#moonknightevents

[soft-girl-musings]

Salt & Pepper

Moon Knight System x GN!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: rated T for teasing, domestic fluff, author does not condone touching people's hair without permission, no use of Y/N

wc: 1,078

fic summary: Marc, are you familiar with the term "silver fox"?

A/N: i might have a problem lol

_____________________

“Put. It. Down.”

Marc Spector does not startle easily. So when he nearly falls from his perch beside the bathtub, you’re surprised you have to steady him.

“Jesus, where’s the fire?” Marc picks up the towel and small cardboard box he’d dropped because of your outburst.

Shifting your focus, you zero in on the latter: hair dye, just as you’d suspected.

“So this is what you get up to when I’m away?” You tut, cradling his temples and shaking your head. "What happened to you?" 

"What? Nothing, I'm-"

"-I wasn't talking to you," you sigh, resting your forehead against the crown of his head. "How long has he been treating you like this, you poor things?"

“Ha-ha.”

You release his face to study it. "But seriously, how long have you been dying your hair?”

 “... For a couple of years. Started to turn gray from stress a while back, and I guess it never stopped.” He fidgets with the loose edge of the container.. “You really never noticed?”

You take the box and set it beside him. “You hid it well.”

You’re not judging him for dying his hair, it’s just… surprising. Marc’s never been one to fuss over his appearance, as far as you could tell. When you first saw his closet, you’d half expected it to be lined with the same outfit ten times, like in a cartoon. Most days, “dressing up” means adding a jacket or blazer.

 “Since when do you care? About your hair, I mean.” 

He shrugs. “I’m not gettin’ any younger, honey.”

“Neither am I.” You kiss the bridge of his nose. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Goes double for me, don’t you forget it.” Leaning in, Marc tries for another kiss, but you duck and grab the hair dye before turning away with a mischievous smirk.

“Gotta keep you honest,” you wink and dart out of the room before he can catch you.

_____________________

"Love?"

"Hm?"

"Might fall out if you keep playing with it like that.”

You’d been standing behind Steven for the past couple of minutes, meaning to check in on his preparations for his morning tour but had gotten distracted. Very distracted.

“Sorry,” you sigh, your fingers leaving the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck and trailing down to his shoulder. “It’s just… hm.”

Your conversation with Marc must have taken root: over the past few weeks, you’ve noticed the hair that had been dangerously close to another round of boxed dye abuse steadily turning lighter. A subtle blend of silver strands mix with the darker curls that frame his face, making his hair shine a bit brighter in the light of the desk lamp.

“It’s like starlight,” you finally state, leaning in to rest your head against his.

Steven sputters and puts his book aside. “Starli- that’s a bit much, yeah?” His brow furrows, but there’s no denying the smile tugging at his lips.

“Not if it’s true,” you contend. You adjust the reading glasses that had slid down his face and tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “It’s a good look on you.”

There’s no denying the heat rising to his cheeks when you talk. “This– you don’t–” Steven caves and sets his book down, hopelessly flustered. “Either go away or get over here. Cheeky.”

He makes room for you to settle into his lap, which you giddily accept. Your hands sink back into his curls and he shivers as you scratch his scalp.

“Did I ever tell you I had a thing for my professor, once upon a time?”

“Oh my days–” 

You’re not sure who kisses who, but you’re certainly not complaining. Neither is he.

_____________________

The time apart has been agony.

You check your phone for the fifth time this evening. They’ve been gone for what feels like months (it’s been weeks) handling some business in California, of all places. Marc said he’d call when they were on their way home, meaning no news is sad news.

You’re pulled from your pity party by a knock on the door. It’s late, and you’ve already signed for your dinner delivery. Slowly, you get up and grab the bat you keep by the entrance (with a sock slipped over the end per Jake’s advice).

The knocking continues, getting more urgent. You take a deep breath and look through the peephole. A large brown eye stares back and you yelp, dropping your bat. The unmistakable boom of Jake’s belly laughter mocks you from behind the door.

“You’re hilarious,” you groan, standing the bat back on its head and unlocking the door.

You’re ready to lay into him when you open the door, but you’re stunned into silence. Jake’s smile is highlighted by silvery stubble, dusted with black. He adjusts his cap as his dark eyebrows raise in mock surprise.

“What, no hello?”

You tear your eyes away from his jaw. “Hm? Oh. Hi.” You open the door wider for him to step in. “Marc said you’d call first.”

“No fun in that, is there? Besides, you looked ready to handle some trouble.” he shrugs off his coat as you lock the door behind him.

“Trouble, yes. Nuisance, debatable.” You sidle up to him and drape your arms around his waist. You place a kiss on his cheek; it’d be impossible for him to not notice how you let yours drag along the rough line of his jaw.

“I missed you too,” he laughs again. “But man, is it warm in here…”

He tosses his cap and it takes everything in him to not lose it when your eyes widen at the sight of his hair, now more gray than black and curls longer than you’ve seen them before. You’re too enraptured to be embarrassed at your obvious loss for words.

“Your hair…” You reach up to touch it, but Jake grabs your wrist.

“Tsk, tsk, you threaten and barely say a word to me, then go straight for the goods without so much as a ‘please’? What happened to decorum, hm?”

“You fucking tease,” you huff. “...please?”

“Well, since you asked nicely–” Jake can barely finish his thought before your lips are on his, your hand tangled in his starlit hair as soon as he lets go.

“I take it we should cancel Marc’s haircut?” he murmurs as you catch your breath.

Your free hand grazes the scruff on his cheek and you grin. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

_____________________

A/N: marvel you cowards give us gray-haired moon knight

ty for reading <3

event tags:@moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[rosellacwrites]

if you want to call me baby (just go ahead now)

summary: As it turns out, the language of love is — all of them.

pairings: Steven Grant x GN!Reader

rating: general audiences

warnings: weapons grade fluff, established relationship, pet names (so many)

word count: 577

author’s note: Written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events — this is entry #4 for “Ritual.” Happy reading! ❤️

dividers by @firefly-graphics

It had started, as do so many things between you, in bed.

“G’night, my dear,” Steven had murmured to you, pulling your back snug against his chest and burrowing his face into your neck, but you’d started to giggle.

“‘My dear?’ What are you, eighty?” you’d laughed.

“What’s wrong with that? You’re very dear to me,” he’d protested.

“And you are to me, too. You know that.” You’d twisted around, craning your neck for a kiss. “It just struck me as funny — you have to admit it has pensioner vibes.”

He’d huffed and kissed you back, and as you’d drifted into sleep you’d heard him say something along the lines of just going to have to find something tomorrow you like better, then.

You’d forgotten about it until the next evening, when he’d dropped a kiss on top of your head on the way to the kitchen and said “Do you want some popcorn, habibi?” When you’d looked up at him quizzically, he was grinning. “‘My love,’” he’d translated. “Arabic. No ‘pensioner vibes’ there, yeah?”

You’d grinned at him and said you supposed not, and the next morning you’d handed him a cup of tea and called him petit chou, and belatedly remembered that he spoke French well enough to know you’d just called him a little cabbage.

And from that point, it was on. You racked your brains for long-forgotten vocabulary words and pored over language dictionaries online, the authorized and unauthorized alike. After that first one, he refused to translate for you anymore: “go on, I want to see if you can find out for yourself,” he’d said. Most of them weren’t so hard, but he’d stumped you with nedjem, which turned out to be Ancient Egyptian (because of course it did) for sweetie.

In revenge, you’d resorted to something he couldn’t possibly spell just from hearing it. “Oh, that’s not playing fair!” he’d protested, and you were weak enough to give him a hint. Knowing where to start, and using his best attempts at phonetic spelling, he got there in the end, all the way to a chuisle mo chroí, Irish for pulse of my heart.

It became your ritual, each new name another star in your shared sky. Persian kharâbetam, I’m ruined for you, taking its place next to Brazilian Portuguese chuchuzinho, little squash, and Ojibwemowin niinimoshenh, sweetheart. You start secretly keeping a list so you don’t repeat yourself, filled with German and Russian and Igbo, liebling, solnyshko, obi’m, but your favorite so far is the Spanish media naranja, because it makes you think of you and Steven curled up together in bed, fitting into each other seamlessly like two halves of the same orange.

Some silly, some sweet, some passionate: you find yourself humbled before the infinite possibilities, marveling at just how many ways there are in the universe to tell someone that you love them.

One evening he comes up behind you while you’re making dinner, and wraps an arm around your waist, kissing you just behind your ear. He whispers your name, and something else, besides.

“Veux-tu m’épouser?”

It doesn’t sound like a pet name, with the soft, nearly tentative way he says it; it sounds like a question. Like an important question — the kind of question you’ll see written in tremulous hope all over his face and cupped gently in his other hand when you turn around to tell him in plain English yes, absolutely, a thousand times yes.

@juneknight @spacecowboyhotch (mod tags)

(pssst today’s my birthday so I wanted to post a little supremely self-indulgent fluff)

Title from here, of course. I’m gonna make y’all listen to my old lady music if it kills me.

[moonlight-prose]

KISS ME ONCE

a/n: i am so late with even starting this and i don't expect to finish, but i still wanted to contribute something. so this is the first fic for the moon knight bingo hosted by @moonknight-events. some of the prompts really captured my attention and i wanted to write what i could for them. i based this off yes the long long, long time, but some other jazz songs were played as i wrote. and honestly i'm obsessed with how it turned out. the divider is by the ever talented @saradika-graphics.

prompt used: butterflies

summary: dating steven grant came with its challenges. between being a superhero, sharing the body with a man you hardly knew, and his forgetfulness, you felt dizzy. so when your date goes awry, you take matters into your own hands.

word count: 1.7k+

pairing: marc spector x reader

warnings: not explicit, some soft fluff, romance, the blossoming of a relationship, flustered marc.

Candlelight flooded the darkened flat, flickering a soft orange glow along the walls and stacks of books. It would be romantic if the frustrated bangs of a man trying to fix it wasn’t the only sound that echoed back to you. The evening had started out as a date. An attempt between you and Steven to rejoin together after weeks apart. But life continually managed to get in the way.

Problems arose one after the other. But nevertheless this is where you found yourselves. Sitting at the small table, candles scattered throughout the space, and the soft sound of jazz coming from the record player in the corner. And just as he poured you a glass of red wine—the power went out.

“It’s alright. Really.”

“I’ve almost got it.” A very American voice called back to you.

Steven—the man you adored—had no clue what the fuck to do in a situation such as a this. The radiator should have been easy enough to turn back on, but by the sounds it seemed that there was nothing but difficulty. Which is how Marc—the man you barely spoke to—wound up crashing your date.

It’s not that you didn’t want to speak to him. Get to know him. You just rarely found yourself with the chance. Between him and Steven being whisked away consistently, you barely had time to speak to Steven. Yet there you were, in your best outfit, candlelight illuminating the flat, and wine poured into two separate glasses. And Marc was acting as if you weren’t there.

He was helping. You knew that, but there was nothing that could be done. At least not right now.

“Are you hungry?”

The question must have thrown him off guard; his head peeking out from the bottom of the radiator. His eyes quickly caught sight of you standing there—hope shimmering in your eyes. A look that was usually only reserved for Steven. A look he’d longed to see directed at him one day. But Marc—ever the stubborn man Steven made him out to be—looked away as fast as he started.

“No I’m alright honey.” His eyes flicked back to you briefly before settling on the mirror. A quick sigh, the tensing of his shoulders, and you knew enough.

He wanted this.

You couldn’t deny the endearment didn’t have an effect on you. In fact, it was quite surprising how your entire stomach erupted into a flurry of butterflies. They normally only arose when Steven was near. How he smiled so bright it nearly killed you, how his entire heart was worn like an accessory on his sleeve. He looked at you in awe. As if you were the very light of his life, but Marc faced you with hesitancy. With reluctance and the darkened shine of anguish in his brown eyes.

What he wanted, he could never have.

That’s what he believed. Or at least that’s what you came to understand in the short time you’d known about him. That he gave everything—all he could spare—to Steven. He sacrificed a normal life to the man who already had it; to the person he could never be.

It broke your heart in a way.

Why would he believe he could never have you too? That his life wouldn’t be intertwined with yours. Like it or not you chose Steven, and whether he knew it or not…you also chose Marc. Even if he wouldn’t allow himself to be chosen.

“We ordered dinner. Thankfully. I love Steven, but I don’t trust him in a kitchen.” Smiling, you moved to grab the container you had yet to take the food out of.

Marc flinched at the word love falling so freely from your mouth. He acted as if he’d never heard the word before. And maybe he hadn’t. Maybe someone never looked at him the way Steven looked at you. Although something told you that tonight might in fact change that. You never saw yourself falling for Steven—for anyone really—but Marc was a welcomed surprise.

“I don’t want to take Steven’s food.”

You shrugged. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind—”

“You don’t know Steven honey.”

There was that fucking word again. A rush of flutters overtook your stomach, your heart racing with the glint of annoyance in his eyes as he stared at the mirror behind you. You could practically see Steven trying to reason with him. Trying to keep Marc from ruining this night. If only the both of them could see in your mind—how you longed to get closer to Marc, to see if you could make him feel the same as you did now.

So you did.

He looked startled, stepping back a bit with his hand outstretched. The sight brought a smile to your lips.

“I want to have dinner with you Marc.”

“You’re on a date with Steven.” He sighed, eyebrows pulling together. Strange how it was so different to Steven’s frustration, so unlike the soft man you knew. “Lemme fix the radiator and you can have him back,” he muttered.

“Marc—”

“Just need a tool. Which is somewhere around here.”

“Wait—”

“And I’ll be—”

With a quick lunge, you grabbed hold of Marc’s (Steven’s) button down, pulling him close enough to feel his breath on your chin. He froze, hands hovering over your waist as you kept him there and fixed him with a look that made his heart thump loudly against his chest. That glimmer—the want���was suddenly on him. And he felt as if the breath would fly out of his lungs if he tried to make a move. He was afraid he’d scare you off.

“Eat with me.” You smiled sweet and honey like he could practically taste it on his tongue. “Don’t make me tie you to the chair just to join me.”

He huffed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed roughly. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Then you’ll stay?”

He nodded. “I’ll stay.”

“The food’s cold.” You sighed, twisting in his hold to catch a glimpse of the darkened street. “And it looks like the whole street is down.”

You never saw how his eyes lingered on your lips, how he drank you in with ease. His own tongue swiping along his bottom lip quickly, chest stuttering as he sucked in a breath. If there’s one thing Marc knew it was this—you were the most beautiful person he’d seen. He wasn’t sure how Steven found you, but suddenly he found himself thanking every god he knew of that he did.

Perhaps that’s why he relinquished control so often. Solely to keep you around. Marc ruined things. He knew this. He understood that whatever he touched came away broken, but Steven…he fixed things. He brought light to the darkness and made sure it burned bright—he saved what Marc destroyed. And Marc couldn’t destroy you.

He’d die before he broke the one thing that made everything good.

“I have an idea,” you said, joy lighting up the room.

“Hm?”

You smiled, digging into your purse for your phone, the small screen lighting up your face. It was harsh to look at after nothing but candlelight for an hour, but you managed. At least long enough to find a good playlist, a jazz one Steven made for you in the first week of dating. Songs you’d danced to time and time again. It sounded echoey and small in the flat, but you played it regardless, setting the phone on the table as you reached for Marc.

“Dance with me?”

He stuttered this time. “W-What?”

“Dance with me.”

“Baby I’m not much of a dancer…”

Sighing, you pulled him close, your hand sliding into his. “That’s okay.” You felt him shudder slightly at the way your hand slid on his shoulder, your body pressed against his. “I’m not either.”

Marc knew that was a lie. He’d caught glimpses of moments between you and Steven. The soft love you both shared. It made him ache in ways he couldn’t describe with words, and maybe this was going too far. Maybe Steven would be pissed when he finally came back, but Marc refused to feel sorry for this. He wouldn’t apologize for loving you. Because there was nothing to apologize for—not when you felt so right in his arms.

He managed to sway gently with you, his feet shuffling—albeit a bit clumsily—along the hardwood floor. You didn’t notice. At least if you did, you never said anything. The music hummed a soft tune behind you, the yellow glow of the candles casting shadows across your supple skin. And Marc felt the ground vanish from beneath him.

How could someone be as perfect as you?

“I’m thinking we should go to the Italian restaurant on Friday.”

Flutters overtook his entire body. “Friday sounds good.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder gently. As if you were entirely at ease, planning dates with him like this had happened before. Marc did what he could to be the same. This was normal. This life, this flat, this…relationship. It belonged to him in a way; he just hadn’t seen it.

“We can go walking afterwards,” you said, your words soft—your breath washing across his neck and causing goosebumps to form. “See the moon.”

He smiled. “I see too much of the moon.”

“Then we go during the day.” Marc wrapped his arm tighter around your waist, daring to rest his hand a bit lower. You shivered at the touch. “See the sun instead.”

Marc realized then why Steven loved you, why he fought to keep you in his life. You gave all of yourself in a way he might never be able to. You jumped in wholeheartedly, with a smile on your face. Consequences be damned. And like the lights finally came back on in the apartment, he realized why he loved you. Steven—the man meant to protect him for his entire life—was an exact reflection of you.

You wore your heart on your sleeve just as he did.

You loved fiercely, hoped endlessly, and gave your entire soul to the one you chose.

Whether he liked it or not…you chose him too. Even if he couldn’t give over all of himself. Yet.

“Okay,” he murmured, resting his head gently against yours. “We’ll see the sun.”

[lunaxamans]

Sooooo I've been wanting to share this since December!

Ignore the crappy quality of the pictures, the wrinkles in The Boys, and the unevenness -- as you can tell my kitten - Rumi Moon -- kept trying to help me take these pictures.

I wanted to share because one of the potential prizes for @moonknight-events MK Bingo are one of these sweatshirts. A girl decided she did not want to Wait to see if she won bingo -- she wanted to sit in bed wearing one of her husbands' sweatshirts WHILE she wrote said Bingo prompts -- SOPE she bought herself the Spector sweatshirt, got the Lockley sweatshirt for Christmas from her sister, AND got the Grant sweatshirt from her best friend for Christmas.

In case this is still one of the prizes for MK Bingo -- I wanted to share that these are completely customizable, you choose the name you want, and the color of the text and the fabric. They range in size all the way up to Unisex 5X which are what these are. As far as the sizing goes, some sweatshirt colors run bigger than others. I'm a big girl and Marc's which is in the color "Ash" is super nice and roomy. Steven's and Jake's are a little bit more snug even though all three of these are Unisex 5X. They DO have more than just grayscale colors -- originally I was gonna get Steven's in "Sand" but they were out of that color in my size. I saw a beautiful Jake version with black fabric and purplish pink text. If I'm not mistaken you can even use like a hex code color of your choice.

I will say -- as you can see -- Marc's text in black fades pretty quickly. I have worn him the most cause he's the most Comfy so more washes of his, but it was noticeable even after the first wash. So beware that there is some fading that happens.

They're all SUPER soft and cozy and warm. So IF you're thinking this is the prize you want come the end of the MK Event, I can vouch that they are WONDERFUL. And if you're like me and want to go ahead and buy yourself one -- or three -- feel free to hit me up with any questions you might have.

At this point, I don't even care if I win Bingo now, I'm in it purely for fun and for the great prompts I was given.

All my love!

@spacecowboyhotch && @juneknight feel free to reblog this and/or send me questions you might have about the ordering process for the winner in April!

-blows endless kisses-

[winniethewife]

Got one inside the pants, the other on your- (Marc Spector x F!reader)

Prompt: Dirty Talk

A/N; Happy Valentine��s day <3

Warning: Smut under the cut, Fingering, PinV, Unprotected sex, Good Girl, Babygirl, other petnames, choking

Words: 579

Marc already had his fingers deep inside her as he leaned her over the back of the couch, his mouth attached to her neck, her pants pulled down past her hips, his other hand palming his bulge as he fucks her with his fingers. He had just come home and needed her the second he saw her. He growls lowly into her skin as she moans. His thumb making circles on her clit as he moved her fingers in and out of her.

“Fuck baby, wet for me already?” His voice tickled her earlobe as he spoke to her, his voice dripping with desire. “That’s it babygirl, let me take care of you. Let me fuck you with just my fingers, then my cock, Fuck you sound so pretty. Keep moaning like that for me…good girl, that’s my good fucking girl.” She can’t help it, she loves it when he gets all needy for her, when he needs her so bad he can’t even be bothered to make it all the way inside the door before she’s bent over the nearest piece of furniture as he says all those horribly wonderful things. He pulls out his hand, licking her slick from that hand while using the other to pull his cock from his jeans, Not even bothering to pull his pants all the way off in desperation to get to her.

“M-Marc…” She whimpers his name as he looks into her eyes, he takes his fingers from his mouth and puts them against her lips, a single look telling her exactly what to do. She opens her mouth taking his fingers in her mouth and sucking on them. He smiles.

“Good girl.” He growls before thrusting into her, letting himself bottom out inside her, letting her adjust around him. He hisses softly. “Fuck baby, you’re so fucking tight, Just like that. Mgh. Yes… that’s it. Fuck. I’m gonna fuck you so good you aren’t gonna walk right for days. Fuck you so hard that you feel me inside you until morning. Right baby? Yeah, You love this cock, Need this cock. My cock, My girl.” He starts to move, at first a slow but steady pace, all the way out, all the way back in, again and again, but its only a moment before he’s rutting into her like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.  She moans on this fingers, Her nails digging into the couch, she feels the knot of pleasure wound tight in her lower stomach. She was so close, she ever so slightly bites down on his fingers. He groans as he fucks her harder and faster seeking his own release in her tight walls. He moves his hand from her mouth to around her neck, putting just enough pressure on her neck to delay the blood to her brain, and restrict her breathing slightly “Fuck baby you feel so damn good, Fuck I’m gonna fill you up baby. Ngh. Yes, fuck yes. That’s it baby cum with me baby, cum with me…there there there there…Fuck” Marc kept whispering every filthy idea that came up in his mind as he coated her insides with his spend, releasing the pressure on her neck as she clamped down on him, gasping for air as her body shakes with pleasure. He starts kissing her softly, the marks on her neck truning a deeper red as he gently kisses her, muttering into her.

“Such a good fucking girl…My girl…Mine”

Bingo Masterlist

Tag: @moonknight-events @juneknight @spacecowboyhotch @burymesanti @silver-night-m @justafandomgvrl

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Helpless

summary: those drugs your captors injected you with didn’t just knock you out, and now you need Steven’s help.

prompt: SEX POLLEN (w feelings teehee)

pairing: steven grant x fem!reader (brief mentions of marc spector)

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, sex pollen, dubcon, mentions of being kidnapped and drugged, masturbation (fem), unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, kissing, cuddling, pining friends to lovers

wc: 2k

disclaimer: as a mod/organizer of @moonknight-events, my participance in this event is purely for promotion and i will NOT be entered into the drawing for any prize.

SP BINGO 2024 | moonknight masterlist

The sound of Steven’s blood-curdling scream will forever haunt you. Even as you sit beside him now, even as he drives you far far away from your captors— as he drives past the hotel you two had been staying in for one outside of the city.

You shift in your seat, having a difficult time getting comfortable. Something inside you seems off, your skin crawling. You chalk it up to the memory of waking up to unwanted hands on your skin, of the skitter of rats near your feet, of being pushed into the corner of a room full of cobwebs. How could you feel comfortable after thinking you were dead? That you would be murdered, never seeing Steven again.

The thought has you glancing over at him once more, eyes tracing the slope of his nose.

Steven’s gaze meets yours quickly, “You alright, love?”

Better now that you’re sat next to him. Far from okay. But, things will get better. One day this’ll be a distant memory, one you can hardly remember the details of, except that Steven was there.

You give him a half-hearted smile, shrugging, “Little shaken up.”

Steven reaches out to grab your hand, squeezing it gently. Where the action would usually make your heart flutter, all you can do is notice the relief it gives you. Strange.

“I’m so sorry,” He murmurs earnestly, catching your attention. “Marc was right, I shouldn’t have let you come in with me.”

“I appreciate you believing that I can handle myself. And I can, just not against 4 men that are twice my size.”

—

It grows unbearable in the shower.

You start with scalding hot water, wanting to burn and scrub the night’s events off of you. A symbolic erasing, hopefully, your mind will follow suit. It isn’t long after you’re in the shower that your skin grows feverishly hot. That uncomfortable feeling from before turns into some nagging scratch that sits deep in your belly.

“Fuck,” You breathe heavily, reaching out to turn the nob. The water turns cold, icy cold and for a few seconds, you think you’ve found some relief. You run your soapy towel over the skin of your tummy, up and over your breasts when your breath catches.

That. That feels like true relief.

It throws you— being confusingly turned on after a night like tonight. But you’d woken up groggy, maybe they’d drugged you? Maybe your body was having some strange reaction to whatever substance they’d given to knock you out.

You push those thoughts away as you discard the towel in favor of rubbing your hands over your breasts once more, biting back a soft whine. Flesh on flesh, yeah that’s better. You tug and tease your nipples, leaning back against the tile as you practically tremble from the ecstasy that begins to course through your veins.

Your first peak comes rapidly and unexpectedly just from the teasing touches. The gnawing feeling inside you subsides and you take a deep breath, reaching to turn off the water. Before your hand meets the job you're overwhelmed by that need again. It's louder this time, more consuming as it takes up more of your focus than before.

You’re sent into an orgasm-chasing frenzy, spreading your legs and dipping your fingers between your folds to rub at your clit. Each high you pull from yourself ends with you shivering and shaking, your moans echoing off the walls. But it’s not enough and you grow impatient even as you attempt to satisfy yourself again and again.

There’s a knock at the door that makes you jump, and then Steven’s voice floats through the door, “You alright in there, honey?”

Steven.

You need him. Steven could help you, he could make you feel good. You barely have the mind to turn off the water as you step out of the shower, heading straight for the door and throwing it open.

Steven’s mouth drops open, eyes going wide as he takes in the sight of you completely bared to him. He’s dreamed about this one too many times— Marc has too, but this was the last thing he’d expected when he’d come to check on you. You take a step towards him and he realizes that he’s been standing in place, ogling you.

“I—oh—um, I’ll just,” He mumbles, turning away and covering his eyes for good measure. He starts to apologize, though you were the one to present yourself this way he feels guilty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

You reach for his shoulder, “No, Steven, touch me. Please, touch me, I need you.”

“Oh, gods above. I can’t just…on a night like tonight, where you’ve been made vulnerable,” He reasons, though he doesn’t move out of your hold.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me but Steven, I need you to help me. Please,” You whisper desperately, stepping forward to press your body against his.

Steven whimpers, shuddering when he feels the way you lean in to bury your nose in his curls and inhale his scent. How you’re affecting him so deeply when you’re the one begging is beyond him. He feels helpless— to you and your needs. Helpless to the feelings that have been blooming inside of him for you since the moment he and Marc had laid their eyes on you.

“Help you?” He murmurs, voice lying somewhere between caution and eagerness.

“Touch me. Take me. Make me cum on your cock,” You whisper into his ear, letting your hands run up and down his arms.

Steven gives out a rough laugh, “Honey are you—“

“Sure. I’m so sure, Steven. I’ve wanted this so long just please,” You ramble, not caring that you’re exposing the crush you’ve been nursing.

Steven ignores the way Marc tells him to resist— he can detect the jealousy, the longing in his alter’s urging. He ignores honor and dignity and manners, turning around to scoop you into his arms. His mouth is hungry as it skates across your skin to find one of your nipples. He sucks feverishly, one of his hands dipping to slip fingers between your folds. You keen at his touch, spreading your legs wide for him. It almost makes him dizzy, the way you’re giving him so much power. But you’ve trusted him with taking care of you and he refuses to mess this up.

“God, you’re so slick, darling. Did you touch yourself? It wasn’t enough?” He murmurs, guiding you back into the bathroom and against the wall.

“No. Made myself cum so many times,” You breathe, gripping his curls and pressing his face more firmly against your chest.

Steven gets the message, taking turns swirling his tongue around both your nipples. His hand doesn’t stop, teasing your clit in time with his mouth.

“Gotta take good care of you then, yeah?” He mumbles between flicking his tongue over your stiff bud.

You nod eagerly, chest heaving up into his mouth, “Yeah, with your cock Steven.”

“What are my mouth and fingers not good enough?” He teases, even as he uses his free hand to drop his boxers and sweats. They bunch around his knees, and he doesn’t bother to take them off fully— somehow growing just as needy and desperate as you are in a matter of minutes.

“Good enough and not enough.”

“Sounds a little impossible, doesn’it?” He asks with a soft chuckle.

You glare up at him, growing entirely too impatient. “Never took you as a tease, I always imagined I’d be Marc.”

“You’re certainly right, I just want you to be sure,” He admits as he hoists you up against the wall with ease, wrapping your legs around his hips.

You groan in frustration, pivoting your hips up greedily, “I am sure, and I’m also pretty sure I’ll spontaneously combust if you don’t fuck me right now.”

“Love a headstrong girl,” He whispers into your ear, rubbing the head of his cock against your clit in a move that makes you shiver. You open your mouth the beg him once more but then he’s pushing himself deep inside of you, spreading you open.

“Steven,” You mewl softly, mouthing at the curve of his jaw, eyes rolling back at the taste of his skin.

“I’ve got you, love, right here, gonna make you feel so so good,” He reassures you with gentle rocks of his hips. His head dips and then his mouth is on yours, the hunger inside of him much more apparent as he devours you.

This is scratching the itch, the sweet drag of his cock through your walls starts to alleviate that gnawing inside of you in a way your fingers couldn’t. You kiss him back with matched fervor, hands running up his arms and shoulders to knot in his curly hair, holding him to you so that you can take and take and take. You need every drop of him—every taste, every inch of him, every touch. You need…more.

“Harder.”

Steven tightens his grip on your hips, sinking more firmly onto his heels so he can increase the intensity of his thrusts. It still isn’t enough.

“Deeper,” You whine, tugging his head back by your hold on his curls.

His head falls back into your grasp, his speech soft and breathy, “Darling—“

“Fuck me, Steven. Like you mean it.”

With your spurring, Steven pins you more firmly against the wall with his chest, dropping one of his hands to your cunt so that he can open you up for him even more. His thrusts grow even harder as he reaches deeper inside you, the tip of his cock pressing against the spot inside of you that makes you a little breathless. He can feel the way this change makes you tighten around him, and he groans, pleasure blooming more urgently in his groin. He’s getting close and he can only hope that you are too.

“God, that’s fucking good,” You gasp, resting your head back against the wall as the room begins to spin.

“So good, love, so tight and sweet,” He agrees, kissing his way down the column of your throat. He marvels at how soft and supple your skin is against his lips. “Perfect little pussy, can’t believe you're letting me have it.”

“Make me soak your cock,” You beg, guiding his mouth to yours again, desperate to taste him again. His mouth is so soft, lips full that feel perfect against your own like the two of you were made to fit together like this.

If he wasn’t completely focused on you before, he is now. Every thought in his mind is on making you feel good, on giving you exactly what you need. He rubs your clt with his thumb this time, with firm but gentle pleasure, and you fall apart around him like it's your destiny. You still find yourself unsatisfied, needy for something but before you can say anything Steven cums, gritting his teeth as he continues to fuck you, making sure that his seed is nice and deep. It's only then, when you feel him filling you with warmth that a strange sense of peace washes over you. You’ve never felt more satiated in your life.

“Fucking hell,” He breathes, resting his forehead against yours.

“Thank you. That was— thank you,” You murmur, pressing another kiss to his lips.

Steven kisses you back eagerly, sure that this is it. That it’ll be the last time he gets to kiss and hold you like this, his last taste of your mouth. The last warmth of your smooth skin. He guides himself out of you and then lowers you both to the floor. He tries to let go of you and give you some space, but you get comfortable in his arms, pressing your cheek to his.

“Is this okay?” You ask tentatively, not meeting his gaze.

Steven brings you more firmly against him, dropping a tender kiss onto your forehead, “It's perfect.”

moonknight taglist: @pastanoodles11 , @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @stevengrcnt, @mccn-bcys, @whatthefishh, @silversprings-mp3, @simpforbritgents, @maisondenachtai @ninebluehearts, @rmoonstoner,  @later-gators12, @foreverinwanderlustt-blog, @aleeb, @eyelessfaces, @marc-spectorr, @missdictatorme, @toracainz

[mccn-bcys]

Je T'aime

prompt: Love Note pairing: steven grant + gn!reader summary: you've been the best thing to ever happen to steven. He loved doing so much cheesy love things with you, even writing little love notes and letters. warning: light angst, steven being a cutie, steven speaking a little french, fluff word count: 1.2 K author's note: this is my second work for the Moon Knight Bingo hosted by @moonknight-events. the bingo board will be at the bottom of my fics for it. This one is a little short, but it's sweet and I just love steven grant so I hope you all enjoy this! As always, if you like it, please, please, please reblog to share it with your friends! also i'm starting my tag list over so if you'd like to be tagged in future fics for specific characters or for this event or for all fics, tell me in my asks and I'll add you to the list!

Steven Grant has always been a romantic. It’s in his DNA, he’s convinced. He loves the idea of love, the idea of unashamedly showing and professing the love that you feel to the person you feel it for. He’s proud to admit that he has seen just about every rom-com out there. He never misses a new Hallmark movie – yes, he knows the acting isn’t good, and that they’re cheap and silly, but they’re reliable. Love always prevails in them.

Sure, there’s probably a reason that Steven has a romantic heart. If he had to guess, he’d probably say it comes from his relationship with his mother. I mean, Steven was born from Marc’s lack of love from his mother; Steven was there to see all the good times with Wendy, he got to experience all the love from his mother, while Marc took all the times she didn’t love. Perhaps Steven liked the idea of someone loving them unconditionally. Perhaps it was the very concept that someone could love them both, that one of them wouldn’t have to take the bad days, or the days that lacked love, because there wouldn’t be days that lacked love.

Perhaps that’s what made Steven fall in love with you so quickly. Because from the start, he knew you would love all of them, not just one part of them. Even if there were bad days, or hard days, you were still here, showing that you still loved them. It was mind-altering, especially for Marc. But for Steven, it meant the world.

Especially, because now he had someone to express all his love to, someone who appreciated all the ways Steven liked to show his love, no matter how cheesy or silly they were. You adored everything he did.

Steven knew you kept all his gifts. They were in a box in your closet. It was full of date receipts, jewelry, drawings, poems, and all other things he’d gifted you throughout your relationship. One thing that he could never find was all the love notes he left for you. You always say you love them, but he never sees them anywhere. And even though he knows you would never do such a thing, the bad part of his brain wonders if you throw them away, or if you tuck them away and forget about them.

That is until one day. You were in the shower while he was combing through your bookshelf, seeing if you had any new books for him to read. And there’s a book he doesn’t recognize. Have you always had this book? It looks almost like a binder, like a notebook that’s meant to pass as regular book. Should he open it? He supposes it couldn’t hurt. If you didn’t want anyone to read it, you wouldn’t leave it out. And even if he isn’t supposed to read it, he’ll take the blame for nosing around.

Pulling it from the shelf, he flips it open, seeing that there’s pages but they each have sheet protectors on them. Pulling out his glasses, he reads the first page, and he realizes what this is. Thumbing through the rest of the pages, he looks and sees the rest of the protected pages in the book.

His love notes.

You had all of them, sitting on your bookshelf, protected in this little book. Emotion wells in his eyes as he reads them over, feeling relief flood through him as he now knows you did like them, you kept all of them, and you kept them on your bookshelf for anyone and everyone to find it and read it.

“Took you long enough to find it,” your voice sounds from behind him, making him slam the book shut and whirl around, like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have.

“What?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t found that before now. Figured it would be the first thing you read when you started reading my books,” you chuckle, walking over to him, your wet hair framing your face as you’re wrapped in a towel. You must’ve used him soaps, he can smell it.

“What do you mean?”

“I left that book out for a while for you to find. On the table, the nightstand, almost everywhere. But you never mentioned it, so I figured you never looked at it. It figures that you’d find it as soon as I put it on the bookshelf.”

Steven didn’t really have any words, wasn’t sure what to say. He just looked down at the book, reading over the words that he had written to you.

“You kept them,” he says softly. It’s not really a question since he can clearly see that you did. But you answered anyways.

“Of course, I did.”

“Why?” he finds himself asking. Obviously, it was because you loved him. But he can’t keep himself from asking, as if the notion baffles him.

On some level it does baffle him. The letters themselves are silly, elementary. But still you kept them, even though anyone else would not have wanted to keep such childish things.

“Because you wrote them. You took the time to write down the way you felt. Because they’re from you,” you said like it was simple. Because, to you, it was simple. You loved Steven, so you wanted to keep every little thing he gave you.

He looked at you softly for a moment, just looking at you. What did he do to deserve someone like you?

“What?” you ask softly.

“Nothing, love, just… thinking about how lucky I am to have you.”

“Funny, I think that same thing every time I read those letters,” you chuckle, slipping your arms around his waist.

“Every time? What do you mean?”

“I read them a lot. Mostly at night before I go to sleep,” you admit.

“Really? Why?”

You looked at him with a curious glance, but you looked so patient and amused. “Because they’re from you. They make me feel loved and comforted. They make me think of you.”

Steven’s chest tightens with emotion. Slowly, he slips his glasses off his nose and puts them back in his shirt pocket, placing the book back on the shelf as he slips his arms around your towel covered body, and he just looks at you.

“Je t'aime plus que tout,” he whispers softly as he brushes a wet strand of hair from your face to behind your ear. His heart squeezes when he sees the way you smile brightly at him. He knows that you love when he speaks French, you’ve always found it romantic and beautiful.

“I love you too, Steven,” you murmur back, leaning in to kiss him softly, which he gladly returns. When you pull back you grin and give his ass a playful squeeze. “Now go take your shower so we can read together before we go to sleep.”

“You got it, love,” he smiles wide, giggling softly as he pulls away to walk to the bathroom.

It’s still steamy in the bathroom from your hot shower, the mirror clouded over with steam. Except for the spot wiped in the center of the mirror, where Steven’s face fits perfectly in, and the words that had been written in your handwriting and Steven realizes you had left him your own love note:

Steven, You Are So Beautiful, Inside And Out. Je T’aime.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tag list: @moonknight-events @toracainz @marc-spectorr @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight @luvpedropascal @missdictatorme

[midgardian-witch]

Lazy Mornings

You wake up with only Layla sharing your bed and decide to enjoy the time together.

Part of both my Loving You (Plural) series and one of my entries for the Moon Knight Bingo.

AO3 [MASTERLIST]

Body Worship - Moon Knight Bingo

tags: gn!reader | body worship | nipple play | cunnilingus | polyamory | the Moon Boys are mentioned but don't appear in this one | mainly me waxing poetically about how fucking gorgeous Layla is

ships: Layla El Faouly/Reader

tagged: @spacecowboyhotch @moonknight-events @juneknight @eyelessfaces

"I won't lie and say I am not happy about having you all to myself for once," Layla murmurs in between yawns. 

You snort and shake your head against your pillow. Layla just grins at you, happy to have made you laugh. She's not wrong though. It's become a rarity that you get to spend time with only one of your lovers nowadays. You love having all of them around and yet it's nice to have the focus of one of them solely on you for once, and to have your focus solely on one of them in return. 

Steven had to get up early for work and hates to wake either of you (even though you know Layla is a light sleeper and probably wakes up each time anyway) so instead you know you'll be greeted by a sweet little note on Gus' fish tank once you leave the bed. 

If you leave the bed. 

You cuddle closer to Layla, limbs entangled under the blankets, and kiss her cheek. She looks so beautiful in the morning light with the early sunlight filtering through the curtains. Her hair looks unbelievably soft and you can smell her shampoo from where you are pressed against her. And her eyes, gods you could stare into them forever, the sun making her dark brown eyes shine like molten gold. You're not surprised Taweret chose Layla as her Avatar, to you she might as well be a goddess herself. 

"Any plans for today? Seems like we got the flat to ourselves,” she comments, pulling you out of your reverie, “For the next few hours at least."

Layla pulls you deeper into her arms and your lips find the crook of her neck, placing feather-light kisses on her soft skin. 

"Can we just stay in bed for a bit?", you murmur against her neck. The only answer you get is a satisfied hum, your lover thoroughly enjoying your undivided attention and affection. 

You know she can feel you grin against her as your kisses slowly drift further from her neck down to her chest. You linger over her breastbone, your hands traveling over her sides, slowly inching upwards. 

Layla's delighted giggles turn into breathy moans as your fingers faintly brush her nipples. She wiggles against you, displeased by your teasing. She can feel you chuckle, the warm puffs of air making her skin tingle. 

"I'll make it worth your while," you continue as you slowly pull up the tank top she uses as a night shirt. Layla hums affirmingly and sits up so you can undress her more easily, tossing the blankets off of you in the process. With quick, eager motions you remove her top, her breasts now on full display. Your eyes travel over her body, taking in her uncovered skin like she is a work of art to be admired. 

Layla reaches out to you, her hand covering yours. "You know you can touch me, right? You did a great job with it just a minute ago." The impatience in her voice makes you feel giddy and you slowly raise her hand to your mouth. Your lips graze gently over the back of her hand before you lazily place gentle kisses all over it. "Why hurry? We have so much time," you counter as you turn her hand and continue placing kisses on her palm. 

Layla groans in frustration and you can see her trying to be subtle, rubbing her thighs together. Your soft touches seem to already be having an effect on her. "Do I have to beg? Is that it?" Your grin spreads even wider as you continue to pepper her wrist with feather-light kisses. With a thoughtful hum you let go of her hand. "I'm not going to say no to that. Although we should probably not tell the boys that I can make you beg so easily," you give her a wink before slowly crawling over her, "Can't have them get competitive or else none of us will ever leave this bed again." 

Layla's laughter dies in her throat as you lean down and wrap your lips around one of her nipples. An elated moan escapes her perfect lips, her hand that you were just covering with kisses grabbing onto your shoulder to keep you in place. 

You chuckle against her skin, lazily switching between swirling your tongue around the already hardened nipple and sucking on it. You're using one hand to hold you upright over Layla's half-naked body while you tease the neglected nipple with your other, gently rubbing and twisting it between your thumb and pointer finger. 

Layla makes no attempt to stifle her moans, her sighs of pleasure filling the room. The sound is music to your ears; it's been too long since you had Layla all to yourself so you were going to make the most of it. 

Once you've spent a good time paying attention to each nipple with both your mouth and fingers you lean back to admire your handiwork. Her nipples, erect and flushed from the continuous stimulation, all but beg you for more, to be teased and tasted and bitten. Layla looks up at you, glassy-eyed, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. She can't help squeezing her thighs together at your heated gaze, desperate for any friction against her cunt. 

"Tell me what you want," you coo seductively, "Tell me and I'll give it to you." In response Layla spreads her legs, wide enough for you to settle in between them. "Eat me out?" she offers, more a question than a demand. You hum quietly as you kneel between her legs, your hands traveling over her soft thighs, slowly inching closer towards her underwear. Your fingers skim the frilly lace (a beautiful gift from Marc), goosebumps forming in response to your touch. 

"I can do that," you reply. Bending forward, hands holding onto her thighs for support, you start to place teasing kisses over her stomach down towards her clothed cunt. She gasps and shifts under you, eagerly chasing your touch. Your lips linger on the line between skin and cloth, your eyes never leaving her face. 

Layla groans, clearly exasperated by your stalling. "You're such a tease. Worse than Jake, I swear," she tilts her hips up, trying to grind against your face but to no avail. You lean backwards with a smirk. "Don't let him hear that. He's pretty proud of being a little shit," you counter and give her a sly wink. She rolls her eyes with a snort. "Then don't try and compete with him for that," her lips twist into a smirk of her own. Tenderly she grabs your chin, slowly tilting your head up to look deep into your eyes. "Or do you want me to beg before I can get your mouth on me?" she asks again, raising an eyebrow. 

You grin like the cat who caught the canary. “Now, while I would love to hear that,” you croon as you slowly push down her underwear, unveiling her already slick pussy, “I had something else in mind.” With a little help from Layla you get her panties off of her and put them to the side. She spreads her legs invitingly and you lean down to kiss her mound. “Let me worship you,” you whisper against her skin before you swipe your tongue slowly between her folds. 

Layla gasps as your tongue draws lazy circles over her clit. You gather more of her slick on your tongue, savoring her taste, before wrapping your lips around her clit and sucking gently. Layla's hands try to find purchase, to draw you even closer into her, finally holding onto your shoulders in a tight grip. You giggle against her pussy, delighted by her eagerness. 

“Tell me how you want it, habibti . This is all for you,” you murmur lovingly. Before she can answer you give her clit another gentle suck and Layla curses under her breath. “Fuck, I don't know what's going to do me in first: your sweet-talking or your tongue on my clit,” she says breathlessly. Your smile turns into a smug grin. “Either way it's going to be my mouth that does it. So just relax and let me treat you like you deserve.”

It took you a while to be this bold with your affection, a little intimidated by how ridiculously gorgeous your partners are at first, but now it comes as easy to you as breathing. And to your knowledge your partners thoroughly enjoy that side of you too. 

“Finger me?” Layla asks as if you could tell her no. Slowly you slide one finger inside her, thrusting in and out at a leisurely pace before adding a second finger soon after. “‘s this good?” you ask, pulling your mouth away from her dripping cunt just enough for her to hear you clearly. Her walls clench around your fingers, urging you to keep going deeper. She nods quickly. “Stop talking and keep going or I swear I'll-” Layla gasps as you dive back down between her legs to devour her. You curl your fingers inside her cunt, searching for the spot that will make her see stars. When a strangled moan escapes her lips you know you found it. Your fingers and mouth work in tandem, guiding Layla higher and higher towards her peak. 

“Don't stop, please- oh fuck ”

Her thighs clamp down around your head, keeping you in place as her body trembles under your touch. Her walls tighten around your fingers as Layla comes undone. With your face buried in her pussy you can't see her face as she cums - to your great displeasure - but you feel her body tense with her orgasm and hear her high-pitched moans reverberate. 

Slowing your pace, you gently finger Layla through her orgasm. You apply gentle pressure to her clit with your tongue before switching to placing tender kisses over her mound instead, careful not to overstimulate her. Only once her breathing has calmed down and you feel her stop twitching around your fingers do you remove yourself from her cunt. 

Your lips and chin are soaked with her juices, as is your hand. With a satisfied smile you pull yourself up and take in the vision before you. Layla looks even more beautiful than before - if that is even possible. Her hair is a mess, some curls stick to her face while others frame her head like a halo. The rays of the rising sun reflect off of her now sweat-slick skin and give her an almost ethereal glow as she lays there between the crumpled sheets. 

She looks divine . 

“Get down here and cuddle with me,” Layla is beaming, arms outstretched towards you, beckoning, “I want to take care of you too.” You lay down next to her and as soon as you hit the mattress she is already pulling you into her embrace. “You don't have to,” you mumble as you nestle into her, “This was for you.” 

It's quiet as you lay there, limbs a tangled mess. The only sounds filling the air are your breathing and the beating of your hearts. 

“We should probably get up soon. Be productive or something,” you groan as you slowly try to get back up - to at least wash your hands and your face. Layla pulls you back down before you can even sit up straight. “I think,” she whispers into your ear seductively, “we can be plenty productive right here.” You laugh quietly and shake your head. 

“Why do I have the feeling that your definition of that word is very different from mine?”

“What do you mean? Don't you think a round two would be productive?”

Her lips trail down your neck, her teeth nipping at your skin teasingly. You gasp as her hands find their way under your pajamas. 

“Well, if you say it like that, who am I to argue?”

[asimplearchivist]

𝓑𝓻𝓾𝓲𝓼𝓮

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ marc doesn't like it when you get hurt, even by accident. pairing(s) ☽ marc spector/reader-centric | constellations!verse word count ☾ 1.4k a/n ☽ ⤏ my third entry for the moon knight bingo hosted by @juneknight and @spacecowboyhotch over at @moonknight-events. I will eventually crosspost this to the main fic for constellations on ao3 when it will best fit the chronological progression of the chapters. this takes place post-chapter iii. ⤏ reminding myself that it's okay to keep things short and sweet sometimes. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS ENTRY ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY ☽

You didn’t notice it until Marc’s thumb compressed the unexpectedly tender flesh just above the joint of your elbow, drawing a sharp yelp from your throat more from surprise than from pain. “Where did you pick that up?”

It was commonplace for you to shower with the boys after getting home from work for the evening, a habit started during one of Steven’s clingier stints months prior when you’d first begun to stay over at their apartment.

You shared that trait, occasionally wanting as much physical closeness with your significant other(s) as reasonably possible to disperse the nasty thoughts or melancholic feelings that would crop up in the back of your mind despite your best efforts. It helped significantly—to that you could attest. On the plus side, washing each other with gentle touches, indulging yourselves in amorous affections (those of which oftentimes got carried away to both of your benefit), and just having someone you fully trusted in such close proximity at your most vulnerable satisfied that once nagging loneliness that used to daily plague your greater consciousness into something far more manageable and docile. You had found your person (...people?), and you could rest assured that they would be there for you always—even at the times when you could scarcely summon the strength to raise your hands to wash your hair.

Marc had started to replicate that tendency soon after Steven’s initial timid request, claiming that conserving water saved money spent on utilities, but you knew better than that—you knew him better than that. You knew that he struggled to verbalize his needs and found it easier to disguise his self-determined ‘weaknesses’ under sensuality laced with practicality. He would often wait until you got ready to shower to join you. You figured that he suspected you knew his ‘accidental’ brushes and bumps and noticeably slow reach-arounds weren’t exactly accidental, but you decided not to comment upon it. You certainly didn’t want to dissuade one of the sole outlets of casual physicality he allowed himself outside of the bedroom.

So when you’d trudged into the apartment with takeout in hand that night, sleeves soaked in coffee because you’d bumped into one of the newbies while going to dump out the pot in the sink, Marc had immediately stood up from the couch to take the sacks. He’d tucked them into the microwave so he could reheat them later before escorting you straight to the bathroom. He’d lavished you the entire time, sensing without words that you were exhausted and didn’t have much energy to move.

“Oh,” you said, looking down as he released your arm and eyeing the tender place he’d spotted despite the poor lighting in the bathroom. You pressed it lightly with your fingertips, raising a brow—you hadn’t even noticed the faintest discoloration in your own skin, as it was barely visible. Your wondering at how he even saw it didn’t last long when you realized that he’d likely been decorated with hemorrhaging most of the time since he’d joined the military and could identify them easily. “I didn’t even…huh. I must’ve hit the countertop harder than I thought.”

Marc frowned, his furrowed brow lowered over his dark eyes as he scrutinized your expression. “You fell?”

“No,” you chuckled, shaking your head as you slipped under the shower’s stream to rinse off the suds he’d lathered over your back. “New guy wasn’t watching where he was going coming out of the kitchen and I bumped into him. I was trying not to spill the coffee and stumbled. Bang, funny bone tickled, and I still got it all over myself. It hurt like a bitch, but I didn’t think I hit it that hard.”

Marc hummed, eyes dropping to your elbow as he reached for your shampoo. “Tilt your head back, baby.”

It wasn’t until later, after you’d both gotten dressed and eaten and settled into bed, that he brought it back up. “...He didn’t push you, did he?”

You cracked your eyes open despite the apartment being just short of pitch black. You rolled over to face him, twisting in his arms, and eased back enough to squint at him in the dark. The faintest illumination of street lights peeking through the windows highlighted the edges of his face, but his expression was cloaked in shadow. His tone, however—low and stern as though afraid to break the hushed, relative silence drenching the apartment—was indication enough of his dour mood.

“No,” you said carefully. “It was an accident. He’s super tall and lanky so he doesn’t always remember to check if someone’s in front of him.”

Marc’s hand spread over the small of your back, fingertips slipping beneath the hem of the t-shirt you wore, its hem having ridden up from your movements. “If he does it again, or if he tries anything…”

“He’s just an oblivious, sleep-deprived college kid, honey. He’s not out to get me.”

He grunted, wedging his other arm beneath you to leverage you against his torso. He tucked his chin over the crown of your head, his heavy sigh tickling the nape of your neck. “Can never be too careful. I never know if…you know. Someone’s hunting for old vendettas.”

You slipped your hand over his side so you could stroking soothing circles between his shoulder blades. “I’ll let you know if he gives me any trouble. I promise.” You pressed a kiss to the skin available to you while constricted within his borderline smothering embrace, which just so happened to be his clavicle. “I appreciate the concern, I really do, but you can’t worry yourself to death about me all the time. I can handle myself well enough—I think you know that better than most.”

“...I do,” he conceded reluctantly. “But it’s my job to worry.”

“And it’s also your job to trust my judgment. Trapping yourself in an endless loop of worst case scenarios doesn’t give you any more control of our lives than you already have, Marc.”

“Are you really quoting our therapist right now?”

“If that’s what it takes to get through that thick ol’ noggin of yours, then yeah.” You tapped his temple gently with the knuckle of your free hand. “All three of you make me feel the safest I ever have in my life. I know I can depend on each of you for anything I could ever ask. I’ll never forget that you’ve got my back.” You tilted your head to kiss his neck, feeling his pulse jump against your lips. “And, just for the record, you have me, too.”

“We know.” He squeezed you closer, almost crushing the air from your lungs. “I just never want to see you hurt. Again.”

You would never forget the look on his face when he fronted following the fallout of Jake cleaning up the rest of Ammit’s cult. The newly-introduced alter had patched you up already before relinquishing the body to his host, but you may as well have been bedridden in the ICU with how fervently he checked every last inch of you to make sure you were still alive. You hadn’t addressed the tears welling in his distressed eyes, and you’d only managed to calm him down by asking him to hold you so you could sleep some more. The adrenaline rush had fatigued you for a solid week afterwards and he and Steven both had hovered like mother hens.

He’d cradled you so carefully, like porcelain, mirroring the position you were in now.

“We’re careful about things,” you reminded him, “and you’ve got the god of the moon on speed dial. You can relax, Marc. I’m not going anywhere.”

He did, just so. You felt some of the tension drain from his frame the longer you touched him. At some point, he cupped a hand around the back of your head and began to thumb little circles behind your ear. The motion, combined with his rhythmic breathing, lulled you into drowsiness more effectively than melatonin ever could.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you mumbled, fighting the cusp of sleep long enough to voice your thought, “you can give me some fun bruises.”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” Marc chuckled, a raspy rumble low in his chest. “Go to sleep, baby.”

You were never one to argue with a good idea like that.

[soft-girl-musings]

Stranger Danger

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

MK Spring Bingo entry #5

tags: reader is being stalked & responds in a way the author (a woman) has been taught to, emotional protector steven grant to the rescue, no use of y/n

wc: 1,138

fic summary: There's safety in numbers, do you want mine? (too soon?)

_____________________

“Oops, careful!”

Steven drops the last of his veggie wrap as a pair of kids rush past the bench he’d been hunched over. As he picks up the debris, he sees where one of them dropped their hat. He picks it up and half-jogs after them to return it.

“Gotta stay aware of our surroundings, yeah? Don’t want to lose our valuables.” The kid rolls their eyes but thanks him before running off to catch up with their friend.

“Oh my gosh, hi!”

Steven turns around to find you walking swiftly toward him, your smile too wide and tone too familiar.

He’s never seen you before.

“... hello,” he answers cautiously, taking one step back but failing to put much distance between the two of you. You practically cling to his side when you approach, takeaway cup and phone in hand.

“Sorry I’m late, but you are terrible at giving directions, mister.” Taking his arm, you begin to walk away from where you’d appeared.

This wouldn’t be the first time he’s forgotten conversations or plans. But as he racks his brain for something, anything tied to you in his memory, Steven notices the panic in your eyes and the slight waver in your voice.

Your hands shake a bit as you unlock your phone, passing your cup to him. He takes it, still bewildered but obedient. “I swear, the cafe never spells your name right. Let me make a note for next time.” You type swiftly, showing him the screen.

being followed, please pretend you're my boyfriend

Steven doesn’t know you.

But he nods, grasping your arm closer with his free hand and gives his most convincing grin. “Steven with a ‘V’, love.”

Relief instantly washes over your features and you relax a little. “Right. I’ll remember that… Steven.”

His smile grows before he remembers why you're holding onto him. “Do you want to sit down? Or go somewhere else, maybe I could call someone–”

“N-no, it’s fine. Let’s just sit. In plain sight,” you half-whisper. Steven nods, ushering you back to the bench in the middle of the busy square. When you sit, you don't let go of his arm.

Instead, you type into your phone as you speak. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?” Steven glaces at your notes app again.

do you see a man in a black jacket?

Steven scans the area, careful not to look too suspicious. Unlike the person he’s sure you’re referring to: a man in dark clothes, hands shoved into his pockets and rigid as he looks around with increasing urgency. His prominent frown grows when he sees Steven next to you.

“Yeah,” Steven says to both your questions. He looks away from the menacing figure, but sets your drink down and wraps his arm around you. He's glad to feel you settle into his side, still shaking but catching your breath.

“I take it you don’t know Mr. Black Jacket?”

“No, I do. Sort of. He’s a regular customer of mine,” you sigh. “One who doesn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Ah.” Steven keeps the guy in his periphery, splitting his focus between him and you. “Stalker, then?”

You freeze up at the term. “Yeah… he’s been pretty relentless.” 

You meet his eyes, which are swiftly filling with concern. “Thanks again for… this. I usually find a mom or another woman to walk with me until he leaves, but I saw you with those kids and just… panicked, I guess.”

“S’not a problem, love.” Steven knocks your foot with his, drawing a small smile from you. “Glad to help you feel safe.”

You laugh a little. You let your gaze drift over to the man in black, an uneasy pit growing in your stomach when you briefly make eye contact.

“He usually goes away after a while. I've told the police, but they can't do anything unless he… you know.” Your brow furrows as your grip loosens. “I don't mean to take over your afternoon, but would you mind waiting with me?”

In that moment, you could have asked Steven for the moon and he'd find a way to lasso it down for you. 

He squeezes your hand. “‘Course I can. Lovely day with lovely company, quite the ideal afternoon in my books.” 

Steven dives right into talking about anything and everything that comes to mind– which, as you learn, is a lot. Normally he'd hit a wall after a few minutes, either because he'd realized he had talked himself in circles, or his less-than-captive audience was visibly zoned out. But you hang on his every word, grateful to be arm in arm with a stranger describing the supposed viscosity of ancient Egyptian embalming oil. It's a welcome distraction. 

So distracting, in fact, that after an hour you realize the crowd has thinned around you. With Mr. Black Jacket nowhere in sight.

“I think he's gone,” you sigh with relief. Steven stands when you do, handing your things back.

“Patience won out in the end,” he beams. You see a brief look of panic cross his features.

“He doesn't know where you live, does he? Do you need an escort?” Steven's already taken a ludicrously long lunch break, but the inevitable lecture from Donna would be worth it if it meant ensuring your safety.

You shake your head. “I've been careful.” Extending your hand, you smile. “It was nice to meet you, Steven with a ‘V’.”

“Likewise, love.” He shakes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Another look crosses his face before he continues.

“Do you want my mobile number?” His words come out too fast; if you hadn't spent the past hour listening to him, you might have missed what he said. “Just in case you need someone to wait with you again, or keep an eye out. Would that be alright?” He shakes his head, stepping back. “'Matter of fact, forget I said anything, don't want you to think you've traded one creep for another–”

“Sure.”

Your simple answer stops him in his tracks. “Oh, you don’t have to–”

“No, it’s fine. Really. When you offered, it felt nice to know someone could be in my corner on this side of town.”

You take out a scrap of paper and a pen from your bag. “How about this: you write it down, and I’ll add your contact if I ever need my knight in shining armor again.”

Steven concedes, pen and paper in hand as he scribbles his number down (then asks for a new paper in case the first was too illegible).

When you leave, he watches until you turn the corner. He goes the opposite direction, back to the museum. Part of him hopes you’ll never have to reach out, for your own sake. The rest of him hopes you do anyway.

_____________________

A/N: oh steven, the man that you are. a couple more bingo prompts will be focused on this dude, which is excellent practice for some exciting projects down the line...

as always, ty for reading <3

event tags: @moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[rosellacwrites]

Sharp Dressed Man — Part 1

summary: every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man. Especially when he’s a superhero.

pairings: Steven Grant x AFAB!Reader (otherwise undescribed), implied Marc Spector x AFAB!Reader, implied Jake Lockley x AFAB!Reader

rating: M for this part (reader’s horny). Subsequent parts will be E like whoa.

warnings: suit kink, mention of violence (Moon Knight against the bad guys), did I mention suit kink because that’s really all this is, folks

word count: 794

author’s note: This was not written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events, and is not an official entry, but subsequent parts will be, so I’m reposting this now. (I’d have reblogged the original but I can’t fucking find it, thanks, Tumblr.) Happy reading!

dividers by @firefly-graphics

You know everything about your boys, by now. Or at least you thought you did. 

Mostly, these days, Jake’s the one handling the work for Khonshu, which is why you see him the least of the three. He’ll come home once in a while, wrecked and needing shelter, and you do your best to patch him up, heal his hurts and fill him with love and care before you have to send him back out into the gods’ world.

But sometimes, Khonshu’s business requires your other partners too. They do their best to keep their life with you strictly separate; you’ve never met Khonshu, and you’re content to have it stay that way. Marc and Steven won’t talk about their secret superhero lives much, not wanting you to worry about them, but you’ve occasionally caught a glimpse of Moon Knight on the news, doing his vigilante thing. 

His superhero suit is interesting, you think. The long cape seems impractical, but you can’t deny it’s got style, and the gleaming crescent blades he wields are alluringly forbidding. The one thing you don’t like is the mask; you’d like to be able to know for sure which one of your boys is on duty on a given evening. It never occurs to you that there might be a much simpler way to tell. 

You’re home alone one night when you learn the truth. The door to your flat creaks, and you hear the noise of the key in the lock; Marc, Steven, and Jake are all sticklers for making sure your door is locked at all times. They know what can happen, if it’s not. 

But the suit that strides through the door is not a suit you know. Head-to-toe in dazzling white, this suit is a — suit. Three pieces, all so perfectly fitted you think whoever’s supplying the supes these days must have trained on Savile Row: knife-creased trousers flowing like water over his long legs, shawl-collared waistcoat showcasing his broad shoulders and trim waist, and jacket in a rich textured brocade that invites your fingertips. You want, suddenly, to take your shirt off and find out what it feels like against your nipples. You want to learn it with your tongue. 

Even masked, you know your man, his brow adorned with a crescent moon. “Fuck me running,” you breathe, flattening your palms against his chest. “This is — incredible. What an upgrade.” You can’t stop touching him; every part of the suit has its own subtle texture, rich and opulent. He just stands, patient, letting you stroke him all over, and it’s not long before you’re pressing harder, feeling for the muscle underneath. 

And you still don’t know who’s wearing the suit, but given the fact that he hasn’t moved or spoken since you first put your hands on him, you’d put your money on Steven. He’s by far the most patient of your three. But then he waves a hand and his mask vanishes, and you’re proven right; Steven smiles at you. “Hello to you too, sweetheart. Rather dashing, innit?” 

Your eyes go wide, and you grab him by the tie and haul him in for a filthy, desperate kiss. His blood must be up from the fight still; he’s just as fierce as you, giving no quarter, devouring you as though starved for love. A messy night, then. Heavy wet heat has been gathering between your legs since you first touched him, and your cunt clenches when the cool leather of his glove meets your skin. 

“Bloody hell,” he pants, leaning his forehead against yours to catch his breath. “That’s quite the welcome home.” 

“Fuck, Steven,” you sigh. “Who let you out in public looking like that? Did the powers that be decide to improve stats by making everyone too horny to do crimes?” 

“I’ve always had this suit. Didn’t realize you’d only ever seen Marc’s monstrosity.” He laughs, flushing a little. “If I’d known you’d like it this much, I’d have worn it home ages ago.” 

“I never even knew you had two different suits.”

“Different fighting styles, love.” He displays a couple of strikes and parries, showing off for you, and the smooth, lethal grace of his body weakens your knees. He knows exactly what he’s doing right now, and he knows you know it too. 

“The mask part. Does it…” 

He seems to know what you’re asking, a wave of his hand restoring the mask and vanishing it again just as quickly. “You’re wondering if the rest comes off like that too, yeah?” At your glassy-eyed nod, he chuckles again. “Don’t think so. You’ll just have to take it off me the old-fashioned way.” 

You shake your head, and it’s his turn to look at you wide-eyed. 

“Leave it on.” 

to be continued…

[minigirl87]

Ice is the only hard thing

Steven Grant x Reader

Summary:-

You and Steven go ice skating and accidentally stimulate Steven, but let's be honest, it wouldn't take much to turn that sweetheart on. This is part of @moonknight-events Bingo. There is no description of the reader and no use of y/n.

I used Google translate for the French words

Quelle surprise - I'm surprised

Oui mon amor- yes my love

Salope- bitch.

Please enjoy and feel free to comment and reblog ❤️

Warnings:-

⚠️ 🔞 🤬 over 18s only

Male receiving oral, cum eating.

Word Count:- 1290

London in winter time is a mixture of miserable bitter weather and fun activities. You're currently standing at the bottom step of the National Art Gallery wait for Steven, who, as per usual, is running late. You let out a chuckle as Steven stumbles out from behind a Victorian Greco column for the Galleries stunning entrance, the lights dancing of the creamy stonework, making the building stand out against the velvety inky sky of evening.

Your warm breath making patterns in the cold air as you call his name Steven stops in front of you, looking exasperated and dishevelled. You smile up at him, taking in his rosy cheek, goofy smile, and sparkling dark eyes, a stray chocolate curl popping out of his Egyptian hieroglyphic patterned woolly hat.

“Hiya love” he says excitedly, kissing you and rubbing his nose against yours as he speaks. “You ready, my love?”

“Yep sweetheart. I’ve been looking forward to this all day.” You reply as you zip his navy jacket up and sort his scarf. “That’s better. Can’t have you freezing on me, sweetheart.” You giggle as Stevens face flushed “sorry love. Didn’t have time inside to get sorted because of Donna.”

"Quelle surprise," you mutter. Steven smiles happily “Oui mon amour” you both laugh “enough of Madame salope, she’s not spoiling our night sweetheart” Taking his hand you walk of towards Tottenham Court Road underground looking forward to your evening together.

Oyster cards at the ready you both head through the barriers to catch the tube to go to Waterloo train station. The Bakerloo line was busy commuters heading home, exasperated Christmas shoppers, and loved up couples like you and Steven heading to Hampton Court Palace. As if sensing your uncomfortableness of the busy carriage, Steven instinctively wraps his arm around you and kisses your nose, his scarf tickling your chin as you smile and snuggle against him.

At Waterloo Station, after checking your connection, the Christmassy smells moreishly filling both you and Stevens nostrils. “Come on love let’s get 2 hot chocolates for the train. You roll on the balls of your feet as you wait in line at Starbucks. Steven speaks calmly and with appreciation in his voice to the barista. As you both carry a almond milk praline hot chocolate away from the counter you hear the staff say how nice it was to deal with Steven and how they wished every customer could be like him Stevens cheeks flushing pinky red at the compliment.

“See you really are a sweet boy, sweetheart* taking his arm heading for the train to Hampton Court Palace. “I’m just me” he mumbles. Sitting on the train together, listening to Steven, listening to historical Christmas facts, and drinking the hot chocolate.

“you’re a walking encyclopaedia sweetheart. You really should go on who wants to be a millionaire” Steven, not listening, continues to chat and explain about Chanukah and his, Marc’s and Jakes beliefs. You listen carefully to him and get him to explain when you weren’t too sure. The 36 minutes of the journey pass quickly. You can listen to Steven talk for hours, loving his beautiful voice.

Once out of Hampton Court Station, the bitter air stings your face as you draw your scarf tightly around your neck. Standing at the start of the walk way up, you both look at the Palace light up and colourfully decorated as the noise of the ice skaters is hear hum of laughing, shouting and fun fill the air. You look up at Steven lovingly and squeeze his hand “Thank you for this sweetheart” The coloured lights twinkle and fade against his face and eyes, and you share a sweet and tender kiss. “anything for you love, now let’s get our skates on literally” he chuckles as you roll your eyes.

Having collected 2 pairs of ice skates you help each other to put them on as Christmas music adds to atmosphere listening happily and not paying attention as you lace up Stevens skate you unknowingly pulled him forward slightly and as you moved to stand up your nose brushes against his clothed cock and Stevens eyes flutter and a soft whimper escapes his velvety plush lips. “You ok, sweetheart?” his eyes snap open, and a look of embarrassment covers his handsome features “no love, all hunky dory” as they kiss his lips, the wetness glistening in the Christmassy lights.

You raise an eyebrow but shake it off, giggling as you walk like bambi onto the rink, grabbing onto the side as you almost fall flat. Steven follows suit, but he’s as graceful as a Swan. Soon you’re both moving in sync around the ice having fun. Hand in hand, you circle around, and, trying to be smart, you decide to try spinning, and as quick as you try, you fall on your back side. As ever your knight in shining armour Steven rushes to pick you up and the angle he’s at means your cheek brushes against his cock, his hard cock.

“Have you been hard this whole time sweetheart” licking your lips. Steven swallows hard “yeah pretty much love”

Standing up and looking at him with a soft smirk. “come with me, my love.” Skating to the edge of the rink and leaving to change your skates to your boots hurriedly with Steven and handing them back to the woman at the counter. You grab and pull Steven away and walk down a gravel path, and push him into some trees and shrubbery. The darkness engulfing you both.

Steven stammers “what you doing, love?” as you unbuckle his belt and undo his jeans pulling his hard weeping cock out his boxers giving his shaft a few strokes with left pointer and middle on top and thumb under the shaft giving just the right amount of pressure for Stevens eyes to clamp shut and his body to shiver.

“All it took was for me to accidentally rub my nose against your clothed cock and you get stimulated sweetheart?” Smirking up at him as he nods biting his lip. “have you been aching to cum my love?” Steven jerks his cock further into your fist. A soft whimper leaves his lips “please love, don’t torture me more than I already am. Please”

You kiss the head, swirling your tongue around him, tasting him, letting out a satisfied moan around him. As you start bobbing your head you feel his hand grab your hair as he starts moving you faster against him his thrusts matching as the fucks your mouth, grunting as he stops moving holding you in place as he cums covering your throat with his warm creamy seed your nostrils filled with his musky scent it still amazes you how each of them taste and smell different. You run your hand down his softening cock squeezing the last drops in your mouth before swallowing as you then tuck him back in and fastening him up.

Steven breathes heavily against the tree he’s leaning on as you stand up. He smiles and leans into you licking a dribble of his cum from the side of your mouth swallowing as he kisses you.

“That was amazing love” his cheeks all rosy as you adjust yourself, taking his hand and walking back onto the gravel path to walk to the exit and start your journey home.

“anything for you, my love, I think I should make this a yearly tradition from now?” You squeezing his hand “definitely my love. We will.” As you get to Hampton Court Station, Steven looks like he’s concentrating, which means he’s talking to Marc and Jake. “Um love! Marc and Jake want to know when it’s there turn?.”

@melodygatesauthor @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @my-secret-shame @missscarlettangel @missdictatorme @jake-g-lockley @steven-grants-world @romanarose @campingwiththecharmings @writingforcurrentobsessions2 @welcometostayingawake @novanitee @micheleamidalajedi @annautumnsoul @guruan-is-not-here @ivystoryweaver @whirlybirbs @whatthefishh @lonely-dark-moon @missscarlettangel @missdictatorme @lonelyisamyw-0love @madlittlecriminal @midgardian-witch @saturn-rings-writes @madlittlecriminal @gigachadcowboy @yeetus-thyboomer @draggolblackthorn @he-burnt-my-shake @musicsavedme98 @mess-of-fandom @hon3yboy @ominoose @jayke0 @theaussiedragon @reallyrallyauthor @moonknight-events

Banners and deviders by @saradika thank you❤️

[moonknight-events]

Congratulations to the randomly selected winner of this bingo event: @reallyrallyauthor!

Each author received an entry for each bingo completed, and a winner was selected via random number generator. Thank you so much to everyone who participated! We had an excellent turnout! 🤍

A&C

[winniethewife]

Hush-hush, stand there and don't you say a word (Steven Grant x F!reader)

Prompt: sex pollen

Warning: Dub-con, Smut under the cut, love marks, PinV sex, rough sex, drugged, overstimulation, dumbification, degregation

Minors DNI

Words: 507

Steven stumbles into the door of her flat, his eyes glazed over as he searches for her, his mind fuzzy from the weird substance he encountered while out the night before as Mr. Knight. The Powdery substance his foe had thrown in his face made him feel, odd, and all he could think about is her. He needed her…now His half lidded gaze finally finds her sitting on the end of her bed half-dressed getting ready for her day. She looks up to see him, his suit obviously roughed up, his hair a mess.

“Darling what happened to you?” She stands up quickly and closes the distance, her eyes full of concern and her hands gently on his shoulders. He scent is intoxicating he feels his arousal heighten. He grabs her tight around the waist and shoves her down on the bed.

“S’ Sorry Love, C-ant…gotta…Need you. Now.” He says his speech slurred as his hands roamed her body. She was surprised. Steven was hardly ever like this, never so demanding.

“Steven, what has gotten-Oh gods” She groans as his mouth attacks her neck, sucking and dragging his teeth along her sensitive skin. His body pressed against her, pinning her down as he grinds his hips against hers, seeking that glorious friction. “F-fuck Steven…” She groans as he takes and takes. His hands roaming her body tearing her clothes off her body, nothing stopping him. He yanks down his pants letting his rigid cock spring from its confines, he’s so focused, so in need he just keeps her hands pinned above her head as he rubs his length against her thigh.

“That’s it, lemme, lemme use you. I need this, Need you. So good f’me. So fuckin’ good.” He whimpers and whines as he presses against her, Steven thrusts against her again and again before finally managing a way in. The sting of him stretching her open causes her to clench her fists and a soft gasp to escape her lips.

“Steven, please.” She pleads with him, hoping he would be gentler. But her soft cry goes unheard as he picks up the pace, slotting his lips over her in an attempt to keep her quiet, his hips moving faster, chasing his release like its life or death. He licks into her mouth and growls softly, he needs this, needs it bad, and he needs it now.  His movements grow sloppy as he moves faster getting closer and closer to his release. He pulls his lips away and an animalistic sound comes ripping from his throat as he looks into her eyes, his eyes dark and filled with lust as he takes what he needs, painting her insides again and again. This goes on and on, she isn’t at all sure what caused sweet Steven to loose himself but as she reaches her own climax again and again her mind goes blank, so overstimulated she can’t even think. And it feels…oh so good.

“Shhh…atta girl..so good, such a good little slut. My little… fuck toy…that right…you’re…you’re mine”

Bingo Masterlist

Tag: @moonknight-events @juneknight @spacecowboyhotch

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Blossoms & Whiskers

prompt: painting

pairing: jake lockley x f!reader

contents: anxiety, a couple kisses, avoidant love confessions

wc: 1.1k

an: the first of hopefully many promotional fics for the @moonknight-events’ bingo @juneknight & i have going on right now. DISCLAIMER: as a event runner i will not be entered in the drawing for prizes. this is promotional only.

SP BINGO 2024 | moonknight masterlist

As soon as you enter the flat you know who’s fronting. There’s the faint smell of paint wafting through the space and the covered canvas that Jake keeps easeled in the living room is gone. The window to the fire escape is open and there’s a mason jar full of murky water in your view. His hand appears, dipping and swirling the brush.

“Jake?” You yell as you kick off your shoes and hang up your light jacket.

“Out here. I’ll be in in 20,” He calls back distractedly through the window, hand disappearing.

You’d never seen Jake paint, it was something he’d picked up in the last few months and something preferred to do on his own, like many other things in his life. But, you always like to imagine the expression on his face. Brown eyes under a furrowed brow, intense and scrutinizing as always. His nose scrunched in concentration, the tip of tongue sticking out the corner of his full mouth like it does when the two of you play Jenga. The lines he paints are as sharp and precise as the lines of his body.

You peg him for a structured modernist, dependent on clear contrast and definite shapes. One day you hope to no longer guess, you hope that he’ll share even the smallest bit of his art with you.

You decide to take a quick shower and put on a kettle for some tea. By the time he’s slinking through the window carefully with the canvas, you’re curled up on the couch with a book. His eyes linger on you, enjoying how incredibly cozy you look.

“Took longer than expected,” He explains as he sets the painting back on the easel, turning it away from you.

You don't look up when you respond, “It's alright, honey. Cover it up and come snuggle.”

Jake is quiet for a handful of moments, unmoving. Finally he says, “It's finished.”

Your eyes freeze on the page, but you don’t move. Your interest in piqued. “Oh?”

“It’s for you. I’d like you to see it.”

“Are you sure?” You ask gently.

“I’m sure. Always sure about you,” He adds his voice is still quiet, but firm.

You grin, throwing your book on the floor as you stand, uncaring about what page you were on. Jake was sharing this with you. For a moment you wonder if he’s shared this with Marc or Steven at all– they’d mentioned giving his privacy. But if he was sharing this with you, certainly he’d shared it with them.

“Eyes closed,” He instructs, and you quickly follow suit. “Good girl.”

With your eyes covered, you can hear your own breath more clearly, hear the quiet drag of the easel against the wood floor. Hear his quiet, even steps.

His hands come to rest on your waist, and you feel his mouth brush the shell of your ear as he whispers. “Open for me.”

You open your eyes to rows upon rows of your favorite flower. The sun hangs low in the sky, just beginning to dip below the horizon, a few clouds dotting around. It’s much brighter than you ever imagined. Jake is a conglomerate of neutrals and darks, leather and basics. To see so much color, such an obvious lightness from his own hands stuns you. As you take more in, you see a black cat frolicking through the stems, batting at one of the flowers. Its eyes shine mischievously.

It’s your turn to fall quiet, your eyes whisking over the canvas time and time again, drinking in all you can.

“Don’t comment too quickly,” He says dryly, his hands squeezing your hips.

“Oh, Jake, its beautiful,” You breathe softly, taking a small step forward to examine it in further detail, wanting to see each and every stroke.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, that comfortable warmth that you bring to his chest multiplying tenfold. “You think so?” He asks, trying to sound noncommittal.

“I know so. Is this cat supposed to be ours?” You point to it, grinning up at him. He’d mentioned his want for cat a few times, but it wouldn’t be a possibility until the lease was up so that you all could move to a pet friendly place.

Jake hesitates for a moment, his eyes flickering to you before they return to the canvas. Jake was the last of the boys to come around. Your relationship is the newest, and though it is no less sweet, no less passionate sometimes he struggles to be open with you. You’re patient, knowing that every piece of the man standing beside you is worth waiting for.

“It's supposed to be me,” He admits quietly.

“You?”

“The cat is me, and everything else…is you.”

“Me?”

He grows quiet again, trying to figure out what to say. He so desperately wants you to understand. You gaze up at him, watching as he mulls things over, gathering up the words to tell you what this all means to him. What you mean to him.

“Its me, basking in everything that is you. You love the sunset, you love pointing out shapes in the clouds. You love these flowers. There’s more there, more intention that I could explain. But I hope that one day, the cat, that you’ll—“ He stops, realizing that he’d got too carried away. He was about to show all his cards.

You raise a hand to cup his cheek tenderly, “I do. I do already, Jake. It’s easy.”

His gaze grows more intense as he studies you, searching for any dishonesty. There’s not a drop in your eyes. “Me too.”

Jake didn’t know it could be this easy. Sure neither of you have said the words outright, but he can feel it in the way you look at him right now. You lean in, closing the gap between you to press a soft kiss to his mouth before, one he gets lost in. And when you pull away, you simply turn back to the painting. Your hands reach out, fingers wiggling and his hand darts out, grasping yours.

“It’s still wet,” He reminds you, squeezing your hand gently before he lets it go.

“Right, sorry,” You murmur sheepishly.

All of this has you feeling a little shy— held but with hands that are afraid you’ll break. You could ask him to say it, you could say it yourself but you know that things are the slowest with him. Sometimes you have to treat him like the cat he’s painted. He’ll spook easily, retreating into solitude.

You tuck the idea of asking for more in your back pocket. Another time. Instead you ask, “So…where are we hanging it?”

Jake relaxes. He knows your thinking face, could see you weighing the pros and cons. It feels good to know how you feel about him and even better to know how well you know him.

He drops a kiss on your forehead before moving towards the fireplace. “I was thinkin’ here.”

“I’ll go get those sticky strip thingies,” You say, marching towards the closer that holds everything from spare linens, holiday decorations and yes— sticky strip thingies.

“Command strips,” Jake corrects you, snorting softly under his breath.

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[mccn-bcys]

The Old Oak

pairing: jake lockley x gn!reader prompt: tree house summary: the old tree house in your backyard was the perfect place to make a friend, but will it be the perfect place to get him back? warning: jake comes with his own warning, but soft jake, light angst, hints at DID, hints at abuse, happy ending because I'm a sucker and jakey deserves it, brief mention of family member death. word count: 2.4 K author's note: this is my first entry for the MK Spring Bingo and I'm actually really happy with how it's turned out. soft jake is precious to me and i feel like everyone should get to experience it. anyways, this fic is actually super sweet so i hope you all enjoy!

You didn't want to be here. This place was full of people you didn't want to see or talk to, people you haven't seen in years, and people you see every year. Some people have nothing interesting going on in their lives so they tell the same stories to you every year.

The only reason you come is to please your mother. Ever since the death of your grandmother, who used to head the family function, your mother has taken over it, and every year she asks you to attend. Somehow it helps her nerves.

So you do your rounds, talking to various family members, updating them on the happenings in your life, hearing their updates on theirs, and talking about anything and nothing at all.

However, there's something about this reunion that's different. Your mother has been a little giddy, nagging you about how you look, asking you from time to time if everyone is here. It's odd, she's normally not so worried about such things. You wonder what could've gotten into her.

And then you see it. Or rather, him.

Jake Lockley.

"Mom, why is he here, he's not family," you whisper to your mother, pulling her aside.

"He's in town. I ran into him at the supermarket yesterday and told him to swing by. It's not like he's a stranger. He used to come to every reunion with you."

"Yeah, when we were kids. Mom, I haven't talked to him since high school," you try reasoning with her, wondering how she wasn't seeing what the issue was.

"I never understood that, anyways. Why did you two drift apart?"

Maybe because you had a raging crush on him in high school that couldn't face him afterwards? Or because he moved off without a warning or telling you where he was going or why?

"Because people drift apart sometimes," you answer quickly, glancing over at him where he seems to catch up with some old family members of yours.

This fucking guy. You can't believe him. The guy disappears for years after graduation and then shows up to your family reunion with no warning, acting like no time has passed.

"Well, maybe he wants to patch things up," she shrugs, laying out some more plates.

"Maybe he felt like he couldn't tell you no," you counter.

"Maybe you should go talk to him and find out."

"I can't just go over to him and-"

You're cut off by the sound of your own name. It's soft but you know the voice that said it. You can picture the way his mouth moves as it falls right off his tongue. Fuck.

You turn around and sure enough, there he is. Jake Lockley. The man that's been giving you heart palpitations since the ninth grade. How did he get prettier?

"Jake. Hi," is all you can manage to say.

"Hi," he smiles. "It's been a while."

"It has." Have you completely forgotten how to talk to him?

"Wanna take a walk with me?" he asks. And before you can stop yourself, you find yourself walking down the sidewalk with him.

It's quiet as the two of you walk down the street, neither of you really knowing what to say or where to start. His hands are stuffed in his pockets as he walks next to you, looking down at the concrete. 

“So you're in town?” you ask quietly, looking over at him, taking the leap and trying to talk first.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” is all he responds with.

“May I ask why?” you prod.

“Yeah. Um… I wanted to see if you were still here,” he answers, his cheeks turning a little red as he kicks a rock.

You weren't expecting that answer. 

“Really?”

“Yeah. I realized I never properly said goodbye and I wanted to apologize. I just… We thought it'd be easier,” Jake admits, making you stop in your tracks. When he notices you're not walking next to him anymore, he stops and turns and looks at you.

“How could it have been easier, Jake? I was worried,” you ask incredulously, looking at him like he'd lost his mind. “You didn't even tell me you were planning on leaving.”

He looks around you. Clearly, this was not something he wanted to cause a scene about—not that you were trying to. 

“Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Jake asks. You know he's not trying to deflect, he's always been open with you. He just doesn't like being open in public. 

“Wanna go to the tree house?” you offer.

“That thing’s still standing?” He looks at you with wide eyes, clearly shocked. You chuckle as you nod.

“C'mon,” you nod your head and head back down the street to your house, where you slip into the backyard and to the old oak tree in the back corner where your father had built a treehouse for you and Jake. Neither of you have been inside it since middle school. Well, you'd been in it a few times since Jake had left, for sentimental reasons, but only a few times. Mostly just to clean the leaves and stuff out of it. 

Now, the two of you stand beneath it, looking up at it.

“After you,” you gesture to the ladder for him to climb up first, before he starts shaking his head quickly.

“No, please, you first, I insist!” He says, making you snicker and shake your head as you start to climb up the ladder. When you look back down, you see him still at the bottom, one foot on the first step, glancing up hesitantly. His eyes widen a little, like he was caught red handed when he meets your eyes. He's so cute when he's embarrassed. 

“You comin’, Jakey?” you ask, your voice teasing as you use the nickname you had used when you were like ten.

“Don't me call that,” he rolls his eyes as he starts to slowly climb up the ladder until he's inside the tree house, sitting opposite of you.

“Why not? Too big and tough for it?” you continue to tease him. 

“No, because I'm not ten years old anymore,” he answers with a raised eyebrow. “I can't believe this thing isn't falling apart by now.”

“Well they tend to stay together when you keep up the maintenance,” you shrug, going to sit in the corner by the window, your favorite spot as a child.

“Who's kept up the maintenance?”

“Me,” you raise a challenging brow at him, almost daring him to keep bugging you about it. “Now…to the topic at hand.”

His natural smile, that he always seems to have when you're around, falters when you change the subject, nodding as he scoots over to his window on the opposite side of the treehouse. The window where he'd keep guard if any “enemies” (aka adults) were coming.

“Right… Look, I should've told you I was leaving. I'm sorry I didn't, I just…” he sighs, trailing off as he looks out the window.

“You just what?”

“You would have asked me to stay…And I would have listened to you,” he admits quietly, watching your family as they mull about inside the house.

“Why is that a bad thing?” You ask him softly. 

“Because I couldn't stay. I had to leave. To keep us safe.”

“Us?” you ask, heart skipping. Was he protecting what could have been between you? But you see him point to his temple as he looks back at you. Ah, us. His alters and himself.

“You know what life was like for us. I had to get us out of there,” he says simply.

“I would've understood, Jake.” 

Jake just stays quiet, dark brown eyes still looking out the window. He knows you would’ve understood. But that’s part of the problem isn’t it? That no matter what he does, even if he has wronged you, you seem to understand, as if you’ve forgiven him. He doesn’t deserve it, does he? Your forgiveness, your kindness. You’ve always been too good of a friend to him. It’s why he tried to stay away, because he knew you’d gladly welcome him back like this. 

“So you came all the way back to apologize?” you ask, realizing he had no intention of responding.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to leave again?”

He went quiet again. You weren’t sure if that meant yes or no. So you wait to see if he responds.

“Do you want me to leave again?” he finally says quietly.

“No. My best friend just came home, I’m in no rush to lose him again. But I understand if you do,” you admit softly.

“How do you always understand?” he asks, turning to you, his brows furrowed, confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“Every time I leave or come to you with some shit excuse for how I’ve been acting, you always understand. When I told you there were other people inside my head, you understood. When I would ask to crash at your place at random times in the night, covered in bruises, you never asked for an explanation, you just understood. When I left town after graduation without ever telling you a single thing, you understood. How do you always understand?” His voice sounds almost pleading, his eyes trying to find an explanation written on your face.

“I don’t know…I just do. Because you’re my best friend. I’ve never needed an explanation from you. I just trusted you. You never did anything without reason. I understand because I know that life isn’t perfect and I certainly can’t be perfect, so how could I expect you to be as well?” you admit, the words coming to you easier than you thought they would. “Because understanding you has always come easy to me. You could say nothing at all and I’d understand what you mean. You’re like…”

“Like what?” Jake asks when you trail off. He catches the sight of your pink cheeks in the sunlight. For a moment, he allows himself to think about how pretty you are. Though, he’s always thought you were pretty. For a moment, his silly little heart hopes you say what he wants you to say, what he wanted to say before he left.

“You’re like… my soulmate,” you say softly. “I know it sounds silly and childish, but it’s true. We’ve gone through so much together and we always have each other, even after being separated for years. You’re my soulmate, Jake, and I-”

“I love you,” he rushes to say before you can even think of the words. You stop speaking, having been caught off guard, for many reasons. 

For one, you never expected him to be the first one to say those three words. You always thought you’d have to be the one to say them. Secondly, you never thought he’d say those words to you. You never could have imagined your best friend feeling the same way as you. And yet, here he was, saying them. Before you and to you. This has to be a dream. 

“Lo siento,” he starts to say, his eyes a little panicked. “I didn’t mean to say it. I just- I thought that’s where you were going so I thought I’d say it. Mira, don’t feel obligated to say it back, I just-”

“I love you, too,” you cut off his anxious rambling. He stares at you a moment like you’ve grown a second head. “I’m not just saying it because you said, either. Jake, I’ve loved you since high school. I wanted to tell you then, but I was scared, and then I went to tell you and you were-”

“Gone. Fuck…” he breathes, looking down as he seems to mull this over. “I think I had to leave to realize it myself. I missed you, almost came home so many times, I kept wondering why I felt like something was missing. Why some days I felt like I couldn’t breathe suddenly whenever I wanted to speak to you or see you. One day, it hit me: I loved you, and missed you.”

You almost can’t believe it. That he was admitting this to you. He was explaining himself, and you knew it wasn’t because he felt like he had to. It was because he wanted to. And you weren’t even sure how to express what you felt other than leaning across the space and taking his face in your hands and kissing him.

And boy, did it feel right. His pink lips, thought you’d often caught yourself staring at, fit perfectly against yours. They were soft, and he tasted like…raspberries? He must’ve snuck some when he got here. But he seemed frozen, his lips weren’t moving against yours. Fuck, did you cross a line? He might not have been ready for that. And just as you start to pull away, his lips chase yours, taking them back between his own, hungry to keep your sweet lips against his. He’d just gotten his first taste of the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, and he sure as hell wasn’t letting it leave his lips anytime soon. 

The way you two seemed to move together, in sync with each other, was electrifying. Jake cups one of your cheeks in his calloused hand, his other hand slipping behind your back to pull you closer to him, the small space of the tree house practically forcing you into his lap – not that you minded. 

When you two finally part, it’s not because you want to. It’s because you have to. Because you both need air to breathe. So, you sit in his lap, nose nuzzled together as you both catch your breath, looking at each other. 

“Why didn’t we do that sooner?” you breathe with a soft giggle.

“Because then it wouldn’t have been as sweet as that was,” he points out with a smile, leaning in to give your lips a soft peck.

“Well, I suppose you have a point, there,” you smile wide, looking into those eyes that melt into chocolate when the sun beams hit them just right. 

“Course I do,” he grins, kissing you again, losing himself against your lips. And you’re just as bad, falling even deeper in love with him every second you’re in his arms. It feels like a dream come true. 

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips.

“Te amo,” he whispers back. 

And so you sit, basking in each other’s presence, finally in the arms of your best friend again, your soulmate, your lover. And it seems only fitting that the place you finally become lovers is the same place where you decided to become friends:

In the tree house in the old oak tree in your backyard. 

______________________________________________________________

here's my bingo card. I figured it'd look better down here!

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