." he sounds almost dazed. "It's very... red–very pretty! It's very pretty I mean, it looks amazing on you."

You follow the line of his eyes and the way he's staring at your lips. His tongue darts out to swipe across his own bottom one, leaving it glistening in the dim light of your hallway.

Steven is looking at you, like you hung each individual star in the galaxy and created every constellation discovered by NASA.

You can't help but smile as lean up and press your red lips against his. Your hand cups the back of his neck and you pull him down closer until you hear that breathless little gasp you love so much escape between his lips. Until that soft noise melts into a deep moan that you can practically taste on your tongue.

It tastes like hunger.

It's wonderful to feel so deeply wanted by someone.

You pull away, leaning back and Steven looks like he's been knocked senseless. Eyes shiny like glass. Kiss swollen lips made more prominent from the red of your lipsticks smudged on him. He's drawing up his hand, thumb brushing against the red.

Whipping around, you realise that he's staring at himself in the mirror. He looks enamoured with it, the smears of red that are on him like a mark seared into his skin of where you've touched him.

It becomes something of a thing between you two.

Before every date night, you'll apply a thick layer of red lipstick on your mouth, the kind that will smear at the slightest touch.

Then you watch in amusement as Steven spends the whole of the evening trying to act discreet (and failing) as his eyes will unfailingly find themselves flickering back to your lips.

You'll watch as he tries to steady himself at a dining table at the small intimate and cozy restaurant sat across from you, hand gripping on top of his knee as you lift your glass and leaves a clear imprint of your lips on the glass.

Hear the small little gasp that escapes from his throat when you lean close to his ear to ask him what he's ordering.

Feel the whole bodyshiver of his as you press your lips to his cheek sometime between dessert and the bill.

Sometimes you even wear it on your lunchdates between work shifts when you know he's having a rough day. Because Steven likes the attention and you like to give it to him. Love the way that fascinating blush blossoms across his chest, travelling up his throat and adorns his cheeks as you pull him into an unoccupied bathroom of your favourite cafe and you leave soft kisses like stamps on a love letter on his skin. Ink of red, pressed into his chest and collarbone and the corner of his mouth.

He doesn't wash it off after either. Wants it to linger for as long as it possibly can. It's why you start to leave the lip stains where his clothes will cover them. Can't have Steven looking like a crime scene when he gets back to work at the museum.

You'll wear it when he comes to pick you home from work. Watch the way his whole body is thrumming with excitement on the tube ride back to his flat. Eyes never leaving your lips.

Those are your favourite special occassions. When you get to leave your mark on him uninterrupted in the dim lighting of his home in privacy. When you get to take your time to peel off his tie like a beautifully wrapped Christmas present adorned with a silk bow and glossy wrapping paper.

You'l leave kisses on the softness of his stomach that has his hips hitching upwards. The insides of his thighs, that will has his legs shaking and trembling and gasping.

Tonight, you have him seated on his armchair, trousers pulled down to his ankles, while you're down on your knees, caged in by his thick thighs.

You press your lips to his soft skin, feeling him tense and rigid above you. Knees trembling next to you, and you pull back to admire your work, the perfect imprint of your lips on his golden skin.

"Love, love -- I, please..."

He's a shivering mess. Soft curls plastered to his forehead, white teeth biting into his full bottom lip as he watches you through half-lidded eyes.

So fucking pretty this one.

You press another kiss, this time on the inside of his thigh and you smile to yourself as his hips hitch up, chasing after your mouth with a choked gasp.

"Please, what, Steven?"

Flicking your eyes to his face, Steven is struggling to verbalise much of anything right now. Maybe you're not being very nice, because you know exactly what he wants.

He's hard. You can see the hardened outline of his excitement straining the front of his jeans. If you leave him hanging much longer, you swear that the seams are going to split open.

"Yo--your mouth, I--I--" he manages to finally stutter out. "Please, please."

God, he even begs pretty. For all that you would love to tease him more, have him tremble, begging and crying underneath you until tears are running down that gorgeous face, you find that it's impossible to deny Steven.

Your hand comes to the rivet of his jeans, popping it open and before you even have the chance to ask him to lift so you can pull them down, Steven's hips are bouncing off the chair so fast and so hard you nearly tumble backwards on your arse from the force of it. Luckily you recover fast enough, steadying your balance with both your hands on his hips. Then you pull the restricting garment down his thighs, far enough that you can free his cock from the barrier of his boxers.

His cock springs up and bobs and nearly slaps your cheek with the momentum, and he's already repeatedly murmuring embarrassed apologies as he forces himself to sit back down into the chair. "Sorry, sorry! Did I--Did I hit you?"

The concern in his voice makes you want to snort with laughter. But whatever laughter you had in your throat dies as you see him. All brain capacity is rerouted to the sight of his cock standing up in full attention between his legs. Eager and twitching, in a deep ruddy dark pink. The tip of his cock practically glistens under the dim light as precome oozes down the length. It makes your tongue salivate. Makes you want to take him into your mouth and try to swallow as much of him as your gag reflex will allow.

Before your brain fully finishes that thought, you lean down, parting your lips and do. Everything inside you aches and burns as you taste him. He's so fucking thick, heavy and absolutely perfect as the weight of his cock throbs on your tongue.

But you'd be lying if you said it wasn't a struggle to fit all of him, can wrap your lips down halfway before you feel your throat protesting, lungs burning, and tears prickling the corner of your eyes.

Underneath you, Steven is having a hard time keeping still. Hips stuttering into your mouth as you try to adjust and swallow around him. He's trembling so hard he's vibrating against you.

"Oh god, oh god, love, I--I-- fuuuck," the last word comes out as a broken moan as he he slides up and deeper into your mouth. Not a shred of restraint or control left in him. You're sputtering, your own saliva escaping from your lips that are wrapped tightly around him and dribbling down your chin, making an absolute mess of both of you.

And god, it's intoxicating to have him this way, you think it'd be worth the asphyxiation and lack of oxygen to your brain and whatever semi-permanent damage it would cause to your brain functions to just keep going, if it mean you can prolong this perfect moment.

The air around you thins, your chest feels tight and despite your hesitance and your desire to keep going, you pull off, gasping for air as the hard girth of him no longer blocks your airways.

You swallow down oxygen, as fast and deep as your lungs will allow, as you try to catch your breath, feeling more than a little bit lightheaded as you do so. Your chin is sticky, and as you bring the back of your hand to wipe it off, there's a residue of spit, precome and bright red smeared all over.

Fuck, your lipstick.

You grumble as you stare at your hand, you instinctively want to wipe it off on your clothes, but if you do, it'll never come out no matter how much Vanish stain remover you rub into it.

"Sorry, sorry," Steven's voice comes to you from somewhere above, and you tilt your head up to him. Hands hovering nervously as he's reaching over the side table for a wad of tissue. "I made a mess of you, didn't I?" he continues. Then he's leaning over, his hand gently cupping your jaw to tilt you up so he can clean you up.

You're almost giggling at how genuinely sorry he sounds, even as his cock, as hard as ever, is nestled between his thighs, twitching and jerking as if to protest the temporary lack of attention.

Steven's eyes follow yours, ducking his head until you're both staring at his cock. Smeared with the red stains and imprints of your lips on him.

An absolute fucking mess.

Leaning up on your knees, you grab the tissues from Steven and move towards him to repay the favour, but he stops you.

"Leave it," he says abruptly. No stuttering this time. No longer the sweet apologetic tone he held before. It sends a thrill across your nerves to hear him like this. Curt, demanding... greedy.

Tilting your head up, you observe him. The darkened eyes blown wide as he stares down at the red smears you've left on his cock. He looks enthralled by it. It's that same look as that evening by the hallway. Dazed like you've cast some witches' spell on him.

It makes your heart squeeze tight in your chest as you watch him. Emotions swelling and expanding until it even blots out the throbbing heat between your legs.

God you want to indulge him. Give him everything.

"Steven, get my lipstick from my bag."

He blinks up at you, until you're jutting your chin in the direction of your purse behind him. Even in his daze, obedient as he always is, Steven scrambles quickly to comply and starts rifling through your handbag before he finally finds the prize and hands the shiny tube to you with shaky fingers.

You smile to yourself as you pull of the cap and twist the tube. Before Steven, you'd barely used an inch of it, having been so careful to savour it and make it last. Now the lipstick is down to its last gasping breath depleted almost all the way down to the base, and with what you have in mind, it's going to completely run out by this evening.

Bringing it to your bottom lip, you look up at Steven who's watching you attentively, as you drag it slowly and decadently across your lip. An unnecessarily thick layer, as you see his mouth drop open.

Worth it, you think to yourself. Definitely worth it for that look on his face alone.

You pull the cap back on, then set it down on the floor next to you, as you scoot closer to Steven, pressing your lips to the base of his cock and watch the length of of it twitch and jump at your touch.

Then you lean back to observe your work. The perfect imprint of your lips marked in a striking shade of red. The red signal of a stop sign at a traffic crossing, except you have no intention of stopping.

Your lips part, wrapping your mouth around the flushed tip of Steven's cock as he throws his head back with a torn gasp, hands cupping the back of your head as he pulls you down deeper on him. Your face tingling with the warmth of his hand on you, as you try to swallow him down deeper.

You must be smearing the perfect imprint of lipstick all over the length of his cock. But that's okay. It just means you have to do it all over again. And that's okay too.

After all, you only use this lipstick on special occasions and who is more special to you than Steven.

Dedications and credit:

Wrote this in honour of @guruan-is-not-here gorgeous, beautiful and insanely horny thot sketches-- in particular the one where she had covered Steven with lipstick stains and my brain just did that funny thing where it imploded and turned into this fic. You can find more of her artwork here and her SFW account at @guruan where you'll be treated to some of the most beautiful Moon Knight fandom you'll see. Also do drop by her ko-fi. A single art piece can take hours and days and weeks for artists to do, and this amazingly talented genius is sharing her work with us all for free!

As always, this is also dedicated to @thirstworldproblemss because she had to listen to my insanity, but also also ALSO!!! This insane clown has written the most horny-beautiful-angst-smutty goodness fic of what happens when Marc sees those very same lipstick stains and I may or may not have written this for the sole purpose so that you good people can see the mindblowing excellence that is that fic. ILUUUUUUU TWP.

a/n: to be notified of new writing updates follow astroboots-writes and turn on notifs.

#oscar isaac #moon knight #marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #steven grant #steven grant x you #steven grant x reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader

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sarahghetti · 1 year ago

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absolutely purr-fect; m.k. x reader

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

summary: you and the boys adopt a cat.

warnings: none! only fluff 'round here, folks.

word count: 2.4k

MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST | ALL MASTERLISTS

if there’s one thing the boys all have in common, it’s that they’re all cat people.

steven thinks they’re particularly cute, and has always liked the idea of having a cat curled up beside him as he reads.

jake got attacked by a dog during a mission once and has been wary of them ever since.

marc just appreciates their independence—the fact that their trust needs to be earned with a little more effort, a little more patience.

(you give him this look when he says that, and steven snorts from inside their headspace. marc pointedly ignores you both.)

they’ve always wanted a cat, but the logistics of it never worked out given their vigilante schedule.

getting someone to drop by and feed gus the ii and his friend once a day? no problem. but leaving a cat at the flat? even if it were in the care of one of their neighbours, the idea makes them uneasy.

but then they met you. and since you’ve moved in with them, the opportunity has become much, much more feasible.

steven often looks through listings from the nearby adoption centres, cooing over the cats they have available.

steven lets out the most precious little gasp, excitement illuminated by his laptop, and you can’t help but lean over to see what he’s looking at. a picture of a scrawny-looking shorthair with a pronounced snout is pulled up on the screen.

“his name is scream,” steven supplies, utterly enamoured.

“scream,” you repeat, and he nods. “well, the flat does have good soundproofing.”

he scrolls down some more and almost instantly, there’s a fluffy mess lounging on the back of a couch that catches your eye. your hand falls on steven’s to stop him from going down any further.

“kit kat!” you take control of the trackpad to circle kit kat’s adorable face. steven shakes his head, raising an eyebrow.

“oh, but does kit kat hold a candle to margarine?” margarine is a kitten so small that she looks like she’d immediately get lost in the mess of books and knickknacks strewn about the apartment.

steven’s posed an impossible question. you pout a little. “I want both.”

he sighs. “me too, love.”

jake sends you a picture of every single cat he spots on the street. they vary in quality—some are so close that you can count each whisker while others are nothing more than a fuzzy blob in the night.

the utter quantity is enviable. you have half a mind to think that they just spend their entire night patrol looking for cats around the city.

that said, if you ask, “did you get to pet it?” the answer is almost always no.

for all of yours and steven’s window adopting online, marc is the one who ends up bringing a cat home.

not even an hour after marc left to patrol, you stir awake to the sound of the front door banging against the adjacent wall. your boyfriend’s quiet voice hisses, “shit.”

“marc?” you yawn, rubbing your eyes as you sit up. usually, he’s mum as a mouse when he comes back, cautious not to disturb you. you squint at him in the dark. “are you okay?”

“’m fine.” his silhouette moves into the living room, and one of the softer lamps is clicked on. “just—”

a sharp little mrow interrupts him, and you both fall silent as it rings out in the flat. was… was that—?

mreo-o-o-ow!

“marc!” you throw the blankets to the side as you jump out of bed, scurrying so fast to his side that you nearly trip over your own feet.

he’s still in the suit, mask and hood retracted, and held gingerly in his gloved hands is a dirty bundle of orange fur. the little guy is dwarfed against marc’s broad chest; narrowed green eyes watch your movements suspiciously. you bring your hand up to let the kitten sniff you, but marc leans away. “careful—he’s a bit touchy.”

“you’re holding him fine,” you point out, and he snorts.

“hardly.” as if on cue, the kitten lets out another piercing cry, squirming and scratching so fiercely that you’re sure it would leave some marks if not for the suit. marc grimaces as he tries to maintain his grip without hurting him, but his eyes widen when you sigh endearingly. “oh, no, don’t you dare—”

“can we keep him?”

while marc knows that he can’t say no to you for very long—a fact that’s going to be the end of him someday, he swears—he does effectively put that conversation on hold until the kitten can see a veterinarian in the morning.

trying to convince you to go back to sleep is a lost cause. you’ve brought home a stray kitten, marc—there’s no way you’re leaving him to try and figure out what to do on his own.

the commotion also wakes up steven and jake. you can only hear marc’s side of the conversation, but it’s clear that they’re as excited as you are for your new guest.

marc’s staring down the mirror, brow furrowed at whatever his alters are telling him through the reflection. the kitten is nonplussed by the argument happening over its head, only sinking further into marc’s arms.

“no, we can’t keep him—”

“aw, come on!” you interject. marc, unable to do anything that could bring you down when there’s that much excitement in your voice, only responds with a restless noise.

“he could already have an owner somewhere,” he reasons. one of them must offer to take over, because his mouth twists into a stubborn scowl soon after. “I’m fine.”

getting marc to take care of himself is a herculean feat, so you switch tactics, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I think they just wanna meet the kitty.”

still, he bristles, and holds the kitten almost protectively against his chest. “the meet and greet can happen after we figure out what we’re doing.”

he steps away from the mirror then, and you pump your fist when his back is turned.

there’s a chance.

it’s the most intense googling research session you’ve ever been a part of.

marc gets most of the grime off its fur with a damp cloth, handling the kitten so gently that it might as well be made of glass. he still won’t let you touch it—too worried that it’ll hurt you somehow.

(you go along with it because yeah, if it does bite you, there’s no way marc’s letting you guys keep it.)

an old cardboard box is pulled out of recycling to serve as a makeshift bed, and some spare towels are neatly spread out on the bottom to provide some bedding.

you watch marc have a staring contest with the kitten as it sits inside, every muscle in his body tensed and ready as if anticipating a fight. the kitten, a valiant opponent, doesn’t seem to show any fear at the sight of your boyfriend, ancient ceremonial armor be damned.

it’s not until it’s contentedly chomping down on some boiled chicken you prepared that marc finally gives up the driver’s seat, getting some rest at yours and the others’ insistence.

jake comes in with a wide, wide grin, immediately crouching beside the box with a disbelieving sound.

“so small,” he comments, twiddling his fingers in a way to entice the little guy. the spark in jake’s eye is enough to know that he’s on your side in the keep-him-or-don’t conversation.

which means that finally, you can ask the question that’s been on the tip of your tongue all night.

“what should we name him?” after the impromptu bath, the orange of its fur gleams a little warmer in the low light of the flat, but you wait patiently as you let kitten sniff you. you bite back a giggle when its whiskers brush against your hand.

jake winces in a way that tells you that he must be getting an earful from inside the headspace, but presses on. “juice? naranja? OJ?”

you raise an eyebrow. “you really want to name him after orange juice, huh.”

“yeah well, steven says some egyptian god.” he rolls his eyes. typical.

“and what does marc say?”

“marc says—” his voice shifts to a monotone drone “’—oh my god stop trying to pet the cat it’s still dirty and hostile and why are we trying to name the damn thing it’s only been here for like an hour it’s not staying jake shut your mouth you’re not funny—’”

your laugh startles the kitten but you can’t help it, burying your head in your arms to muffle the sound to no avail. if you looked up, you’d see the smug look jake is pointing at his nearest reflection.

there’s a nudge at your side as you quiet down. “and what about you, carino? what do you think?”

“hmm.” you tilt your head. “where did marc find him?”

a pause as he listens, then, “in a dumpster. behind that chinese place we like.”

your mind whirs, and you can see that jake is following the same train of thought. egg tart. chicken chow mein. mapo tofu.

you gasp, “dumpling.”

the look on marc’s face when you put ‘dumpling’ on the forms at the veterinarian’s office is priceless.

for what it’s worth, the kitten is in surprisingly good shape. some washing up, a round of vaccinations, and one microchip later, he’s released back into your care with little fanfare, but you’re positively buzzing.

you guys go a little overboard at the pet shop. jake fills the handbasket with an assortment of toys while steven and marc argue incessantly about the best food to buy, which bed he’d prefer.

“thought you didn’t even want to keep him!” steven snarks into the gleam of a metal shelf at some point, and you can practically hear marc’s ensuing scoff.

when you guys get home, jake dumps all the toys on the ground at once, a colourful mess of bells and feathers that almost blend into steven’s existing mess.

to no one’s surprise, dumpling plays more with the disposable plastic bag than the toys themselves. still, that doesn’t matter—jake can lay on his stomach and play with him for hours.

steven, mediocre human food chef, becomes a master cat food chef.

“good god,” you comment as he comes back from the store with his arms full of fancy looking packages. what started as mixing wet food in with the dry has seemingly become a new pinpoint of steven’s focus, and your eyebrows raise a little more with each label you read.

chicken liver, mussels, duck egg—all freeze dried and decked out in cartoony illustrations. dumpling jumps up to take a look, sniffing inquisitively at each bag.

“you’re gonna be eating better than us,” you quip. he’s still a little cautious, shying from sudden movements, so you just let him explore and don’t push when he slinks away.

“little guy only deserves the best, doesn’t he?” steven pulls out dumpling’s fish-shaped dish. you watch, mesmerized as he carefully begins to put food on it; he’s even pulled out the kitchen scale to properly measure everything.

steven talks as he goes, telling you (and dumpling) about each element with the same vigor he would apply to egyptology. organ meats for nutrients, bone broth for hydration, oils for a shiny coat—dumpling looks as baffled as you are.

although—he also looks quite impatient. steven keeps having to push him back to keep him from the dish before it’s ready. his little paws slide on the counter each time.

“ta-da!” steven presents the finished product to you with a flourish. it’s surprisingly well-plated for someone who sometimes eats straight from the pan.

though it doesn’t last long. the second he places it down, dumpling is ravenous. broth is splashed onto the ground. bits of dehydrated powder get caught in his chin. you worry a little that he’s gonna choke somehow.

steven manages to pull his attention away from the scene for a second, turning to you. a proud smile pulls at his lips. “think he likes it?”

with all your efforts, it doesn’t take very long for dumpling to get comfortable; the flat becomes his kingdom.

you find him lounging on the top shelves of steven’s bookcases and leaving stapler-like holes in marc’s research notes with his teeth.

jake is constantly running around looking for his driving gloves because dumpling always manages to get his paws on them and always squirrels them away in separate locations, somehow.

you wake up more often than not to a mouthful of fur—he loves to sleep on your pillow, regardless of whether or not your head is already on it.

“why. why.” marc dangles dumpling in the air by his front legs. an entire piece of sushi—swiped from marc’s plate on the coffee table—hangs from the kitten’s mouth, nearly the size of his head. there is not a hint of remorse. “steven’s putting a dent in our finances to buy you organic beef hearts or whatever-the-hell and you come over here to steal my food?”

the defendant remains silent. marc lets out a low grumble and deposits dumpling onto his lap, sushi and all, keeping his hand on him to stop him from taking anything else.

you lean into his side. “thought you said we shouldn’t give him any scraps, hm?”

it’s true—while jake folded immediately, often sneaking bites to dumpling under the table, and steven excuses a bit here and there just as a treat, love—marc is the strict cat-dad who stubbornly ignores those big, begging green eyes whenever they pop up during a meal.

or at least, he was. marc chews slowly, an obvious delay to answering your question, and so you hum again, prodding. it’s not that he’s hated having the cat around, but for a while it was clear that he was the sole holdout to keeping him.

finally, he swallows. you wait with bated breath as he sighs. “he can have a little bit. just this once, though.”

the last part is said directly to the culprit, who’s purring like a motor with the soils of his hunt. your grin is blinding. marc goes back to eating, but you and dumpling come to the same delightful conclusion—

yeah, it’s not going to be just this once.

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

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mundivagantsoul · 1 year ago

Text

✩ Bookshopist Moonboys✩

Part 1: Nerds, Dead Trees and Dust

Moon Knight System x Reader

A/N: Hi all! This is my first time posting my writing. I apologies for poor grammar and spelling, my only excuse is daydreaming throughout school when I was was supposed to be learning this stuff. If you have any feedback or comments please let me know, I'd love to hear from you! Hope you enjoy ♡

Warnings: mentions of violence (nature documentaries), coarse language, British lingo?

Word Count: 1K

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Seated in the dim living room light with tea-steamed glasses, a certain chocolate-curled Brit scrolls aimlessly through job adverts until a particular post catches his attention

Full-time bookseller- The Old Town Bookshop

Taking a sip of his Earl Grey, Steven opens the listing, greeted with the classic rhetorical questions and enthusiasm only found in job adverts.

Love books? Are you a passionate reader who wishes to share your enthusiasm for literature with others? Come work at “The Old Town Bookshop”, where you can expand your literary knowledge and create a meaningful career with fellow book lovers!

“Living amongst books isn’t enough for you?” Marc quips from a small mirror placed deliberately on the desk's corner.

“I thought you cared about animals and the environment, and yet here you are, further supporting an industry that indoctrinates the destruction of their homes?” Jake nonchalantly adds from an adjacent mirror, oblivious to the surprised faces of his headmates.

Marc raises a brow, “Since when did you become an animal rights advocate?”

Jake shrugs, gaze subconsciously finding Viejita lazing on the lounge before returning back to Marc. “Dunno. Guess I actually pay attention when Steven puts on his nature documentaries”.

Marc mocks being insulted. “Oh I’m sorry, I just don’t find watching baby antelopes getting mauled to death entertaining”.

“Of course, you much rather maul people to death yourself”, Jake's voice mimics Marc’s, enticing a scoff from the latter.

“You’re one to talk Mr. I abuse wheelchairs and kidnap patients from psych wards and then murder them in the back of my fancy car”.

Steven interrupts the dispute before it can get out of hand.

“Bloody hell, Lads’ shut it! Look, if I’m being honest, I’m not gonna take animal ethics from either of you carnivores”, then adding, “And need I remind you two, you’re the reason we’re in this dire situation”.

It’s true, between Marc, Jake and Khonshu’s shenanigans, they’d managed to lose their only legal job, and unfortunately, being an ancient Egyptian deity’s ‘fist of vengeance’ doesn’t pay well.

Marc begins to grasp at any logic that means they don’t have to work amongst nerds, dead trees and dust. “Well… Jake and I aren’t avid readers, and the job description says we must be ‘passionate readers’”.

“Well… I’d say with the number of ‘adult’ novels you read, you’d be classified as a passionate reader”. Steven states matter-of-factly, earning a snort from Jake and a finger from Marc.

“Look, capitalism exists, fish need feeding, and it’s either this, working at the laundromat on 6th, or grovelling for my old job back. You pick”.

Sharing a glance, they sigh, “Fine, we’ll work at your nerd hub”.

Triumphantly, Steven opens the application form.

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A weathered sign inscribed with “The Old Town Bookshop” hangs atop the quaint corner store. Parallel white arches and a broad window decorate its petite structure with morning sunlight reflecting off the seemingly fresh coat of indigo, enriching the buildings' otherwise aged aesthetic.

Breathing out a puff of warm air, Steven adjusts the strap of his shoulder bag, a nervous habit he’d picked up over the years. Peering at the lit window, he opens the door. Greeted by the homely smell of paper and ink, Steven gazes around at the array of books and colours, marvelling at the unexpectedly large floor plan.

"Like the Tardis". Marc hums from the window reflection whilst Jake observes their surroundings, habitually checking for threats.

Strolling further into the store, a warm pressure rubs itself along his calf. Peering down, Steven’s met with honey eyes and golden fur.

“¿Gatito?” Jake chirps, seemingly forgetting about surveying the area.

The cat meows in return as if replying to Jake’s comment.

“Great, now we’ll be covered in dust and cat hair”. Marc comments, trying to remain apathetic about their adorable feline coworker.

Kneeing down, Steven scratches the tabby’s head, earning a delightful purr from their new acquaintance. Checking the collar, ‘Dorian’ is engraved on a fish-shaped name tag.

Dorian huh? Makes sense, you’re a pretty lookin’ fella. Steven observes before returning to the task at hand.

Following the familiar monotonous sound of a sticker gun, the Brit finds himself walking towards the counter where, surrounded by a pile of new releases, you are busy at work. The boys take in your features, entranced as the morning light caresses your face, highlighting the soft beauty that adorns your profile. Eyes roaming over your features, they notice your slight frown of concentration and inaudible movements of your mouth.

As Steven approaches the counter, your words become interpretable.

“How are we already getting Christmas and holiday content when it hasn’t even been Halloween yet?” you grumble, condemning whoever decided it was a suitable practice. “I swear if I start hearing Mariah Carey, I’m gonna…”.

Someone clearing their throat interrupts your malicious thoughts. As your head shoots up, you notice the fidgeting man in front of the counter. Shit. How long has he been standing there? You think, face heating up at the possibility of him witnessing your moral decadence.

“So sorry to bother you love. I’m here for my shift? I was supposed to start today… I’m Steven, by the way”.

The realisation smacks you in the face like a flying stop sign. Crap, it is already 8 o'clock? Internally criticising yourself for losing track of time, you scramble for an apology. “Right- yes, Steven, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise the time”. Sticking out your hand, you introduce yourself.

God, your name sounds as beautiful as you look, They simultaneously think.

A warm, calloused hand engulfs your own as Steven rolls your name over his tongue. “All good love happens to the best of us”.

You smile warmly, and suddenly, the prospect of spending 9 hours a day surrounded by nerds, dead trees and dust doesn't seem too bad.

Thank you for reading ♡

Also please go check out the fabulous @viejita-n-co who created Viejita! You’ll find a bunch of fanart and pictures of the boys too ♡

#steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight #moonknight #bookshopist moon boys

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melodygatesauthor · 2 years ago

Note

What are your headcannons for a reader who is like super touch deprived and finds comfort In hooking their arm with the moonboys' in public and just hugging their arm like that. (I feel like marc is equally as touch deprived lol)

Hi Nonnie! I love this question because I think all the Moon Boys are a bit touch deprived. I personally struggle with touching as a form of affection, but I'm going to do my best (and I would do my best for them, knowing that they need it). - I can imagine we're heading up to a store of some kind, a cesspool for social anxiety and need for touch and comfort.

Moon Boys w/ Touch Starved gn!Reader Headcanons

Steven

Steven's going to freeze the first time you grab his arm out in public for comfort.

"Oh!" He'd say in surprise, looking over at you. You're not even looking at him as you approach the store. "You alright, love?"

You'd nod and just keep your arm hooked in his, maybe snaking your hand up around his bicep and gripping tightly.

Steven would pat your fingers, a silent way of saying, "it's alright."

If you try to pull away because you think you're being silly or making him uncomfortable, he's going to reach his hand up and hold yours tightly for reassurance.

The truth is, Steven's just as happy to know he's needed as you are to have your arm around him. He doesn't have a lot of friends, so having someone to hold him that way is very comforting.

Marc

Marc's stiff as a board when you wrap your arm around him. He's tempted to pull away, but he can sense that you're holding on so tight for a reason.

"You ok?" He'll ask, stopping before you get into the store.

He doesn't want to admit that he really likes having you there holding him so tightly.

You'll tell him you're ok, that you just get uncomfortable in social situations sometimes, and inside he's just...through the moon.

You need him? That's all he needs to hear to get him through ten lifetimes.

He finds that as you go through the store and you become more comfortable and start to loosen your grip, that he doesn't like the feeling of not having your warmth around his arm.

He leans over and says, "please don't let go."

You don't question it.

Jake

Jake's thrilled any time you touch him and a little bit just isn't enough.

He wants his arm over your shoulder and yours around his waist.

"Bebita, hold me as tight as you need, like feeling your hand on my waist."

Jake won't want to make you uncomfortable, but he's getting away with touching you as much as you'll let him. His preference is to have his hand in your back pocket while you walk around.

As the one who usually gets pegged as the bad guy, he doesn't get to front as often as the other two, so when he has the chance to hold you in any capacity, he will.

He loves that you look to him for comfort, considering he often feels monstrous.

Thanks for the prompt! I thought this was adorable.

Moon Knight Masterlist

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moonpascaltoo · 8 months ago

Text

steven grant / marc spector / jake lockley

MASTERLIST • OSCAR ISAAC CHARACTERS • 05/26/24

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs two

moon knight one three

𑣲 building love I @laaundromat

Steven has unconsciously set himself up on a date with his crush.

𑣲 how things are I @storiesforallfandoms

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

𑣲 uncomplicated I @little-worm-grant

Deep down you knew Jake wouldn’t be calling if he didn’t think he needed you. Or maybe that’s what you told yourself to make it more tolerable to be out of your warm bed at this hour.

𑣲 just a touch of your hand part 2 part 3 I @mccn-bcys

when you turn eighteen, an ink stain appears on your skin wherever your soulmate touches you for the first time. the boys each are dealing with their stain in their own way.

𑣲 sensual pleasure? I @/mccn-bcys

your friends take you to the museum but you never were interested in the history. Until your friend introduces you to a cute gift-shoppist who gives you little history lessons. Suddenly, a ring sparks becomes a little more than a cool item he showed you.

𑣲 open my eyes I @missdictatorme

Jake and Steven were more than happy when you agreed to be in a relationship with them, but Marc barely fronts when you're near. Will he warm up to you over time?

𑣲 third ones the charm part 2 I @/missdictatrome

Jake Lockley was fine. Really. Marc and Steven are happy with their girlfriend and he's okay staying in the shadows. He's used to staying in the shadows. He managed to stay hidden from the boys for years, but lately something makes him take control more and more. Or rather, someone makes him take control more and more.

𑣲 the thin line I @/missdictatrome

Steven and Marc are literally glowing with happiness since they were in a relationship with you. Jake is mostly annoyed and is constantly trying to make you leave. Marc and Steven are having none of it.

𑣲 forget me not I @/missdictatrome

You and the boys (uhm…) decided to break up after the fights became more and more frequent in your relationship. Marc was mostly disappointed, Steven was sad and Jake… Jake was bitter. And angry. So when you send them a text weeks after the break up to ask them to collect their remaining stuff from your apartment, maybe Jake isn’t happy when he sees you might have moved on.

𑣲 our little thing I @wysteria-clad

you have a specific thing with each of them. It's not like you don't do it with other two, but you do enjoy a little act of intimacy that is special to each of them.

𑣲 the already over series I @m00nsbaby

𑣲 weightless I @/m00nsbaby

The feeling of being trapped goes beyond the ankle bracelet that keeps him tied to the bed.

𑣲 canonic jar I @bruhstories

marc is exasperated by you, but he needs to behave because you're steven's girlfriend.

𑣲 formal wear I @eyelessfaces

𑣲 the jake problem part 2 I @bensolosbluesaber

Jake hates you. Like really hates you, which wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t dating Steven and Marc. But maybe, just maybe, Jake doesn’t hate you.

𑣲 talk deity to me I @starryeyedstories

You’re an Egyptologist invited to the museum to give a talk to a group of school kids, and Steven might have a bit of a crush on you.

𑣲 dozing I @juneknight

A man falls asleep on you during your bus ride to work.

𑣲 i should have been there I @januaryembrs

Marc had always carried her with him, since they were small kids playing pirates in the yard, before things got messed up by grown up feelings and burdens. It's not until he sees her twenty years later, he realizes he should have saved her.

𑣲 sleeping beauty I @redeyerhaenyra

After having sex with Jake, you both fall asleep in your flat. Only, it's not Jake that wakes up, it's Steven.

𑣲 shadow of a doubt I @writefightandflightclub

marc was first. steven was second. khonshu’s never going to love you. …and you’re wondering if jake will ever get there at all.

𑣲 no fish were harmed in the making of this meet cute I @/writefightandflightclub

You have a dilemma. You don’t want to sell the man any more fish. But you do want him to keep coming back to your shop

𑣲 chocolate I @bits-and-babs

After weeks of pining for your coworker Steven Grant, sharing chocolate over a late shift causes sparks to fly.

𑣲 bumpy ride I @/bits-and-babs

The handsome man who you see on your commute to work every day is always on your mind.

𑣲 cake I @spctrsgf

𑣲 a night at the museum I @thatsthewrongwallcraig

After asking you out, Steven invites you to a private tour of the National Art Gallery.

𑣲 on the mat I @thatredheadwriter

You’re Marc and Steven’s ‘guy in the chair’ for lack of a better term, helping them with all things techy. When you get injured trying to help on a mission, Marc decides you need to learn how to take care of yourself so it doesn’t happen again. Gym training with Marc turns into something else entirely.

𑣲 mine I @/thatredheadwriter

The suit, the suit is amazing. Honestly it is. But you can’t help but be the slightest bit annoyed when it erases the marks you leave all over him. Lucky for you, Steven’s more than happy to let you have another go.

𑣲 outnumbered I @/thatredheadwriter

You’re Layla’s adoptive sister, and Marc’s former lover. Being reunited with both of them stirs up some old feelings, but that gets pushed to the backburner when you’re severely injured during a fight. But things tend to boil over when they’re left too long, so what happens when you have some time alone with Marc.

𑣲 spectre series I @ivystoryweaver

Marc Spector and his alters Steven and Jake have lost the love of their lives. They each try to move on, in their own way, but getting over you is the hardest thing they've ever faced. Marc starts to see you everywhere - he's haunted by your memory. No, literally, why are you sitting on the end of his bed? He believes in ancient deities, seeing how Jake still serves one as Moon Knight. But ghosts?

𑣲 first kiss I @asimplearchivist

there was no possible way that you could have romantic feelings for steven. right?

𑣲 sad ending I @/asimplearchivist

you and jake enjoy having movie nights, but he has the habit of spoiling the endings for you. this time is different, though.

𑣲 speed dating I @/asimplearchivist

you're down in the dumps about the disheartening lack of prospective romantic partners interested in initiating a long-term relationship with you. your ever-helpful coworker amy decides to give you (and a highly interested would-be suitor) a nudge in the right direction—just not in the way you might expect.

𑣲 is that my shirt? I @/asimplearchivist

you and the boys have a set of rules. jake doesn’t like it when you break them.

𑣲 stop looking at me like that part 2 I @luc-k-y

𑣲 anything for you I @/luc-k-y

𑣲 insomnia I @campingwiththecharmings

Steven can't sleep and you, uh, help him out.

𑣲 each time you fall in love I @peterthepark

you play mercenaries with marc. you play lovers with jake. you play house with steven. you suppose romance comes in all forms of their differing love for you.

𑣲 to the rescue I @ofstarsandvibranium

showing up on Stevens date from the first episode

𑣲 unexpected addition I @oddballwriter

Steven and Marc know about Jake's existence and they have been trying to get used to him and get to know him, and during a mission where they need help they found out Jake has been having like a long term relationship with the reader (who is Sekhmet's avatar)

𑣲 hospital bed confessions I @sailorkamino

As long as Jake can remember he's only had Marc and Steven to protect - then you came into the picture. Jake is scared to admit just how much you mean to him until you're injured, then he can no longer hide his feelings.

𑣲 a rose under the moon I @angel-of-the-moons

You've waited your whole life to meet your soulmate. You just didn't know your soulmate was so close by, all this time. But...How the hell can you handle being thrown into a world full of gods and magic? You're just a shopkeeper! Why is your heart being tugged by three different threads?

𑣲 stuck I @psithurista

You stop by Steven’s place one night after work. Somebody else answers his door.

𑣲 the coffee incident part 2 part 3 I @reallyrallyauthor

No coffee in the morning leads to a mystery for Marc, an apology from Jake, and guilt from Steven.

𑣲 paying your debt I @/reallyrallyauthor

Moon Knight saved your life, and now you're Marc Spector's glorified assistant. But when you pick him up one night after a fight, you get to feel the suit first hand, and what he keeps underneath it.

𑣲 free lunch I @/reallyrallyauthor

You're teaching Steven how to drive, but he’s so tense that you absolutely have to get him to relax first

𑣲 cupcake man I @/reallyrallyauthor

Jake helps his favorite bartender out w/ a problem they can’t solve themselves (which I like to imagine is Jake’s #1 all-time favorite hobby)

𑣲 bad girl I @/reallyrallyauthor

Jake has a smoking kink, and a way for you to indulge him without consequences.

𑣲 a friend I @/reallyrallyauthor

You and Marc Spector have a purely physical relationship. Both operating in society’s gray area, you try to avoid conflicts of interest. But when you’re hired to steal an artifact from a London museum, you wonder if even Marc himself knows all of his secrets.

𑣲 museum date I @/reallyrallyauthor

Marc gets set up on a blind date at an art museum

𑣲 slow songs I @/reallyrallyauthor

Your friend, Marc, pretends to be your boyfriend at a wedding, but is it pretend?

𑣲 here we go series I @/reallyrallyauthor

𑣲 the shape of youniverse I @bit-dodgy-innit

A full blown AU of forging a life and family with a post-Khonshu Moon Boys that’s as heartfelt as it is filth.

𑣲 tilt part 2 part 3 part 4 I @the-little-ewok

Steven Grant wants to tell you the truth about why he missed your date, but it isn't Steven you meet...

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ivystoryweaver · 1 year ago

Text

Spectre

A Moon Knight Halloween Love Story

Event #3: Soul Survivors

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Event #3 Summary: Marc sees you. And sees you again. Which one was real? Steven enters the chat. "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties" makes another appearance.

Pairing this chapter: Marc Spector, Steven Grant x f!reader (Jake mentioned)

Word count: 3.3k

Content: nsfw, 18+, angst, bit of fluff (more below the cut - read the warnings and be responsible for triggering content)

Warnings/Notables: violence, drinking, nudity, masturbation, cursing, mental health concerns, coping with death, mentions of food, grieving, longing, mild bickering, a few tears, not beta'd

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PREVIOUSLY on "Spectre"...

Marc rushed blindly toward the window, yanking open the curtain. Moonlight spilled into the bedroom, granting him the slightest ability to see.

"It's not too late," the whisper echoed, right beside his ear...but you were nowhere to be seen.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Brisk, autumn wind swept the heavy cape of Moon Knight aside as he stood overlooking the city below.

Khonshu didn't even need to point out who needed protecting, nor who needed punishing this night.

Marc Spector reached for the ancient crescent daggers mystically stashed in the armor at the center of his chest.

His glowing eyes zeroed in on a vagrant roaming below. But this dingy man wasn't the object of his ire - he was recently the victim of a crime, and was about to be the victim once more.

With a dramatic whoosh, Moon Knight swept down from the night sky, his dramatic white suit announcing his coming in a far more glaring way than Jake's pitch black body armor.

The vagrant gasped in terror, but Marc sailed past the man who was about to be violated and murdered...

...and plunged two crescent daggers into the chest of his would-be attacker. The perpetrator had now become his victim.

"You're safe now," Marc assured the homeless man, who scurried off, crying out in fear.

Fair enough. Marc wasn't exactly a friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man. Jake had the night off, at Marc's insistence, but he realized that delivering Khonshu's justice with daggers just wasn't...satisfying.

The next vile thing who needed punishing would meet the wrath of Marc's fists.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc's stark white suit was littered with spatters of red by the time he made it back to Elm Street. He willed the suit to disappear, walking back toward his house under the cover of night.

Then he drank some whiskey and fell asleep in his favorite chair, mumbling out an apology to Steven as he slipped into oblivion.

He awoke to the sound of the old cherry wood clock in the hall striking three.

The broken clock in the hall.

It stopped working the day you died.

Rubbing his bleary eyes, Marc sat upright, immediately flopping back down as his head swirled. Too much violence and blood followed by too much whiskey.

"Marc..."

Your voice echoed off the walls, but only a whisper. No other sights or sounds were available to him in the darkened house.

"Go away!" Marc slurred, swatting his hand at nothing but air.

He tried to settle back down, and managed to approach the edge of drowsiness when you appeared right in front of him, almost as if you were straddling his lap.

You breathed his name, draping your body over his.

"You're not real," Marc murmured, even as he desperately wished it was you crawling on top of his body. The image of you was nothing more than a mirage but you would not let him be.

You spoke his name again, and when he forced his eyes open, you were stretched out across him, naked.

He couldn't touch you but he could swear the heat of your breath tickled his ear.

"Need you," your voice begged. Your ghostly body writhed on top of his.

He felt the weight of his arousal straining against his jeans. It wouldn't be the first time he imagined you as he gave himself some relief. He quickly undid his jeans and shoved his hand inside, groaning at how hard he felt.

"Be with me," you panted, your naked body on display for him. You sat astride his lap, rolling your hips over his. Your breasts bounced in a delicious rhythm as your nipples grew hard.

"Don't you want me?" You pouted, twisting your body deliciously down on him. He could feel nothing - you weren't even really there. But the show you were putting on was more than enough.

"I only want you," he gasped, gripping himself and thrusting desperately into his fist. “You're so beautiful...don't stop."

It was almost as if you were there with him. He could see you - he could hear your gasps of pleasure. But you were a vapor. He couldn't feel you.

The release he found gave him a brief reprieve. He passed out again.

Then the clock struck four.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Marc struggled to climb out of the chair and haul himself upstairs. He just wanted his bed and he really, really needed Steven to take the body tomorrow. But his alter was still quiet. No lectures or questions or anything.

Marc used the stair rail for all it was worth, pulling himself upward like he was a hiker on an Everest expedition. No one would ever believe he was the mighty Moon Knight in this moment.

Finally, he darkened the door of his room.

And you were there. But not like downstairs. You wore the hoodie he'd seen before.

Sinking down to his knees, Marc felt hot tears sting his eyes. "You're not real," he whimpered, remembering your naked visage all over him downstairs. "I'm fucking insane."

He fully expected you to dash away from him or simply vaporize. But you inched closer.

"Marc?" You whispered his name with a sense of urgent awe. "C-can you see me?"

His heart surged with terror. He had just managed to convince himself that he was imagining you, but now...

You knelt down on the floor with him, directly in front of him. Your gaze sought out his own, bleary eyes. "Marc?"

"I'm drunk," he murmured, shaking his head adamantly, refusing to meet your ghostly gaze. "I'm drunk and I'm hallucinating and I'm fucking crazy."

"We don't use that word in this house," You said calmly, but firmly. In your voice. Those were your words. The real you.

Lifting his wet eyes, he looked right at you, but couldn't think of anything to say.

You peered so intently at him, he thought your gaze might just bore a hole through him.

"God, I wish you could see me, Marc. Sometimes I swear you can," you voiced, rising to your feet. The hood covering your hair fell back as you did.

As you started to back away, the words you had just spoken finally started to register in his inebriated brain. As you eased toward the window, he panicked, climbing off his feet to stop you.

"No, wait!" He gasped out, the interaction sobering him a little. "Wait...baby...it's me. I-I can see you. I see you. Don't go."

You halted, turning back to face him, your eyes wide with wonder. "Marc?"

"Yeah," he quickly nodded. "I'm here. It's okay."

Your eyes scanned the room quickly. "A-are we home?"

He melted. "Yeah, sweetheart. We're home. This is home. You were with me before, downstairs. And last night.”

“I was?”

Oh god. That wasn’t you downstairs? He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “I-I’ve been seeing you. A lot.”

Your face crumpled with sadness - your lip trembling. "But…are you...dead?"

Marc touched his own chest, shaking his head. "No. I'm here. I'm okay."

Your eyebrows knit in concentration as you bounced on your toes. "Sorry, I get confused. Sometimes, I'm here, then sometimes, I'm...in a dark place."

His beautiful eyes shifted sympathetically. “A dark place?”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes drifted aimlessly around you, as if you were trying to get your bearings. “When…when are we? When is this?”

“Uh, it’s October,” he rasped, his voice choked with emotion. Was this really happening? It had to be the whiskey. Or something much worse. Something broken in his mind, more than ever before.

“October,” you repeated slowly, as if trying the word out for the first time. You seemed to be shrinking in on yourself - the dark hoodie swallowing you completely as you inched away from your partner. “I…don’t understand. We’re home?”

Marc’s heart slammed against his ribcage. He whispered your name, stretching his hand out for you.

You had died. That was horrifying enough, but this? The thought of you confused or afraid? He couldn’t bear it.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’m here. Just don’t go. Try to talk to me,” he pleaded.

But still you withdrew. “It’s not too late,” you sullenly whispered, in the ghostly voice he’d heard before. “Not too late. Tell Marc…tell him…”

And you vanished.

Marc sank back to the ground and cried so hard that Steven woke up on the floor with one hell of a headache.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Steven Grant bustled along the small town street, eagerly awaiting the smell of library books. After finishing his vegan breakfast burrito and black tea with almond milk from Triple B's (plus four painkillers), he was ready for a change of pace.

Hangover be damned.

Marc had been a bit Eeyore lately, more than usual since you passed. Steven understood his grief - of course he did - but Marc's coping mechanisms differed so greatly from Steven's.

With a sigh, he finished his tea, tossing the cup into the nearest rubbish bin and wishing Marc would leave the whiskey alone. Drinking and punching the hell out of criminals wouldn't bring you back. And it ultimately wouldn't bring any lasting relief.

The library door creaked out a familiar greeting, welcoming Steven to his daily haven. He was the first one in today, so he made sure to tidy up before handling some paperwork at his desk.

Easing down into what was now considered a vintage rolling chair, he put his lunchbox away and located his glasses. Just as he started to put them on, his eye caught the small, framed picture of you he kept on his desk.

"Morning, my love," he whispered, touching your face with his fingertip.

Marc didn't want pictures of you in the house - just the one of you on the porch, which hung in the hallway right outside the bedroom. But this was Steven's job and he wanted to see your face every time he worked a shift.

He couldn't bear the thought of starting to forget you. He'd heard that usually happened - that over time, you would forget the details of your loved one's face. That thought was unacceptable to Steven.

He wanted to be able to move on with life - to find a way to somehow let you go, but he simply needed to remember the face of the only person who ever truly loved him.

"Miss you all the time," he told you, feeling a familiar wetness sting his eyes.

Maybe he shouldn't be so hard on Marc.

The day passed as any normal day would at a small town library: slowly. Steven didn't mind. Gave him time to read, research and organize. Might be his own little corner of heaven, this.

As he strolled back through town, he noticed Marc was accompanying him, appearing, as he was prone to do, in various shop windows.

"I'm sorry about the whiskey," Marc voiced. "Shouldn't have done that, buddy."

Steven nodded, reaching for his wireless earbuds. It allowed him to talk freely with his alters, from time to time, without making onlookers think he was talking to himself.

"You alright, mate?" He asked Marc, hoping for an explanation to go with that apology.

"No," Marc flatly returned. "But we don't have to talk about it. Just enjoy your night. I'll try not to drink so much again."

"You can talk to me," Steven reasoned, repositioning his messenger bag on his shoulder as he shuffled along the sidewalk. "I miss her too."

Steven passed a boarded up shop, so Marc was gone fore a few moments. He was still there, of course, but remained quiet. Finally, he appeared again, in the hardware store window. His domain.

"I saw her," Marc confessed.

"Saw her?" Steven returned. "Like imagined her?"

"No. I saw her. Talked to her too."

"After that much whiskey?" Steven rebuked. "I'm sure you did."

Marc huffed. "I've seen her a few times now. I'm worried about her."

"Worried? What are you on about?" Steven scoffed, disbelievingly. "What more can happen to her now?" He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

“I don’t know…” Marc trailed off. “Something’s not right.”

Steven let out a long sigh. Everyone was entitled to their grief but seriously. “She’s gone, mate. What you’re suggesting’s not even possible.”

“Are you serious? We serve an ancient Egyptian deity who’s a 10-foot-tall fucking bird skeleton,” Marc challenged. “We died and came back to life and had face to face conversations with each other…but you don’t think a ghost could be real?”

“She’s not a ghost!” Steven snapped, glaring at a shop window, drawing the attention of a few townspeople passing by.

A mysterious gust of wind swirled around Steven's body, stirring brown leaves into a mini tornado - a tempest to match the ache in his heart.

"What seems to be the trouble?" A kind, elderly voice chimed from the doorway of her shop.

It was her window Steven had shouted into moments before. Taking a step back, his eyes drifted up to the hand painted sign above the door. "Mystic Delights and Other Charming Novelties."

"Sorry. So Sorry," Steven hurriedly apologized, holding his hands up in supplicating fashion. "Bloody phone call." He pointed to his earbud.

"Understood," the old woman returned, but her gaze lingered.

So did Steven.

"This shop...it's new, yeah?" He inquired, brown eyes narrowing inquisitively, pulling out his earbuds ands stashing them in his bag.

"In a manner of speaking," the kindly old woman returned, her eyes disappearing into the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes when she smiled. "You're British," she commented.

"Guilty," Steven chuckled, holding up his hand like a child would in school.

She nodded inside the shop. "Just put the kettle on. Care for a cuppa?"

Somehow Steven felt himself drawn to the shop - its twinkling lights in the window illuminating antique treasures. You would have loved a place like this.

"I...I really should..." he trailed off, unable to think of a reason to decline her kind invitation. What was waiting for him at home? Arguing with Marc? Passing out asleep so Jake could roam around the city all night? Reading?

Reading was tempting but...

"Got biscuits too," the old lady offered, "'though it's a bit past tea time."

"Thank you," Steven smiled warmly, following her inside. "You're not British...are you? You sound American."

"My mum was, God rest her," she replied, leading Steven past a few rows of adorably arranged antiques to what was the store's back room or break room. It contained a kitchenette and a cozy table for two.

"Sit," she gestured to the closest chair. "Mr. Spector, is it?"

"Ahh, uh...Mr. Grant, actually," Steven answered. A long while ago, the four of you: Marc, Steven, Jake and yourself decided to be upfront and candid when necessary or possible. This town was your home - might as well be yourselves.

"I see," the lady returned. "Mr. Spector's the American, then. Who works at the hardware store?" The old lady busied herself, collecting a tray with proper teacups, saucers, dainty silver spoons, cloth napkins and a tin of biscuits.

"That's right," Steven confirmed. "Bit odd, I s'ppose. But I'm Steven Grant. Library assistant."

She nodded, removing the whistling kettle from the stovetop. "Mr. Grant, I'm Ms. Marjorie. Not odd at all. Souls do what they will, you see."

Before Steven could question that peculiar phrase, Ms. Marjorie set the tray down in front of Steven. "You have a biscuit while I steep the tea."

He nodded, reaching for the treat. "This tea set is lovely. Do you mind my asking if it belonged to your mum?"

"It did," she confirmed, her eyes twinkling. "It's as English as you are, my dear."

Steven chuckled. "Don't know if I'm proper British. We're from Chicago, actually."

Ms. Marjoire set the kettle down on the table and took her seat across from Steven, but not before grabbing a small plate of veggie sandwiches from the fridge.

"Nonsense. You're as British as my mum, or this tea set, or the King." She reached for a biscuit.

"You're very kind," Steven observed, "inviting a stranger in like this."

"Not strangers anymore," she corrected, her eyes full of mirth.

Steven nodded, enjoying his snack for a moment, settling a little further into his chair. He took a moment to enjoy the jazz piano ringing from the record player in the corner.

Ms. Marjorie hummed along, pouring two cups of tea. "Milk? Sugar?"

"Eh, I'm vegan - "

"I have oat milk," she responded, rising to retrieve it before Steven could protest.

"What did you mean before, when you said, 'souls do what they will'?"

Ms. Marjorie smiled knowingly to herself, pouring a little oat milk into each teacup.

"Just what I said," she returned. "Take you, for example. One body, but I suppose there may have been too much goodness to fit into one soul. So you have your own and so does Mr. Spector.

"Then there are soulmates, of course," she went on. "One soul, two bodies."

Steven's gaze dropped at the mention of soulmates. He assumed you were his. Maybe not, according to Ms. Marjoire's theory.

"I sense the idea of soulmates is a tender subject for your soul," she carefully observed, bringing her teacup to her lips for a sip. "You don't have to say anything. I have a sense about these things."

This is how Steven met Ms. Marjorie and told her practically everything about you. How kind, warm and beautiful you were. How you wrote children's stories - how much you would love this little shop. He told her your favorite foods and how you liked to steal Marc's jackets. He told her about Jake too.

Before he left, around an hour later, she patted his forearm, granting him that kindly smile he'd already come to know.

"Souls are eternal, you know. Even hers. You give that a good think and maybe we'll have tea some other time?"

"Yes, that sounds wonderful," Steven whispered sincerely. "Thank you - you've been absolutely lovely. My girlfriend would have loved to meet you and see your shop." He glanced around at the treasures you would have insisted the house needed.

"I'm sorry she's gone, my dear. Stop by any time," she sweetly responded. "And you tell Mr. Spector he's welcome anytime as well. And ah...what was the other gentleman's name?"

"Lockley," he laughed.

Steven thanked her again and started his walk home. Once he was just out of sight, he could have sworn Ms. Marjorie faintly called after him, "It's not too late."

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Steven shuffled home, waving cheerfully to his neightbor Mrs. Nockles, who attempted to invite him in for some cider.

"Just had tea and sandwiches with Ms. Marjorie downtown," Steven called back. "Positively stuffed. Next time!"

He could hear Marc groaning in his mind.

"Don't know a Ms. Marjorie," Ms. Nockles returned. "But happy to see you boys fed. Have a good night, love!"

Steven warmly smiled, finishing his day a little lighter than he began it. Anything was better than a whiskey hangover of Marc's.

As he turned up the pathway to your front door, a rustling of the bedroom curtain upstairs caught his eye, giving him pause.

Was that... He stared for a long moment, but finally decided to go inside.

Steven read for a while downstairs before washing up and getting ready for bed. He paused, as Marc was prone to do, at your picture hanging right outside the bedroom.

"Goodnight, my darling," he whispered. "I met the most charming lady today. You would have positively loved her. And her shop. God, I wish you could see..."

He exhaled a weary sigh, pressing a kiss to the picture. "She had a lot to say about souls and soulmates. Said souls are eternal."

He shook his head at himself. Why was he talking to a picture? Oh well.

"If that's true, I hope you're happy, love. And at peace."

With that, he sauntered back into the bedroom, never noticing where you sat perched on the end of the bed.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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ithebookhoarder · 10 months ago

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Marc and Steven with a Murdock? Like Daredevil?? If you want, of course ❤️🖤

The Moon Boys with a Murdock!Reader

A/N: Of course I want to! 😆 I'm only sorry it took me so long to answer this. However, I seem to be on a roll today - I can't believe I've got two requests out?! Like, who even am I?

Masterlist

As you said with a Murdock, I’m going with a sibling vibe here which would be pretty adorable anyway as Matt would be such a good brother if he’d ever had the chance.

He would be incredibly close with you and take his role as your protector as seriously as he takes his role as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

You’re the only one he lets know his true self as you’ve been through everything he has. You’ve shared the happiest and saddest moments of your lives together and the bond it forged is as strong as vibranium.

It holds you both together, not matter what you go through or where you end up - including when you both end up at colleges on opposite sides of the country.

You’re extremely careful to never let him pull too far away from you, even when he gets in one of his moods. In fact, you’re sure to turn up and let yourself in to his apartment when he goes too quiet and even Foggy can’t seem to pull him out of the darkness that haunts him.

It’s why you don’t run away when the Moon Boys come crashing in to your lives. The chaos that seems to follow them and their fears that they are too much for you is honestly familiar. Every attempt to push you away only makes you draw nearer - first as a friend, later as something more.

You’d probably meet Moon Knight first around New York. I mean, it's kind of hard not to come across him, given what Matt does and how chaos seems to find its way into your lives.

He'd be the latest adoptee into the Defenders / New York 'Avengers reject club' (your name for the gang, not theirs...) so you'd quickly end up involved in each other's lives.

You'd bond pretty quickly, once you get to know one another without the personas and danger. After all, I think Steven would be eager to find friends who aren't necessarily supers and just like to drink coffee, read novels and go to the dog park at the weekend.

He'd be super keen to get to know you. You're one of the only people who get what their life is like, but also have a foot in the real world.

You'd win over Marc later on, wearing him down with your positivity and unwavering optimism (and also Steven will not shut up about you).

You're not afraid of the darker parts of their world, and become a much needed safe space for Marc, once he lets his guard down.

For instance, you'd be great at patching him up - having had enough practise on Matt over the years. You're also used to having someone nocturnal in the house, coming and going at all hours of the night. Plus, you can obviously be trusted to keep a secret or two.

If anything, Marc's only reluctant to let you get close to him as he doesn't want to taint you. To ruin something so bright and wonderful by dragging you into his darkness.

If Matt's ok with putting you in danger, then that's up to him as your brother. You're family. But for Marc and Steven to do that? It's a line they're unwilling to cross... until you prove to them you aren't going anywhere. That you can handle yourself and that you're already in this mess anyway, so why shouldn't you both be happy?

From that moment on, there's no looking back for any of you. You're leaping in to this together head first, and soon enough you can't imagine life any other way.

Matt, however, can.

Let's be real, he wouldn’t be the biggest fan of Steven and Marc. In fact, he’d be pretty against your relationship the minute he finds out about it.

One, because he thinks no one is worthy of you.

Two, because he hates the idea of you getting hurt or being in danger and being in a relationship with multiple people who all serve an ancient Egyptian deity as his personal vigilante is the very definition of dangerous.

"I... I can't even begin to understand how you could possibly think this is a good idea? At all? He - they - are literally the puppets of an Egyptian god - a GOD, Y/N. You don't want to get in the middle of all that?"

You quickly remind him how he gave a similar speech to Karen when he found out about her and Frank Castle seeing each other, and that didn't work. Last time you checked, they're still blissfully in love.

"Besides, Matthew! You're the one who goes running around at night, getting in fights, wearing a glorified halloween costume. Like, I am the SANE sibling here. ALSO! Marc and Steven were forced into their situation. They didn't go looking for it like a crazy nut job. So, yeah. I think if anything, you don't have a leg to stand on here!"

Matt would be able to sense who was fronting the moment they appeared. He’d be able to recognise them from the way their heart is beating and their mannerisms the second they stepped through the door, which is helpful but also incredibly unsettling.

Steven would brush it off, seeing it as Matt just being a kind brother to you. However, I think Marc would have more of a problem with Matt’s hostility, and enhanced senses. It puts him on edge to know they are being so closely scrutinised.

They also have the same temperament so I can imagine there will be more than a few clashes in the beginning, their similar brusque natures making it hard for them to not bump heads.

However, after Matt learns about Marc’s DID and his childhood trauma I think he’d be more sympathetic. After all, you both didn’t have the easiest childhood either.

He also knows what it’s like to live with a condition that can make your life harder but also makes you unique.

According to the comics, both of them are known to be good detectives and also keen boxers. I can totally see them building a reluctant respect for one another after they realise they have more in common than just their love for you.

In fact, I know you’d have to pull them out of the ring after Marc agrees to a sparring match with the famous ‘Devil’. The pair of them would get a weird pleasure from trying to beat the other to a pulp - they don’t often find someone evenly matched to have a friendly bout or two with.

At least it would once again prove to Matt that your boys could definitely take care of you if you ever needed it.

Matt would definitely be sure to offer his legal advice whenever he’s concerned you both might be skating on thin ice with the law. Apparently, ‘I’m being controlled by an Ancient Egyptian God’ hasn’t ever been tried as a legal defence in the American justice system before… and Matt is oddly willing to try it.

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