my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

JFIRIW8IFIRIDKDOWJDJD AHHHH MY HEART!!!! THEY WAY YOU WRITE STEVEN IS JUST PERFECTION!!!!! BEAUTIFUL!!!!

Proper Date

summary: steven gains some knowledge about how he and reader met…and some about himself.

pairing: gn!reader x steven grant, implied gn!reader x marc spector

contents: reader and steven’s first kiss, internalized self-doubt (steven), discussion of DID, fluff

an: hi, hello, this is my first moonknight fic so please be gentle! steven and marc’s interactions are based in how they’re portrayed in the show. steven is standard text and marc is italicized. gif credits are @userpoe.

word count: 1.2k

mcu masterlist

Steven doesn’t remember how he met you, but he remembers every moment he has with you after that as if his life depends on it. You’re his best friend, though he’s not sure why you put up with his confusion and disorganization. Every time he wonders he hears that voice, the one he’s come accustomed to, the one that’s almost become a comfort.

A companion in itself.

It’s always bothered Steven, the fact that he can’t remember the moment he met someone like you. It bothers him, even more, when he finally misses another moment. He wakes up in bed with you by his side, arms and legs tangled together. You’re in a pair of his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, your hair fanned out on the pillow.

He doesn’t want to disturb you but he’s in shock, and before he can think better of it, he’s rolling out of bed and running to the bathroom. His rushed movements wake you up and you call after him just as he slams the door shut.

He hears the bed creak as you rise out of bed– his bed– before he hears your voice, “Steven?”

“I’m just usin’ the loo,” He reassures you, before turning to the mirror.

Sometimes the voice he hears comes with a face. It's his face, but more stern and worn. The eyes of the face that stare back at him are always guarded, but this time they’re softer around the rims.

It’s okay, Steven. They’re okay. We can trust them.

Steven leans into the mirror, “You know them?”

How do you think you met them?

“Steven? Come out, please. We can talk, and get everything cleared up. It’s okay,” You say gently through the door.

Steven glances back at the door before looking back at his reflection, at his other self. The man staring back at him nods reassuringly. When he steps out of the bathroom you're sitting on the edge of his bed, a soft smile on your face as he pads toward you.

You let him get comfortable beside you before you speak, “Did you talk to him?”

Steven’s eyes widen though he realizes that the voice has already made it clear that you know each other, “Yes, but maybe you could catch me up? Who’s he?”

“His name’s Marc. I met him first.”

“And he’s…” He trails off, not sure of what fills in this bizarre blank.

You squint, something he’s noticed you do when you're deep in thought, “He’s you but not. He’s part of you and his own person at the same time. Does that make sense?”

“I’m not sure that it does.”

“We’ve never talked about it but you’ve always been confused about how we met right?” You take his hands into yours.

He frowns at being so easy to read but nods slowly, “Yeah, I have.”

“That’s because I knew Marc for months before you showed yourself.”

“Months?”

“I know this is a lot, but he told me everything. He told me about you. And then one day you just appeared, and you’re wonderful, Steven. Truly wonderful.”

“That’s all well and good, quite happy for the both of you, but what does any of this mean for me? For my life? For our friendship?” He asks defensively, pulling one of his hands away.

“I think that the first two questions are a conversation for you and Marc to have together. But as far as our friendship…” You break eye contact for the first time since the conversation has started, “that’s up to you. I’m just happy to be here with you.”

Steven’s eyes narrow at your choice of words. He needs to confirm his suspicions, “What is Marc to you?”

“We’re…together.”

He leans away angrily, removing his other hand from your grasp, “And so you just put up with me, waiting for him to come around?”

“No, it’s not like that, it never has been since I met you. I like you, Steven, just as much as I like Marc. You both mean so much to me.”

“I’m not quite sure I’m following.”

“What I mean is if you wanted to be with me…the way Marc is with me, I’d be happy with that. I’d prefer it actually, to have both of you,” You rest your hand on his cheek, running your thumb over his bottom lip.

Steven looks at you in utter disbelief, his cheeks staining a soft pink at your affectionate touch, “Y-you want to be? With me?”

Say yes.

You can’t help the chuckle that slips out of you, “Is that so hard to believe?”

He shrugs, raising his eyebrows, “Well, yeah, love, it is.”

“Believe it anyway,” You urge, scooting closer to him on the bed.

Say yes, idiot.

You see Steven roll his eyes and can only imagine that Marc’s just said something to him. He mumbles something under his breath before focusing his attention back on you, “You’re sure?”

Steven, just say yes already.

“I’m sure.”

“But what if,” He’s cut off by this strong surge of energy in his chest. It feels as if he’s not in control for a few seconds and then his lips are on yours, moving in a way that feels foreign and familiar all at once. Once in control again he freezes, but then your hands are knotting into the base of his curls and pulling him closer. All he can do is melt against you, kissing you back just as desperately as you kiss him.

Steven’s hands fall to your waist, gripping you gently before the two of you fall back into the bed. He can’t believe he gets to touch you like this, or that he even gets to kiss you at all. You're so soft, you smell intoxicating, and he imagines that he could kiss you like this for the rest of his life if he didn't have to share you. To his surprise, your tongue slips into his mouth, eager to explore as you kiss him deeply. He matches your energy, just as hungry for more.

You only break the kiss once your lungs are screaming for air, “Seems like you got some help there so I’ll ask, is that a yes? Independent of your control freak of an other half?” You smirk, knowing that’ll get under Marc’s skin and Steven hears the voice let out a slew of expletives.

He can’t help the smile that breaks across his face, not when you're smiling so brightly, “It's a yes, but he doesn't seem too happy about your joke.”

“He can take it up with me later.”

“Speaking of, has he taken you out on a proper date?”

The voice rings in his head again, Watch it.

You throw your head back, laughing loudly, “Yes, he’s taken me on a date. It's your turn now.”

“Ours will be just as good, maybe even better.”

“Hey, no, comparisons. I cherish you both,” You bend to run your nose along his before giving him a peck on the lips.

The voice, Marc as he’s accepting, his internal companion, says nothing but what Steven can identify is a mutual warmth and affection spreads through his chest. Steven catches a glimpse of Marc through the reflection of the fish tank, and Marc gives him yet another reassuring nod. They have you, both of them, and they each feel so lucky.

part 2: here.

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#fanfic #thank you so much for writing this! #moon knight #steven grant

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

JFOWJCKEJF TOO LOVELY. TOO KIND. TOO WONDERFUL.

I'm holding your comment in my hands and sobbing in joy! 😭💚🫂

What A View

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

Summary: A trip to the Shard goes a little differently.

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

A/N: The Shard is the tallest building in London. Also totally another case of my mind just jumping to something else in the bingo other than what was probably implied. So this is 'High Sex' and obviously I went, 'oh, right, so high in the sky?' I am so smart. (lie).

Warnings: swearing, p in v sex, Steven kinda having an exhibition kink, overuse of italics, typos, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1329

You hadn’t expected the afternoon to play out like this. 

With your back pressed against the cool glass, Steven spreading you wide. His fingers dug into the fleshy part of your left thigh, pushing on your leg as you just about managed to keep your balance by pressing the ball of your foot against the marble sink. 

You’d spotted a discount voucher for the Shard and had asked if Marc, Steven, and Jake would like to come with you. 

Marc had rolled his eyes playfully, “I’ve seen London from up high plenty of times,” and declined.

Jake had been sleeping. 

Steven had grinned and nodded excitedly. “You know love, I’ve never actually been up the Shard? It’s true what they say, you live in London but you don’t do the normal tourist things.” 

Everything had been relatively normal on the way, though the elevator to the upper floors and viewing platform had been a little busy. Both you and Steven had shuffled into a corner, your back to his chest. 

He’d gone quiet after a few seconds, his grip on your hand tightening as his muscles stiffened. For a moment you had thought that Marc had fronted. 

Once you were on the right floor you had barely stepped out, heading towards the large wall length windows when Steven had pulled you in the opposite direction and dragged you into a bathroom. 

You hadn’t even had a chance to question him before his lips were on yours and his hands slipped under your top. 

You held onto his shoulders for dear life, up on the tiptoes of your right foot as he slammed into you. His thick cock hitting so deep you could see stars. 

You moaned against his hand, his palm haphazardly covering your mouth in a hasty attempt to muffle your sounds. You had never been much of a screamer during sex until you’d met them. 

No matter how hard you try little groans escape your mouth with every frantic thrust of his hips. He angles upwards with every buck, hitting just right on the spot he knows so well and rubbing his public bone against your clit with every motion. 

Steven’s own mouth is pressed into your neck, biting and sucking and leaving sloppy kisses as he tries to muffle his whines. He had always been a screamer. 

You pull tightly on his shirt, a fraction away from ripping the cotton as pleasure coils in your stomach, building higher and impossibly higher.

His name is muffled by his hand as you say it, breathless and needy, but he still hears it. 

He pulls his mouth away from your skin just far enough to speak, frowning in concentration as he tries to keep his voice under control. “You… okay?” 

The slap, slap, slap of skin almost drowns him out. 

You nod, eyes closed but still let out a soft whine and he picks up the pace, fucking you even harder, like he is trying to get caught, trying to make you scream his name so loudly that the whole of the city will hear you.

“That’s it love, that’s it,” he whines, nipping at your neck and groaning as you clench around him. He knows you’re so close, can feel you approaching orgasm buzzing along your skin like electricity, practically taste it in the air. He wants it so badly, needs it more than breathing. 

“You… you… gonna be…” he swallows, having to fight back his own moans even more. “You gonna… be good? Gonna… gonna…” he bites his lip almost hard enough to draw blood as he pistons his hips. Everything’s too much it’s blinding, dizzying. But not enough. 

The way you squeeze him, your back arching off the glass as you meet his thrusts desperately. The bright sky behind you, the sweat on your skin. His tongue darts out to lick a stripe up your neck and he groans, his eyes rolling back.

There’s a light mist forming around you on the glass, the heat from both your bodies collecting. 

“Fuck,” he hisses in your ear, his own pleasure close on his heels. “God, can you imagine if someone was cleaning the windows,” all his words come out in a rush, “and they just, fuck, just saw us here. Saw you moaning and taking my cock so well, saw how pretty you are all full of me and just begging. Saw how I need to keep you quiet so we don’t get caught because you just, just need it so bad that you can’t stop, and, and-” He groans loudly, the sound turning into a whine. “Love, fuck, please, please, please,” he punctuates every word with a sharp snap of his hips that has you reeling, sinking into pleasure.

“I need you to,” he groans as you squeeze and clench around him, your pussy fluttering and trying to pull him deeper. “I need to hear you.” He gasps, “please, if I move my hand can you please try, can you try not to be too loud? Please. I,” he moans again, “please, need it so bad, need it, need you.” 

You nod rapidly, barely getting a chance to register his words in your hazy, lust filled mind before he rips his hand away from your mouth and grabs onto your shoulder, pressing the full length of his body up against up against yours as he pounds into you. 

“Steven,” you moan, just managing to keep your voice below your regular talking level. 

He groans in response, much louder than you. 

“I’m gonna-”

He kisses you roughly, sliding his tongue messily into your mouth for a moment. 

“Gonna come, love? Gonna come on me?” His voice rises in pitch towards the end and you nod, your thoughts all turned to mush as all you can comprehend is the feel of his skin and the heat of his body as he pushes you higher and higher to ecstasy. 

“Need you to,” he whines, tears just pricking at the corners of his eyes. “Need you to.”

You moan his name, gasping against him. Every muscle tenses as he finally pushes you over the edge you've been dancing by. Pleasure washes over every nerve, running over your spine as you convulse and cling onto him like a lifeline. 

Steven whines, fucking you through your orgasm even as he comes, pumping his hot, thick cum deep inside and filling you to the brim. 

You breathe heavily as you both come back to yourselves, holding each other tightly. The sweat starts to cool on your skin and you swallow, a sudden flash of panic flicking to the forefront of your mind. 

“Do you think anyone heard us?” You ask quietly. 

Steven shakes his head, still pressed into your neck. “We weren’t that loud.”

You laugh. “You sure?” 

“Nope.” 

You laugh harder. 

“Honestly, love, I don’t give a shit.” 

“Really?” 

“Hmm.” He looks up at you with a large grin on his face, his eyes soft and loving. “Too happy to care. Anyone says anything, I’ll sort them.” 

You giggle at his playful tone. “My hero.” 

He chuckles and kisses you softly.

“Does this count as joining the mile high club?” He giggles, sweat sticking his curls to his forehead. 

You shake your head as you laugh.

“Oh, well.” There’s a soft flush to his skin, an afterglow of his orgasm that you hate to admit makes heat pool a little in your stomach.

Steven notices the slight change in your expression, the small clench as you squeeze around his softening cock.

He groans softly and presses close to you again, mouthing at the love bites he’s left on your neck. He grinds against you slowly, not pulling out but pressing up against your clit with a roll of his hips. 

The little surprised gasp that leaves your lips makes him smile. 

“Give me a minute love,” he mutters, keeping up the soft rock and glide. “Maybe we can be louder this time.” 

____________________________________________

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

MEOWKXKEJROFJKWJCK THE BANTER!!! AHHHHH!! I AM SCREAMING! I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE MARC SO MUCH, HE IS JUST EVERYTHING!!!!!!!

marc spector- slow songs

Summary: Your friend, Marc, pretends to be your boyfriend at a wedding, but is it pretend? (~2.3k)

Contents: f!reader, fluff, fake dating/friends to lovers, language

part of @moonknight-events: MK spring ‘24 Bingo Event

This is the slow song:

-----

“Okay, just be calm. Stay cool, lay low.” You run your hands down your pale, blue dress.

Marc frowns at you. “That’s a terrible pep talk.”

“It’s not for you. It’s for me.” You give him a dirty look. “You’re used to lying to people’s faces, but I’m not.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I deserved that one. But as a reminder, I don’t even want to be here. How’s the suit?”

You look him up and down. He has on a dark suit with a bow tie. His curly hair arranged in neat waves away from his face. He was on a mission somewhere sunny and came back tan.

He looks so gorgeous you want to scream.

“It’s not the worst you’ve ever looked.” You grab his hand and haul him into the reception hall.

“Well, I think you look amazing, cupcake,” Marc says with a grin. “My little candy heart-shaped nugget love, whatever.”

He stretches his neck in his shirt. “I’m gonna kill Steven.”

You sigh. Steven had volunteered to be your pretend boyfriend at a friend's wedding. The only way to avoid being put at the singles table, plus you’d have someone to joke with.

But when you’d told your friend you were bringing your new boyfriend, you’d lied and said you’d grown up together. So, not Steven because of his accent, and Jake was too charming to let loose on unsuspecting bridesmaids.

So, Marc had reluctantly agreed.

Not that you weren’t friends with all three of them, but you and Marc weren’t as close. You were never sure why. Probably because his walls were up so high you could see them from space.

“Can’t we just say we’re friends?” Marc says, loosening his bow tie.

You stop walking and re-tighten it. “No, or she’s going to try to set me up with her cousin. He’s had a crush on me for years. I want to tell him to fuck off, but he’d make a whole thing about it.” You give him another once over, smooth a stray curl off his forehead. “Maybe it worked out better this way. You’re intimidating. That’s good.”

Marc looks grim as you enter the ballroom, quiet classical music playing in the background.

“Anything I should know?” Marc says. “What even is your last name?”

You turn to him, mouth open. “We’ve been friends for months. You don’t know?”

He shrugs. 

“Okay, you know what,” you say, annoyed, “why don’t you pretend to be someone else? Someone who doesn’t walk around with an ancient God’s arm stuck up his butthole, working him like a puppet?”

“Guess I can’t argue with that,” Marc mutters.

Your friend’s parents walk up to you and hug you enthusiastically. You say what a beautiful ceremony it was and turn to introduce Marc.

You hold his hand. “These are my friend’s parents, Maureen and Sidney. And this is my boyfriend.”

Marc holds out his hand, a tight smile on his face. “Tony Wrinklebottom. Nice to meet you.”

You feel like you're having an out of body experience. WHAT IS HAPPENING?

Maureen’s eyes go wide. “It’s nice to meet you too. We haven’t heard a lot about you, but you’re very handsome. And such an unusual last name. Where did it come from?”

“I got it from my father,” Marc says unironically.

You squeeze his hand hard. “We’re going to go get a drink. I’m sure everyone is dying to talk to the parents of the bride. I’ll see you later.”

You plaster on a fake smile and push Marc toward the bar.

“I didn’t mean you had to make up a fake name,” you whisper scream at him.

“I panicked.” Marc leans on the bar. “Whiskey neat and a vodka soda with two limes.”

“You know my drink order, but not my last name?”

Marc takes his wallet out of his jacket to tip the bartender, generously you notice.

He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “What’s more important to our friendship? Your last name, or my knowing what you like to drink?”

You open your mouth. Shut it. Cross your arms. “This is a disaster.”

“Sure is.” Marc knocks back his first whisky and taps the glass for a second.

He holds his refill in one hand and holds his other arm out for you. You take it reluctantly.

“Let’s find our table,” you say, sipping your drink.

“Whatever you say, cookie-poo.” 

“Ugh,” you say, unable to stop the disgusted look on your face.

Marc smiles. “I take it back. This might be fun.”

And weirdly, it kind of is.

You and “Tony” are at a table with complete strangers. He’s not great at casual conversation, but with a face like his, people kind of go along with whatever he says.

He takes off his jacket and bow tie, and relaxes. Something you usually only see when you’re at his place watching a movie, or bringing him something you’d stress-baked.

Someone asks how you met.

Tony puts his arm around you. “My sweet pumpkin pie and I’ve known each other for years. She finally got the hint. All those times I stopped by with take out, or let her sleep with her head on my shoulder, we weren’t just hanging out.”

You smirk at him. “Pardon me for thinking we were friends.”

Marc’s eyes are almost black in the low light. His long lashes blink at you.

“You think friends plan their entire schedule, international travel, around Thursday movie nights? Friends go out of their way every night to walk you home?” His fingers tickle your neck lightly. 

You frown, your stomach feeling funny. “You said it was on your way from the gym.”

“I picked that gym because it’s close to your work,” he says with a raised eyebrow.

Marc’s face goes serious again. He pulls his arm away and takes a drink. “Look, just forget I said anything. I must be drunk.”

You watch uncertainty pass over his handsome face. You rub your hand over his forearm.

“You want to dance, Wrinklebottom?” You ask with a smile.

Marc huffs a half-laugh out of his nose. “Sure, pookie bear. Long as it’s a slow one.”

Marc’s broad shoulders are strong under your arms. His hands warm and wide as he holds your waist. He smells good. You get as close enough as you dare, breathing him in.

He hums along to the song. You're surprised he knows it.

“Jake says you’re the prettiest thing here,” he says quietly. “And Steven says he apologizes for not bringing flowers. Wait. No. He thinks I should apologize for not bringing you flowers.”

You and Steven had been in limbo for awhile now. You liked each other as more than friends. Jake had already told Steven to go for it. But you didn’t want to make Marc uncomfortable.

“Thank you, and thank you,” you say. You tilt your head away slightly so you can look at him. “And what does Marc Spector say?”

Marc’s eyes trace over your face. He licks his bottom lip. “The wedding cake was dry.”

You nod slowly. “Yeah. I’m going to return the gift I got them.”

Marc grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “One of those clocks where the cat’s tail swings back and forth?”

You smile. “Yeah, a big one.”

“Maybe it’s not the cat’s tail then.”

You snort out a laugh. “Stop. Weddings are romantic. No dick jokes.”

“Okay, honey lump, no dick jokes.” He pulls you a little closer. Close enough that your front sides are touching, swaying back and forth in unison. One of his hands rubs the small of your back.

“We can probably leave after this dance,” you say, even though you don’t want to. “We said hello to the bride and groom, ate, had drinks. I think that’s everything.”

“Leave? Tony Wrinklebottom doesn’t leave a party until he slow dances about four times with his girl.”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder. “Where the hell did you even get that stupid name?”

Marc’s hand rubs back and forth over your upper back now. “Jake’s watching one of the neighbor’s cats.”

“You named yourself after a cat?”

Marc shrugs. “My last name is Spector, which, given my profession, isn’t exactly subtle either. Besides, you should be so lucky. You could be Mrs. Wrinklebottom one day.”

You laugh, pressing your mouth into his shoulder to keep from drawing attention to yourself. “I always forget what a ridiculous sense of humor you have.”

“Makes you laugh, though,” Marc says.

You raise your head to argue with him, just for the fun of it. Your words die in your throat.

Marc’s looking at you with unusual softness. His head tilts slightly and you think, hope, that he’s going to kiss you. Instead, he cradles the back of your head with one of his hands, and slots it next to his, so your faces really are touching now.

“Your shampoo smells nice,” he says.

Your stomach flutters. “You look really hot.”

“I thought I looked like shit,” Marc says dryly.

You reposition your arms so they’re around his middle, your fingers brushing a little lower than they probably should.

“You’re hot and you know it. In this suit, or your other one when you’re all bloody and sweaty. As much as it pains me to compliment you,” you say.

“Yeah, we don’t really have that kind of friendship, do we? More likely give each other grief than go on and on about how you make the best lasagna. Or thank you for staying over that night last month. When you could tell I didn’t want to be alone. How good you feel in my arms. How much I-“ Marc stops. You feel his jaw tense.

“How much I love you?” You say.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But I did.”

You’ve stopped dancing. Both you standing in the middle of a crowd of people who are still moving back and forth slowly. You desperately hope that you haven’t made a mistake by saying something.

Marc’s gaze burns into yours. “Do you mean it?” He asks.

You smile. “Yes. And, not to sound full of myself, but I think you feel the same way.”

A grin cracks his serious facade. “I meant what I said earlier. About the things I do for you. Showing you how I feel.”

Love washes over you, covering your memories with Marc in warm light.

Part of you is grateful. He’d given both of you time to really know each other, set down a solid base together. But at the same time, he’d been so slow about it you want to shake his muscled shoulders.

“You’ve never even tried to hold my hand,” you say. “I thought we just had this awkward friendship, where you overdid it sometimes and retreated from me other times.”

“I was trying not to scare you away,” Marc says. “And you know how I am with feelings. I don’t like admitting that I have them.”

You roll your eyes. “I know. Talking about your feelings would really eat up your punching-people-in-their-faces time.”

“Punching people is easy.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you say.

Marc’s hands nudge your hips and you start dancing again. He doesn’t look tense, or anxious.

“If we do this,” Marc says, “I’m still your awkward friend.”

You pull him close, leaning in to kiss his cheek. His facial hair is already a little rough under your lips, even though he’d shaved just before you’d left.

“Maybe you’d get the upgrade to awkward boyfriend,” you say with a smile.

He kisses the side of your head. “I’d like that.”

“But just so you know, any time we go out, the reservations are going under your alias.”

Marc doesn’t even sigh. He just keeps dancing, his hands tracing over your body. “Mr. and Mrs. Tony Wrinklebottom.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Anthony G. Wrinklebottom.”

Marc chuckles. For the first time, chest to chest with him, you feel the deep rumble under his rib cage. You press in closer.

“Deal,” Marc says. He rests his knuckles under your chin so you’ll look at him. “So you’ll go out with me?”

“On one condition,” you say with a sweet smile. “What’s my last name?”

Marc’s smile freezes on his face. He shuts his eyes tight, but if you know Jake and Steven, they’re more likely to laugh at him than to give him an easy out.

He does that frowny smile that means he gives up, spins you around the dance floor.

He pulls you back in close to him. “I know other things about you. Like, we’re going to that place with the burgers and the fancy french fries for our first date. You can’t make reservations, but Jake knows the manager and we could skip the line.”

You groan. “I love that place.”

“I know,” Marc says smugly. “And the shop with the raspberry gelato for dessert. Walk through the park with the fountain you like. On Fridays the buskers that play Fleetwood Mac and Springsteen are there. We'll sit on the bench under the broken light, more privacy. That's where I want to kiss you.”

“Wow, that’s a good date,” you say, breath knocked out of you by Marc's words and eyes and plans.

“It should be, I’ve been fine-tuning it for three weeks,” he says self-deprecatingly.

You rest your hand against his cheek, rubbing your thumb on his skin. “This Friday, then.”

Marc nods, one of his hands resting around your waist, the other so light on the back of your neck you can barely feel him. He rests his forehead against yours as the song comes to a close.

“You look beautiful. Did I tell you that?” He says. “My little sugar bunny, cherry pie dove bean-“

You clap your hand over his mouth. “You’re what my grandma would’ve called, ‘a real piece of work.’”

He smiles under your palm, picking up the rhythm of the second slow song and easing you into it. You remove your hand, slide it back over his shoulder.

If this is the last thing you ever do as just friends, then Tony’s right. You don’t want to leave. You want to stay for all the slow songs.

-----

Square B "Fake Dating"

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#fanfic #thank you so much for writing this! #moon knight #marc spector

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Free Ride

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: T •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Your taxi driver is surprisingly familiar.

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

A/N: Set in London, Jake is driving a black cab in my mind for some reason.

Warnings: Jake being mistaken for Steven, kisses, awkward silences, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1161

You got into the cab quickly, the cold night air raking its nails over your skin. You pulled your coat a little higher and shivered. 

The bar crawl hadn’t exactly gone to plan. Two of your friends had had to check out early, and a third had hooked up with someone they’d met while getting a round. You’d decided to call it a night.  

“Hi,” you greeted the driver, about to give your address when you pause in surprise. “Steven?” 

Jake freezes, watching your reflection in the rear view mirror. 

“Steven Grant, you, you live on the floor above me.” You smile. “I didn’t realise you drove a cab?” 

He swallows, raising his chin up in a nod, his mind racing. He’d left it far too long to deny it. “I… just, part time.” He spoke quietly, adding a croak to his voice to disguise the difference in accent. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah… cold.” He tapped his throat, “so, erm, home?”

You nod, “yeah. Sorry you’re unwell, hope you feel better soon.”

He shrugged. “It’s nothing.” 

You nod again, something about the energy in the cab seemed… odd. Different. You were on pretty good terms with Steven since he’d helped you out when you were lugging your shelves up the stairs (they were too wide for the lift.) You chatted when you ran into each other going out or coming back. Somehow you both usually ended up going to the local sainsbury’s at the same time for your weekly shop and had kind of settled into a not exactly planned routine where you would wait for each other and do it together. 

Steven talked. A lot. In the best way possible. Excitedly and passionately. Bubbly and enthusiastic. He genuinely listened as well, asking follow up questions and nodding. But even when he was listening, he wasn’t quiet. Always adding in ‘hmms’ and ‘oh right’, and little snippets of commentary that warmed your heart. 

Now he was quiet. Pulled in and zipped up. 

Maybe it was just the cold making his throat hurt. You’d have to get him something to help, maybe tomorrow you could knock on with some ginger, lemon, and honey tea. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

You stilt your head to the side as you watch him drive. He takes a turn smoothly, travelling down the late night roads without as much as a pause. Or a word. 

It just didn’t make sense. 

How unlike Steven he was being. You pause, for a second entertaining the idea that he wasn’t actually him. But that made no sense did it? He’d have to be an identical twin, and besides, he was talking you back to your flat. If he wasn't Steven, how would he know where you lived? 

“I didn’t know you could drive?” You say, speaking up a little to try to hide the spike of nervousness that had settled in your gut. You had been so sure that he’d told you he couldn’t… though had that just been an excuse? A reason to tag along with you when you went food shopping? Was his quietness now embarrassment from being caught out? 

“Hmm,” he nodded, glancing back at you again in the rear view mirror. “I don’t mention it… much.” 

You nod. “Yeah.” You pick at your fingernails as he drums his hands against the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. 

The silence stretches out, almost blanketing the low grumble of the engine. It’s sickening. Nerve wrecking. 

“How’s work?” You blurt out, and then quickly clarify. “Both I mean, how’s driving going today and how’s the museum?” He glances back at you again, the action is starting to remind you of a priest in a confessional. 

“It’s all… normal.”

“Normal?” 

“Fine. Normal.”

You don’t speak again until he pulls up by the block of flats, putting on the handbrake and getting into neutral. He puts his hands on his lap, folded neatly with his palms facing upwards.

“How much do I owe you?” You ask.

“Nothing.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing. It’s on me.” 

“Stev-”

He turns quickly, flicking off his seatbelt in a practised move so that he can twist his body fully around to face you. 

For a moment you think he’s going to say something, reveal some grand secret but instead he pauses before giving you a very weak smile.

“It’s on me.” His voice is quiet, barely there at all. And, for the briefest second you could have sworn that his accent was different. 

“Thank you.” 

He shrugs politely, dismissing it as if it was nothing. 

Before he can turn away you reach out for his shoulder, the action instinctive and leaving you lost for a reason why you did it.  

He glances at your hand for a second before looking back to your face. 

You lean forward. “Thank you.” You repeat softly, and slowly kiss his left cheek, giving him plenty of time to pull away and rebuff you if he wanted to. 

Instead he leans slightly into the touch, swallowing and turning his head towards you. His nose brushes against yours and you think he’s going to turn back to facing the wheel, but instead he presses his lips to yours hesitantly. 

You squeeze his arm, surprised but responsive as you kiss him back. 

He kisses you slowly, but intentionally. Swiping the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip before opening your mouth with his own and licking inside. He groans, low in his chest as the kiss becomes hungrier, boarding on desperation as he presses as close to you as he physically can in his position. 

When suddenly he pulls back, blinking heavily. A mumbled, ‘sorry’, just escaping his lips. 

“It’s okay.” Your voice is quiet too, your mind only just catching up with what happened. 

He turns back, putting his seatbelt on with a click and staring straight ahead. “Have a good night.” 

“I, erm, I’ll see you later.” You mutter as you get out, feeling almost shaky from what just happened. Your thoughts reeling. 

You get up to your flat in a daze. You’d kissed him, well, he’d kissed you. Did that mean anything? Had you done something to chase him off? 

You change into your pyjamas and brush your teeth, staring at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

There’s a soft knock at your front door and you freeze. Wait. 

Maybe it’s a neighbor's door. Maybe it’s noise from another flat.

There’s a knock again, still soft and your phone buzzes. A message from Steven, ‘can we talk?’ 

Fuck. 

You head to the door, checking the peep hole and confirming that yes, it is Steven outside your door. You unlock and open it quickly. 

“Steven, I-”

You don’t get a chance to finish your sentence before he moves forward quickly and kisses you deeply. His hands settle on your hip, the back of your neck as he walks you further inside and kicks the door shut with the heel of his foot. 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

KDISJODKDLEDIDK YES!! AHHHHH!!!!

For the made up fic title game!

"Better safe than sorry"

Send me a made up fic title and I'll tell you what I'd write

Breeding but with condoms??? Or any type of protection. That's the only thing I can think of right now 😂

I'm think probably with Marc. He'd have a breeding kink but be terrified of actually bringing a child into this world.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

it’s actually so funny how challenging it is to write bona fide graphic, horny smut. like people don’t give smut writers enough credit. you are constantly running out of words to describe the same 2-4 body parts and same 4-6 motions. you are constantly attempting to do interesting and dynamic things in the prose with this extremely limited set of words. you are looking at your prose for the nastier bits and wondering if it actually sounds hot or if it just sounds goofy. you are then toning down your prose and then wondering if it now sounds tasteful or if it’s just boring. you do ctrl+F for the word “cock” and there are 37 instances of it in the doc but you hate the 1-2 acceptable synonyms so there’s nothing much you can do about it

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Tell Me No

Marc Spector x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: Marc prefers when you take what you want.

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

A/N: Okay, this is really not going to be for everyone. Please look at the warnings.

Warnings: hand jobs, sub!Marc, Marc having a rape fantasy/ravishment kink, rapeplay, safe words, forced orgasm (but not really forced *dennis reynolds voice* it's the implication), this isn't noncon because both parties have agreed on this - which is also mentioned in fic but I till feel like it could cause distress in anyone that has a trigger, over use of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 1592

“Tell me no?” Marc asked softly as he gently touched your arm. 

You turned from where you were putting plates away to face him fully. 

He swallowed, his fingers still brushing against you, looking down at your feet. His head was tilted slightly, making it even more obvious that he was shying away from your gaze. 

Slowly you hooked your forefinger under his chin and lifted his head upwards ever so slightly. Your touch delicate, but firm.

He sucked in a breath, his muscles tensing but kept looking at the floor, his eyelashes practically kissing his cheeks. 

“You want that?” You asked firmly, your voice steady but gentle. 

He nodded once, a small micro movement. 

“You gonna ask for it properly?” 

He swallowed again, the action making a gulping sound that clicked around the room. But he took a little too long to answer,

“Or do I have to make you?” You said, your voice still that same constant sturdiness. 

He nodded again and you smiled. 

It had started as an accident really, a bit of a silly joke when you were still early into your relationship. Sitting on the grass in Greenwich Park, Marc pouting and saying ‘no’ when you tried to kiss his cheeks. You had laughed and backed off every time, not touching him, when he’d bitten his lip and asked sweetly. “Do it anyway when I say no?” 

“You want me to kiss you anyway?” 

“If you can.” He’d wiggled his eyebrows at you, purposefully making you giggle. But even then you had recognised that he was trying to cover something, some nervousness with bravado. Even if you couldn’t quite put your finger on what. 

“Alright,” you smiled. “But what if you really want me to stop? How will I know?” 

He had looked to the side, in thought for a moment. “I’ll say dandelion.” 

“Dandelion?” 

“Hmm.” He nodded.

“You just chose the first thing you saw!” You laughed. 

“So what if I did?” He said cheekily. 

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have you kisses as punishment.” 

“No.” 

You couldn’t remember when the name of the game had stuck, ‘tell me no’, but Marc always said it that way, despite him being the one that would being saying the negative. It seemed easier for him to ask you that way. 

He had been awkward about it the first time he brought it up in conection to sex. More than awkward. Fumbling over his words and not looking at you, until he had given up in frustration and huffed as he walked off. But he didn’t go off to sulk, instead he wrote down what he was having such trouble saying and handed you the paper. 

‘I know it’s weird.’ The word was underlined twice. ‘And you can say no. But what if we play tell me no during sex?’ 

You had looked up at him. “That’s not weird.” 

He paused, his face completely blank for a moment. Error screen. Loading. Clearly he hadn’t expected that response. 

“Lots of people have that fantasy.” 

He paused, raising his chin ever so slightly in question. A microexpression you were used to. 

“Really,” you smiled and touched his arm, reassuring him. “I’m happy to. But we need to talk about it a little before hand, I need to know what you want, okay?” 

He nodded. “Okay.” 

Marc wanted to act like he didn’t want you to touch him, please him. He wanted you to do it anyway, to force him to come.

You kissed him deeply, pushing your tongue into his mouth and growling when he pulled away. 

“Please, don’t.” He said softly, looking down like he was ashamed. 

“But I want to.” You pinched his chin lightly between your thumb and forfinger and turned his face back towards you. This time you kissed him harsher, biting at his plump bottom lip. 

Marc groaned, allowing himself to sink into your embrace for a moment before he moved his hand away again. “Stop, please, I shouldn’t.” 

You kissed him again, grabbing hold of his biceps and walking him backwards towards the bed. 

He muffled a moan against your lips, pretending to squirm to try to get out of your grip. He raised his hands, pressing them to your chest as if he was trying to get you off him. But he used no where near half of his strength, his touch practically begging you to manhandle him. 

You push him back against the bed, pining him down under your body and straddling his hips. He whines under you, bucking upwards as if he was trying to push you off, but really he was rubbing his already half hard cock against your core. 

You bite his lip again, hard and he lets out a sweet moan. The sound turning into a stiffled breath as you nip down his jaw and suck on the sweet spot on his neck. 

“Stop, please, stop, no, I don’t want this, I shouldn’t-”

“You’ll take what I give you,” you hiss in his ear and Marc shivers, his eyes rolling back as he groans. “Gonna make you come and make a mess everywhere.” 

“No,” he shakes his head rapidly. “Please.” The stress on the word is delicious, the way he looks up at you, begging silently for you to continue. 

“Shut up you stupid whore.” You grab hold of his wrists and pin them up above his head with one hand, Marc groans, wiggling his hips a little. It would be so easy for him to move, to get away from your touch. Your fingers are just resting on his skin, not even squeezing. That’s how he likes it. The illusion of being pinned. But knowing he can move at any moment if he really wanted to. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to give up control, he does, he craves it, it’s just that past experiences have made the reality of having his hands tied a little impractical. Even if he knows he’s safe, even if his mind is begging for it, his body still reacts with adrenaline and fear. Panic attacks and gasping for breath. Neither of you want that. 

“Stop.” He mutters, shaking his head from side to side, looking at you with wide, fearful eyes that you know are dark with lust and desperation. 

“I told you to shut the fuck up.” You hiss, reaching down and pushing your free hand under his jogging bottoms and grabbing his warm, velvety length. 

He whimpers, biting his lip. “Stop! I don’t want this!” 

“You’re so dumb, you know that?” You run your fingers up and down him a few times, revelling in how he twitches and hardens under your touch. “Saying you don’t want it. Look how hard you are.” 

He lets out a sob, arching his spine in a pretend attempt to throw you off. 

“Flower Marc?” You ask softly. 

“Rose.” He says quickly, his version of green.

You start jerking him off quickly, watching his face as he whines. “Look how much your body wants it.”

“No!” He shakes his head rapidly, even as his words turn into needy moans. 

“Fucking look.” You hiss.

He keeps his eyes closed.

“Don’t make me hurt you.” 

He groans loudly, having to tense his muscles and fight against his body with an iron will to stop himself from coming at your words. He knows you’d never actually hurt him, never lay a finger on him that wasn’t wanted, that wasn’t there to cause pleasure. But the threat of it, your tone. It feels too good. 

He looks down to where you’re touching him, how your sliding your fingers over his cock and teasing his slit. He moans loudly, trying to choke back the sound. 

You pull his t-shirt up higher until the material is grumbled up at his chest, and then go back to squeezing his cock, pumping your hand up and down the burning length of him. As you get to the tip on every stroke you twist your wrist just a little, tighten your grip ever so slightly. 

Marc’s hips jerk up, his thighs tense under you as he wiggles, trying and failing not to give in and chase the sensation. 

“Please don’t,” he moans, “don’t want to come, please.” 

“You’ve got no choice in this.” 

His sounds increase, sweat beading on his forehead as he relentlessly bucks upwards into you grip. Every nerve is on fire, every thought bleeding out of his mind onto the matress, only the pleasure of your touch remaining. 

“Please don’t make me,” he whines, so close that he can almost taste it, almost touch it. 

“You’re gonna come Marc, you’re going to give it to me. Understand?” 

He groans loudly, the sternness of your voice tipping him over the edge. The command making his body obey without his say in the matter. 

He comes loudly, spurting all over his stomach in hot, thick squirts that splash all over his skin, staining it white. 

You slow your hand, but don’t stop. Still stroking him evenly. 

Marc gasps, shivering with aftershocks. His breathing is heavy, his eyes a little unfocused as he opens them to look back up at you. 

You smile, leaning down quickly to kiss his temple. 

When you move back he has his lip between his teeth, his thighs twitch under you. You recognise that look. 

“You’re gonna come again Marc.”

He shakes his head. But there’s a glint in his eyes, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “No.” He pouts. 

“It wasn’t a question.” 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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#lovely comment! #thank you so much!

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

GAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!! THIS CHAPTER! MY HEART!!! I WAS SO EXCITED TO READ IT AND IT BLEW ALL MY EXPECTATIONS OUT OF THE WATER!!! AMAZING!!! I LOVE THIS SERIES SO MUCH! I THINK ABOUT IT ALL THE TIME!!!

A Rose Under The Moon

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

TW/CW: None literally just filler lmao

A/N: YOU GUYS I AM SO SORRY IT IS TAKING ME SO LONG TO PUT STUFF OUT LIFE IS JUST... IT'S BEEN INSANE THE PAST FEW MONTHS

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

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Chapter 11:

Good Food And Cat Fuzz

Jake grinned at you as you shuffled about your kitchen, chittering about some interesting things you’d read about the other day on some ancient ruin that was found in Greece because of a construction site. It was difficult to summon the interest in the subject, the overwhelming love of history and ancient cultures that Steven had, but he let you talk nonetheless.

His eyes softened as you carefully sliced the pork tenderloin and drizzled the sauce over it. Even uncooked, the thing smelt heavenly. Maybe letting you volunteer him for this little dinner wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

Steven was an amazing cook, yes, but not being able to really indulge in animal products left Jake’s cooking skills a little stagnant; because Jake refrained from buying groceries that might upset him.

Steven assured him that, yes, he understands that they all have different dietary preferences, that it was no reason to “neglect himself”. But, his concerns were never really on himself. The focus was on Marc, Steven, other people… you.

His thought bubble was popped when Puck mewed and just casually hopped up into his lap with a purr.

He grinned down at the black feline and began stroking her fur, “Hey, chiquita. Cozy, I see?”

Puck purred louder in response, leaning into his touch; her little body relaxed and oh-so-casual. She was possibly one of the friendliest little cats he’d ever encountered.

He didn’t notice when you had ceased your adorable rambling, leaning with your arms on the countertop, the pork forgotten for the moment as you slowly smiled at Jake; his arms curving gently to let Puck crawl into his embrace, rubbing her cheek on his shirt, her purr so loud you could hear it from where you were standing.

He murmured a conversation with Puck for a good minute or two, Puck giving little “mrrp’s” or “muh’s” in reply, as if she was genuinely speaking with him back.

“Mhmm,” You could hear him softly mutter. “Yes, oh, yes. I know. Life is so very tough for someone who doesn’t have to pay taxes.” Puck mewed a bit louder.

“Si, si, carino.” He grinned, his bushy mustache quirking up. You had to admit, he was… handsome. Sweet. The beard he was growing suited him nicely, as well. Puck put her front paws on his chest and sniffed his chin.

“What? No, I know you don’t pay taxes, you little felon…”

Puck smashed her head into his mouth with an affectionate purr, making him laugh and tip his head to avoid getting a mouth full of cat fur. And, doing so, he realized that you were watching him.

Watching him with that beautiful, sweet smile of yours.

“Oh, don’t mind me!” You giggled as his tanned skin flushed with embarrassment and you make a shoo’ing gesture. “You two sound like you were having a riveting conversation!”

Jake looked off to the side and coughed into his hand. “Well, animals benefit from, uh, conversation. I read online that, uh… it’s good for… stimu… lation..." He struggled.

You laugh once again and turn to place the tenderloin into your oven to cook. “Oh, yes, Puck over there is quite the conversationalist.”

As if to agree with you, Puck meowed loudly, making you both chuckle.

The abashed glow on Jake’s cheeks dulls a bit as he shakes his head. “She… is.”

“She seems taken with you.” You smile, walking over to the duo and stroking behind one of Puck’s ears.

Standing so close, Jake could smell your perfume–a sweet, sugary smell that blended with the spices of your cooking. God, it was intoxicating. He wished he could pull you against him and kiss you–

“Wanna sit on the couch while dinner cooks? I’d sit with you at the table but the chairs are sooooo uncomfy.” You say, knocking his thoughts back to reality.

Jake coughs, almost concerned for a moment that maybe you might pick his train of thought out of thin air and call him out on it. He reaches up and scratches his hairy upper lip with one finger, “Oh. Sure.”

Puck mewed and squeaked when Jake cradled her in one arm and let you lead the way to your couch (as if he couldn’t see it from where he had been sitting previously).

You chuckled at how attached to Jake Puck seemed to be, and literally hopped onto your couch cushions, Puck expertly clambering out of Jake’s arms to walk along the back of the couch, staring up at him expectantly, as if to say, “Come on! Sit!”

He shook his head with a chuckle and walked around the opposite side as you popped on some random documentary about Pompeii. “Someone’s a history nerd like Steven, I see.” He teased.

You grinned at him as Puck wasted no time in claiming his lap as her special spot to snuggle, purring loudly as he began to stroke her silky fur, “Eh, what can I say? I’ve always been fascinated by ancient cultures.”

“So has Steven.” Jake murmured, feeling a pit of guilt gnaw at the lining of his stomach. He cleared his throat and looked back at you, a dark brow rising on his forehead inquisitively. “How long have you been obsessed with this stuff, Rosa?”

“Oh, geez…” You prop your head back, your throat exposed as you stare at the ceiling deep in thought. Jake swore he could see your pulse thump in your neck, and the thought made a nervous bead of cold sweat dribble down his spine, making him squirm uncomfortably.

“I think it has something to do with my old man,” You finally say. “He was always reading those kinds of books to me, ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, China… stuff like that. He was a professor who spoke at seminars and local libraries.”

Jake blinked at you, “A professor?”

“Yeah! An archaeologist.” You grin nostalgically. “It’s where he met my mom, actually. Some people couldn’t tell by meeting her, but I am pretty sure she was from somewhere in Egypt. Not Cairo or Luxor, but… somewhere. My dad liked to brag that he “brought his work home with him.””

Jake gives a short, dry laugh as he turns to look at the screen. Wow. You really were perfect for them. Right down to having ties to the very place Steven often obsessed over; the place where Khonshu first found them…

“How’d they meet, exactly?”

“Well, Dad said something along the lines of meeting at some local bar after they found some small, obscure little tomb in Saqqara. He and his buddies apparently got drunk, almost got into a fight with some locals, and my mom “swooped in” to save them by punching one of them and cursing some absolutely foul things at them.”

You giggle, "But, that might just be my dad’s way of embellishing the tale. Mom once said she met my dad doing something dumb and hurling in a trash can.”

“Ah, love at first sight.” Jake joked with a laugh, imagining the scene himself.

“Not entirely.” You point out, smiling at him, mirth in your eyes.

His eyebrows shoot up once again, “Qué?”

“My mom hated my dad at first. She was one of those “I don’t wanna be shackled to some rando my entire life” kinda people… She had just earned a degree in… well, everything a doctor normally does. She practically ran the local hospital in the town where I grew up.”

“Oh, damn… no kidding?” Jake huffed. “So, what changed?”

“She agreed to meet with my dad, one last time before he came back to the states.” You sigh, smiling bittersweetly. It was good to talk about them, but it still made your heart cinch in your chest when you remembered that you didn’t have them around to talk to anymore…

“He began rambling, about the tomb, mostly. The mummified cats, a mummified baby crocodile, and of course, some tablets and scrolls, as well as y'know, the well-preserved murals.” You giggle. “It was some kinda temple, or holy place or…”

“Or something." Jake finishes with a charming grin, making you nod with another sweet chuckle.

“Yeah. She told me, halfway through his mile-a-second rambling, that something just clicked in her brain. Something in her head told her, “No, I can’t live without this nerd.” And she went with him.”

“Heh… that’s…”

“About as storybook as how I inherited my shop?” You snark.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t wanna offend you or anything…” He mused, his furry lip quirking up in a smirk.

“Nah, I’m used to it.” You reply, waving your hand dismissively. “She traveled with him, her knowledge of the local areas and languages as well as a medical background made her a no-brainer in terms of needing an interpreter and medic at a digsite. But, after my mom found out I was coming along, they settled in my dad’s hometown and stayed there.”

“Wow, when did they find out you were making your grand entrance?” He asked curiously.

“Well…” You smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of your neck. “...Let’s just say there’s a reason I had a onesie with the words “made in Egypt” on it…”

Jake gasped, trying to reign in his laughter. “No.”

“Yep. Apparently they didn’t care that the only thing separating them and the entire team was a slip of canvas, and… oh this is so gross.” You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes and give a short bark of laughter. “I’m not gonna go on.”

“Oh, no, I get it.” Jake began snickering. “No child wants to imagine their parents during–ahem-- “the making of” portion of your life, so to speak.”

You curl in on yourself in laughter at his rather blunt and astute summarization of your thoughts. Puck meowed at you, standing on Jake’s thigh with the tip of her tail curved as her big green eyes blinked at you slowly.

You finally remember your feline companion’s presence, realizing now that she was probably getting jealous that you two were paying more attention to each other than her... So, you leaned over (rather close to Jake; not even realizing how he stiffened up at the gesture) and gave your little black cat a kiss on her cute little forehead, loving the little “prrbt” she made as she mashed her head into your lips.

You look up at Jake, “So… how’d you and your “separated at birth” brothers meet?”

Jake immediately coughed, tugging the collar of his shirt a bit nervously, “Well…”

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Layla sat on the edge of the building, looking down into your flat through your open window from above, kicking her feet and grinning as she held her cheeks in her palms, her elbows on her knees.

“Don’t you think it’s a little creepy to be spying on them, Layla?” Taweret asked, a chubby little brow curving in soft reprimand.

“Oh, c’mon, Taweret.” Layla said, looking up at her. “Jake is getting close to her… maybe he’ll open up, about himself or the other two, or…”

“...Or you were just being nosey.” She said, putting her hand on her hips and wagging a finger at the woman.

“Can't it be both?”

“Oh, you're just terrible!” The goddess sighed.

“Hey… she's perfect for them, Taweret… I jus’ wanna see how this starts out. And… I hope Jake will tell the boys about her. I worry about them, y'know.”

The hippo-woman sighed once again, a small frown on her muzzle, “As do I, m’love. We can only pray for the best.”

She looked around warily.

“...And hope Khonshu doesn't have something up his sleeve.”

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 12: Next week? Next month? Tune in next time on Dragonball Z!

#fanfic #thank you so much for writing this! #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

MDOQKKDKDOWJFKEKFJ AHHHHH!! SOBBING!!! MY POOR WEAK HEART!!! THIS IS BEAUTIFUL!!!

about time we found each other again.

leto atreides x reader

summary: even years after your wedding got called off, leto is not sure he truly really got over you.

warnings: implied cheating (I am so sorry lady jessica I love you), death of a parent, angst, probably inaccurate dune lore stuff my most sincere apologies I did my best

tags: f!reader, arranged marriage, first love, love confessions, estrangement, time jump where the second part takes place a few years before the first movie (this doesn't matter at all tbh)

word count: 2.1k

this is my first time writing for leto so I hope he's alright lol<3

When you came to meet Leto Atreides for the first time, it was instantaneous; maybe you couldn't rightfully affirm it with conviction yet, but some deep part of you immediately knew that you desired him to be the one by your side for the rest of time. 

He had been the only other person around your age when you and your family attended a special meeting on Caladan, and you could very well feel your heart beat faster and your cheeks burn hot at each of his furtive glance thrown your way and each slight smirk over either of your faces when your gaze met his. 

Maybe leaving your home land and being sent to eventually move to Caladan wouldn’t be as bad as you had thought, after all.

And it wasn't. You quickly, borderline scarily quickly fell in love with Leto, you were sure of it by now. His manners were those of a man of respect, and he was kind and compassionate, he didn’t have the over excessive pride you would expect from a destined duke.

And ultimately, you grew to also be almost pretty sure that he felt the same way towards you, from the way he listened to you with no feigned interest whenever you shared stories with him, from the way his warm brown eyes so gently looked over at you, from the way he always made sure you were treated right.

You remembered it to be a warm evening when he officially confessed his love to you. 

You had been walking mindlessly through seemingly never ending fields, talking about anything and everything for what felt like a lifetime, eventually stopping to lay down and watch the sun set. 

Leto had settled on gently putting flowers in your hair while you told him about your childhood on your home land, smiling radiantly as he admired you lovingly, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand before he leaned in to kiss you. 

Your own hand was quick to find his dark curls neatly slicked back as he hovered over you, the tip of his fingers delicately tracing your face and neck before he pulled away from your lips when it became absolutely necessary. 

From there, the sunset and everything else became insignificant, everything could be crumbling around you and you wouldn’t pay it any mind; nothing mattered, not when Leto promised to love you until his very last breath here in the middle of nowhere. 

So when you eventually had your parents visit you on Caladan and announce to you that you had been sent there for them to agree with the Atreides upon arranging a marriage with Leto, you couldn’t be happier and it couldn’t be more convenient; you would have chosen him anyway, if given the choice.

Leto had the competence of making everything seem so easy, and he turned out to be quick to ease your worries about your upcoming future as a duchess.

Even under the looming political pressure of your marriage, this wedding meant a starting point for the rest of your life, a part you could not wait to share with him, even if it meant a lot of responsibilities and changes.

Then so suddenly, all at once, it all fell apart, everything. 

It was late in the night when you and Leto were laughing and dancing, rehearsing for the forthcoming wedding. Servants had knocked onto your shared room door, and Leto’s hand left your waist as he scurried away to answer the door, opening and making way for them to enter the room. 

They came in with a polite nod, one of them unrolling a parchment letter, reading out loud to the both of you.

The letter was from your father, announcing the news that your mother had died while on a mission, resulting in the need of your presence at your home land to take over her legacy and responsibilities for a while.

You didn’t understand what it involved right away, maybe from the shock of the sudden, dreadful news, the loss of your mother too hard to swallow.

You didn’t understand that it meant that you and Leto were bound to be no more, that either of you were now assigned to different fates and responsibilities, that the marriage was therefore called off for the moment being.

And you quite certainly didn't realize that the night you spent tossing and turning around your shared bed with eyes wide open until the sunrise was the last night by his side, that the morning you left was the last time you would see him.

Until years later, what felt like a lifetime.

When you came back to Caladan for political and business reasons, it was only because of the absolute necessity of your presence, otherwise you wouldn't have shown up.

Finding him again after so long drowned you right back again in the same hollow feeling you endured the moment you were drawn apart years ago, and while you mirrored his polite nod and smirk, you couldn't help but still feel the pain of being estranged so brutally, of seeing him again after so many years.

He was wearing the slowly appearing gray streaks of hair beautifully, and the beard suited him like he was made for it; it made his handsome face look a bit more harsh and severe, but he was a duke now, after all.

You lightly cleared your throat as you made your way to leave the meeting once it was over, troubled as you could feel the weight of his gaze burning holes through you all along. You could feel your heart pound through your ribcage the exact same way it used to when he held you when you were younger, and you ultimately came to the rotten conclusion that your stay here in his presence would be a tough, challenging time for you, and that dwelling on the past had been a bad idea, exactly like you had anticipated it to be. 

—

It was wonderful out there, just like you had remembered it to be. The view from the balcony offered you an endless panorama over Caladan and its lush lands, and while you loved your home land with your whole being, you couldn’t deny missing living on Caladan.

The fresh breeze of the night was nothing but pleasant, and even though you were slowly starting to feel goosebump growing over your skin, you figured the view of the sun starting to set was more important.

“I thought I could stay focused while in your presence.” you recognize his voice all too well, and you wonder if the shiver running down your spine is caused by his sudden apparition or the wind hitting you. “I was deeply wrong”

“Leto,” you chuckle sheepishly, blushing as you turn around and face him.

A bittersweet smile has quirked upon his face, and he steps further and approaches you. The years have been unkind to him, lines of wisdom and experience growing upon his face transforming him into a man hardened by duty. Yet, beneath the rough facade, you can still see the eyes and soul of the man you once knew and loved.

“Why only now?” he asks, a certain helplessness painted across his face.

“What?”

He sighs as he looks away, licks his lips as he walks besides you and grips the barrier of the balcony with both hands. You only hear the wind as you watch and wait for him to do, to say something.

“This should have been yours. All of this” he mutters, gaze fixed on the sight before him. The clouds look like cotton ripped apart and spread through the wide sky, and the sun setting over Caladan turns them into an abnormal color, one you wouldn't even be able to define. “I waited for you.” Leto declares, head turning to look back at you like he is trying to figure out how you feel or waiting for you to say something.

Your eyes close as a small exhale leaves your mouth. “Why should it matter now, Leto” you scoff, turning away to try to escape his gaze, heavier than you remember.

“It has always mattered” he declares, following your steps as you try to inch away from him. He calls your name in a weak plea, his hand coming to rest over your arm. “Look at me. Please”

You do. You turn back to him, and he looks at you like you will be slipping away from him any moment now, like you're just a ghost, like you're water in his bare hands. “Tell me you did not think of me all those years and I'll leave you alone.” he whispers feebly, face close to yours as he still holds onto your arm, and you can feel your breaths mingling from how close he is to you.

His unwavering gaze is locked on yours, desperately waiting for you to say something. Eventually, your lack of response speaks for itself, and he nods slightly. “That's what I thought.”

“Leto.”

His hands come to cup your face, holding it steady as with a sigh, his forehead rests against yours. Your eyelids fall shut under the weight of it all and you exhale softly, your hand wrapping around his wrist, stroking along his forearm.

“I have loved you since I met you. I should have found you and married you regardless.” he mutters, barely louder than a whisper. His declaration makes something flutter deep in your core, and you grimace like his words feel sour to hear. You should have done it differently, should have come back to Caladan after everything went back to normal after your mother's death.

“And your wife?” you rhetorically ask, with a dubious scoff.

“She's not– we never married.” he shakes his head, pulling away from your forehead to look back at you, your hand falling to your side again when you let go of his arm. His gaze and the way his eyebrows are angled weakly are conveying everything you need to know, confirming every conclusion you made. 

Your lips part slightly, some part of you refusing to believe in what he's indirectly telling you, refusing to believe that he gave up on some part of his life waiting for you.

“We were promised a marriage together, a life together” he continues, taking hold of your hand, fingers lacing with yours tentatively. “I always hoped you would come back and we would resume our life together where it stopped.”

“Now still?” you weakly ask, equally pained and somehow flattered that he never really got over you.

Again, the lack of answer and his previous actions prove the point, and you hold his hand tighter when you swallow with difficulty. Your other hand slightly trembles when you reach to touch his face, settling to rest at his bearded cheek, and you smile weakly as you trace the lines that you never got to witness appear. 

“We were so young” you smile, drawing one out of him. The corners of his lips turn upwards as his hand covers your own over his face, pulling it to bring it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles softly, the feeling of his warm breath over your skin taking you years back.

“Don't go back.” he begs against your hand, his voice wavering a little. There’s a glint in his eyes as his gaze darts up at you that makes it impossible for you to consider refusing and giving up on him again. “You belong here.”

Your eyebrows knit in uncertainty as you tear your gaze away from him, looking at the endless view again. You can't help but overthink every consequence coming back to Caladan is going to involve, for you as much as for Leto, and especially for his own concubine that is at this point already long forgotten by him.

This is unfair, but some part of you acknowledges your younger selves feelings and remembers how devastated you were to leave him; leaving again while knowing that he still cares after so many years and regrets not marrying you may hurt even more.

“This will make people talk, Leto.” you wince, looking back at him.

He shakes his head carefreely. “Let them.” he affirms with a dismissive scoff as his hands settle over your hips. You grin softly as he pulls you closer, and a soft exhale leaves your mouth when your arms wrap around his neck.

He takes a while to admire your face, how it has changed despite still remaining the one of the woman he fell in love with long ago.

When he kisses you, it is the exact same way he used to when you were young.

—

SUPPORT YOUR FANFICS WRITERS, REBLOG, LEAVE A COMMENT, IT IS WHAT KEEPS US GOING!!!!

people who wanted to be tagged<3: @beezusvreeland @steven-grants-world @hammerhead96 @ominoose @clemdango04 @campingwiththecharmings @unear7hly

#fanfic #thank you so much for writing this! #duke leto atreides

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

THEIR BANTER!!!! AHHHHHH!! WKDKWLKCODKSKCJDOSKF!!! ABSOLUTELY NO PRESSURE BUT I WOULD LOVE SO MUCH TO READ MORE!!!

(WIP) Cookies and Cream (smut)

Basic synopsis and idea: You and Marc bake some cookies together as a nice couples thing but some banter starts to happen that leads to tension to which the reader and Marc start banging while they wait for the cookies to bake.

(There's noting full-on sexual going on, just some oggling)

I'm showing this off even though it's unfinished because I'm having struggles with motivation with writing right now. So give what I have so far a read and tell me how you like it.

"Why do I have to do the harder mixing?" Marc questioned as he tried to gently mix all the flour and chocolate chips in the bowl so that the flour didn't puff out everywhere. At least so that no more flour got everywhere in the kitchen than the small amount that was used in your impromptu flour fight.

"Because you have strong man arms," you explain. "What's wrong with yours?" Marc asks. "I have weak little lady arms. So you have to mix it when it gets thick," you say as a joke and bat your eyelashes at him. Marc humphs in humor, "Sexism wins this time I guess." Marc jokes back, you laugh along. “Seriously though, you could single-handedly make the whole stock for a bakery with those arms,” you say as you squeeze his bicep. You feel the muscles work under his shirt as he mixes and you think of nothing for a second before recollecting your thoughts, “We could start up a business. You bake while I decorate them and work the front.” you joke to make conversation and not have an awkward silence as you touch his arm.

Marc seems to go along with it, saying “That sounds nice,”

#fanfic #thank you so much for writing this! #moon knight #marc spector

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

MRIEISKEJFOEJFJ I AM BEING SO NORMAL ABOUT THISS!! SO NORMAL!!!!!

“Guess it’s not really a surprise, is it? I only have a few videos saved actually, even though they’re some of my favorites. People are terrible spellers these days. ‘Pussy’ with just one ‘S,’ or ‘whore’ without the ‘h.’ Boner killer, those types of spelling errors.” <- DYING!!! HE WOULD!!! AGGHHHHHGG!!!!

I AM ON THE FLOOR!!!!

steven grant- lipstick words

Summary: You find porn on Steven's computer, and you watch it together. (~1.8k)

Contents: 🔥 18+ nsfw, description of porn (video contains verbal and physical degradation, body writing, masturbation, p in v), watching porn together, fingering

part of @moonknight-events: MK spring ‘24 Bingo Event

-----

As far as you knew, Steven wasn’t big on porn.

He found it a bit silly. Unrealistic. He’d much rather play around with you in the bedroom.

Steven isn’t ashamed to try new things or toys. Always honest about his curiosity.

So, when you start up his laptop and the browser is already open to a porn site, you’re surprised. And when the video starts automatically playing, you’re kind of shocked. He’s never mentioned anything like this before.

You’re torn between not wanting to embarrass him by asking about it, and hurt. Does he feel like he has to hide something that turns him on?

It takes you a few nights to work up the courage. Your opportunity comes on Tuesday documentary night. He gets a bowl of popcorn and sits on the couch.

You set Steven’s laptop on the stack of books you keep on the coffee table for better viewing.

Then, you turn and point to Steven’s lap. “That seat taken?”

Steven grins. “All yours, love.”

You push his legs apart with your hands and settle between them, so your back is to him. You feel him get half-hard just from that. You lean forward to wake up the computer and you hear Steven inhale.

One of his hands touches the sliver of skin between your t-shirt and pajama bottoms, running up underneath and over your back.

He wraps his other arm around you. “Maybe put on something we’ve seen before, yeah? Don’t think I’ll care about watching anything with you sitting so close like this.”

You run your finger over the trackpad, clicking until you find the video you had in mind.

“You might be interested in this.” You hit play and sit up, nestling back against Steven’s warm body.

His hands slide up your thighs, up and up, as he nuzzles his lips against your neck.

The man’s voice in the video freezes Steven’s body completely.

“What does it say on your stomach?” A man’s voice asks.

“Whore,” a woman answers, breathless.

Steven’s body jerks forward, his arm reaches out for the laptop, but you hold him back.

“I want to watch this one,” you say to Steven.

“No, you don’t have to. I thought maybe I’d left it up on accident the other day. It was from before you and I got together,” he says. His words are muffled from behind his hand over his mouth.

On the laptop screen, the video is shaky. Clearly homemade. A woman lays naked on a bed. A man holds a tube of red lipstick, already having written a few things on her smooth skin.

You take Steven’s hand away from his face and set it on the elastic waistband of your pajama pants.

The man writes ‘slut’ on the inside of the woman’s thigh. Steven gets immediately hard, a steel rod against your back.

His fingers play with your stomach, just catching the elastic.

“We can turn this off if you like,” Steven says. “I don’t need it.”

His tone, though, says he’s turned on. That he wants to keep going. You lean your head back slightly. You can still see, but your head is against Steven’s neck.

“You like it, though. We can watch it together,” you say.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says.

You reach out and pause the video. You turn slightly in his lap. Steven’s face is a little red.

“Hey,” you say, waiting until he looks at you. “What kind of porn you watch is your business. I’m a horrible person for violating your privacy. I'm really sorry."

His big, dark eyes widen. “No, love, don’t feel bad, please. I told you to use my computer whenever you like. Maybe,” he bites his bottom lip thoughtfully, “I unconsciously left the porn up for you to find. It’s not really our kind of thing, this. You’re the greatest treasure in the world and I, I-“

He clamps his lips shut to stop his stuttering.

You hold his face in your hands, kiss him softly on the lips. Relief floods over you when Steven wraps his arms around you and kisses you back.

“We can watch that documentary about the domestication of fish.” You kiss the end of his nose. “Or, we can finish what we started. It’s completely up to you.”

Steven rests his forehead against yours, eyes boring into you. “You don’t think less of me, then? Or think that I think less of you?”

That brings a smile out of you. He's so sweet, so willing to put you first. You want to do the same for him.

“No, Steven, of course not. It’s a kink. It’s porn. Those are two safe places for us because we love each other. It's like when we role play that thing where you're the archeologist and I'm the artifact you uncover in the desert. It's fun and hot. We don't have to analyze it. I think it could be like that."

Steven’s breath is warm over your lips. His gaze goes from owlish and searching, to heated. Excited.

“Go on then, press play,” he says with a smile.

You resume your position and start the video. Steven pulls you back tightly against him. His hand is between your legs immediately, rubbing you over the cloth of your pants.

The man in the video draws an arrow on the inside of the woman’s thigh, right up to the apex.

As the woman’s hand starts to touch her clit, Steven’s hand dives into your pants and he does the same to you. Your breath catches, hips thrusting against nothing, trying to get Steven to rub you harder. The woman moans, one finger dipping into her wet cunt.

“Steven, please,” you say. You rub yourself back on his hard length.

His lips suck on the nape of your neck, right where it meets your shoulder.

“You want my fingers, love?” He practically whispers.

The sound of the woman moaning and Steven’s thick fingers teasing your entrance are already driving you crazy.

“Touch me, Steven,” you say.

“I am.” You hear the smile in his voice.

“No,” you whine as he puts pressure on the outside of your wet hole, “inside. Please.”

The very tip of Steven’s middle finger parts your lips. He drags it along your wetness, flicks through quickly. You moan, hips searching for more.

“I’ll give you my fingers, love, if you read what’s written on her thighs. Open your eyes. Watch,” he says. His breath tickles your neck and makes you shiver.

One of your hands snakes up and into Steven’s hair. You grip his curls, doing as he says.

“It says, ‘cum here,’” you say.

Steven’s finger moves a fraction inside of you and you throw your head back on his shoulder.

“Why d’you think it says that?” Steven asks. He traces his tongue up the side of your neck and sucks your earlobe into his mouth.

You sigh loudly. “Be- because, oh God, Steven, more, please.”

His finger withdraws. The woman in the video moans. Your barely open eyes see the man toss the lipstick aside and position himself between her thighs. His hands grip the words he’s written, already smearing them.

“She wants it,” you say. “She wants him to fuck her.”

Two of Steven’s fingertips push inside of you and you moan in relief.

As the man in the video moves his hips, entering the woman in one hard thrust, Steven’s thick fingers push into you, stretching you out and massaging your walls.

You ride the thrust of his fingers, Steven’s other hand working into your pants so he can play with your clit.

The man in the video picks up speed, fucking into the woman harder now. Her thighs grip his, smears of red lipstick all over both of their legs.

Steven fingers you hard and fast, timing everything to the video you can’t take your eyes off of. When the woman comes, screaming and begging, the man loses control, pulling her body tight against his so he can come deep inside of her. Steven finds the hard nub of you clit and works it with his thumb, pushes a third finger into you, knowing it’ll push you over the edge.

Your thighs seize, walls squeezing Steven’s fingers as you grab onto him and come so hard you see stars behind the darkness of your shut-tight eyelids. You feel a gush of liquid between your legs as your hips snap upward, Steven biting softly at your neck as you shake and sob.

He lets you come down gently, easing his fingers away from your clit and giving your sensitive walls slow strokes until you can breathe again. You relax against him, both of his hands reluctantly leaving your pants.

You turn your head, dazed, and kiss his cheek. Steven turns his head and you kiss his mouth, tongues lazily playing with each other. Your hand is still in his hair and you hold his face close to yours.

“Video’s over, love,” Steven says. His eyes are bright and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. “You did so good f’me. Gods, you were beautiful.”

“That was amazing,” you smile. “Can we move this to the bed?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says. He helps you stand up on shaky legs.

You hug him hard. “I love you,” you say.

He kisses the side of your head. “I love you too. More than anything. Thank you for doing that with me.” He holds your chin so he can look you in the eyes. “Next time we’ll use a dirty video you like, yeah?”

You nod. “Sounds good.” A laugh bubbles out of you. You cover your mouth until it stops. But the big smiles stays on your face. “You would like porn with words in it, Steven.”

He chuckles, gives your bottom a light smack. “Guess it’s not really a surprise, is it? I only have a few videos saved actually, even though they’re some of my favorites. People are terrible spellers these days. ‘Pussy’ with just one ‘S,’ or ‘whore’ without the ‘h.’ Boner killer, those types of spelling errors.”

You laugh together until you have tears in your eyes.

Steven takes your hand and leads you toward the bed. He kisses you, pushing up your shirt to play with your breasts. You take it the rest of the way off and throw it aside. Steven looks down at your chest.

“You know,” you say, “I have a shade of red lipstick just like the one in the video.”

You lean in and kiss him. His lips are warm and soft. He kisses you deeply. Then, his fingers curl around your sides and he pulls away.

Steven’s breath goes shaky. “Oh, love,” he whispers. “You’re going to look a beautiful mess when I’m through with you.”

-----

Square G "Pornography"

**MK Spring '24 Bingo masterlist**

MK masterlist :: main masterlist :: Join My Fic Taglist

taglist friends: @burymesanti, @sosa2imagines, @silvernight-m, @myhohastuff, @apesarecuul, @mangoslushcrush, @clemdango04, @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @daydream-believer19, @eternallyvenus, @iolaussharpe-24, @spacecowboyhotch, @bulletgoth, @eternallyvenus, @minigirl87, @oscarssimp, @oddballwriter, @scarlettmoon98, @pigeonmama

#fanfic #thank you so much for writing this! #moon knight #steven grant

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

NO. TOO KIND.

Let's Get Out Of Here

Jake Lockley x GN!Reader • Rating: M •Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | requestinfo• MK Bingo 2024 Masterlist• ko-fi •

Summary: You've met your Dad's best friend before.

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

A/N: This one was so difficult.

Warnings: Implied sexy times, Reader has a sort of family backstory, Reader's Dad had Reader very young, Reader has a good relationship with their Dad, Jake being a flirt, swearing, overuse of italics, typos, not beta read, railroad sentences, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 776

“And this is Jake.” 

Your smile freezes on your face as your Dad gestures to his aforementioned best friend. If it wasn’t for the grounding warmth of his hand on your arm you were sure you would have had an out of body experience. 

Him. 

Oh fuck.

How could it be him?

“Nice to finally meet you Jake.” You nod and shake his hand when he holds his out to you.

“Likewise.” His own smile is polite, tailored to a mask of neutrality that you can see through. He’s shitting himself just as much as you are. 

Your Dad laughs, thankfully oblivious to the sudden tension in air. “I’m glad you two could finally meet.” 

If it wasn’t for social norms you’d turn on your heels and just march right out of there. Maybe you could hide somewhere in the crowd. 

Your Father and Step-Mother were renewing their vows, and were throwing an ‘engagement’ party of sorts. 

They’d long ago moved out of the town you’d grown up in, as had you and sadly your new home was further away from them than you’d have liked. So you didn’t get to see them in person as much as you wanted to. 

Jake had met your Dad about four years ago, the two becoming fast friends. From what your Dad had told you Jake travelled a lot, but when they did meet up they always got on like a house on fire. He was, as well, a little camera shy. Covering his face or ducking out of the way in group photos, so the most you’d ever seen of him was the arm of his leather jacket, a blurred cap, or the scruff of curls poking just into frame. 

It had become a running joke that this ‘Jake’ was either imaginary, or a spy.

Your Dad had had you young, an accident that he always called ‘his greatest achievement’. Despite his youth and the barely sixteen years between you, he had been and was a wonderful father. 

Someone calls your Dad’s name and he excuses himself quickly, darting off before you even have a chance to protest. 

You look after him forlornly, your shoulders slumping. 

Maybe running away wasn’t such a break of social norms. 

“Hi.” Jake says softly, having taken a step closer. 

You turn back to him. He’s shoved his hands in his pocket, looking down before giving you an uncertain smile.

You return the gesture. 

“I’m so sorry-” You blurt out.

“I didn’t know you-” He starts at the same time.

You both laugh. 

“What are the odds?” He says with a shrug. 

“Well, I guess a fondness for you runs in the family?” 

Jake pulls a face and you laugh. 

“Don’t say that.” He grins. 

You try and fail to hide your smile. “Sorry.” 

He shakes his head. “Maybe… if I’d told you my name?” 

“Well,” you shift your weight, relaxing a little. “I didn’t tell you mine either.”

“We were a little preoccupied.” 

“Hmm.” You nod and close your eyes for a second to let the wave of embarrassment pass. “The first time yeah… but I think by the sixth we probably should have.” 

He laughs again. It’s a musical sound, deep and rich. Calming in its certainty. “What did you save my number as?” 

Heat burns a little under your skin. “Pretty guy.” 

“Pretty guy?” His eyebrows raise, but not in upset, just surprise. 

“Yeah, well,” you pull a face. “You’re pretty and a guy, so…”

He puffs his chest out a little, leaning a fraction closer. “You think I’m pretty.” He teases. 

You give him a sincere look. “I think you’re beautiful.” 

The honesty gives him pause for just a beat before he quickly recovers. “Says you.” 

“Says me?” 

“Yeah, says you. You’re stunning.” He lightly touches your forearm, his fingertips just ghosting over your skin.

You swallow, trying not to get lost in his eyes. “Shut up. What do you have me saved as then?” 

He grins, not breaking eye contact for a moment before he pulls out his phone and shows you your contact information. There’s a single red heart emoji listed as your name. 

“I didn’t take you as a romantic.” You tease.

He chuckles, leaning close and whispering in your ear. “Haven’t been treating you right then, have I?” He softly brushes the tip of his nose along your ear and you shiver. “Let me show you just how romantic I can be?” 

He leans back just enough for you to see his expression, the question in his dark eyes as he nods his head towards the venue doors. 

You grin. “Let’s get out of here.” 

____________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh @romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponcho @steven-grants-world  @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin @apesarecuul @reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr @soft-girl-musings  @spxctorsslxt @novarosewood

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[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

NOT IF I KISS YOU FIRST

Move Over

Poe Dameron X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Summary: You let Poe share your bed when he's too drunk to go back to his own room. He, however, can't seem to stop himself from taking up all the space humanly possible.

A/N: A little something for @campingwiththecharmings, I hope you're feeling better 💚

Warnings: sharing a bed, Feelings TM, fingering, oral (f receiving), sleepy sex, p in v sex, typos, overuse of italics, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 1980

________________________________

You shift in your small bed, trying to find a position that is vaguely comfortable. Though it seems more likely that the First Order will just give up and surrender tomorrow, with the way Poe is taking up all the space possible. 

You shove him a little and grumble, too tired to be polite about it. It wasn’t even his bed anyway, or his room. And it was his own fault for getting so drunk on cheap Rorian rum. 

One of the most exciting things about The Resistance using this moon as a new base was the preexisting structures that included personal rooms. Even though they were small, and you didn’t really mind sharing with others, it was nice to have your own space. Was nice. 

Emphasis on the was. 

Poe had basically collapsed in your room, far too out of it to make it back to his own after the celebration night at the cantina. You had kindly given up half of your tiny bed, the act of altruism aided by your soft spot for the pilot. (More than a soft spot if you were being honest.) 

But that was hours ago, when you were more awake and the unspoken deal had been for half of your space. Not the current 95% Poe was laying all over. 

You shove him again, wriggling quickly to take up the free area you managed to push him out of so you could lay comfortably. 

Poe let’s out a soft moan of confusion, but doesn’t open his eyes. 

You settle, satisfied with your well earned extra room. But it’s less than a minute before he’s shifting closer again, trying to encroach on your side. 

That’s it. 

“Poe.” You say harshly, pushing back on him. 

You expect him to wake up groggily, or at least turn over onto his other side facing away from you. 

Instead he mumbles something intelligible and flops his arm over your stomach and snuggles close. He presses his face to your neck, his soft breath hitting your skin. 

Heat rises to your face. This definitely wasn’t what you’d intended. 

“Poe.” You whisper, your previous annoyance burned up with embarrassment. You try to push on his arm, move it back over. But your movements only cause him to grumble and hold you tighter, curling his body into yours. 

You breathe in deeply. At least you had some space, right?

Eventually you drift off to sleep again. And even though you didn’t want to admit it, there was something comforting about Poe’s warmth and tight hug. 

But of course his close proximity made you dream of him. 

It was hazy, and not quite tangible. Part of you was vaguely aware that you were dreaming, the edges were too soft, too liquid and not quite in focus.

Except it felt real. 

There was an ache between your legs that was being teased by a constant pressure. You squirmed against it, trying to find some semblance of relief. 

A faint sigh pulled you further from sleep. A quiet muffled whisper of your name murmured into your neck sent a sharp thrill of sensation down your spine.

“Poe?” Your voice was heavy, saturated with sleep as you shifted slightly, moving and- oh.

He moans softly against your skin as your hip brushes against his hard cock, his fingers digging into your ribs as he holds you close, silently begging you to repeat the motion. 

“‘m sorry,” he mumbled, obviously just fully waking himself. “I didn’t, I didn’t mean to,” this time he shifts slightly, raising his legs and you gasp, unable to stop the sound from spilling out of your mouth. His thigh rubs against your centre, pressing your soaked through pyjama bottoms against you.

You grip hold of his shoulder, your other hand fisting the curls at the nape of his neck as you pull him against you, needing him closer. 

His breath hitches. “Is that good?” He murmured, pressing his thigh against you again and rocking it back and forward slightly.

You bite your lip and nod desperately, your eyes screwed shut. 

He watches you, enraptured for a second, before he slowly leans back to your neck and places a light kiss against your skin. 

You whine at the caress, rubbing your aching clit back and forth against the strong muscle of his thigh. 

Poe briefly mistakes the small sound as distress, all his senses on high alert. “I can stop, I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“Please don’t stop,” you beg, your voice breaking, sounding needy and pathetic and so, so wrecked. “Feels good, please, Poe, please, I-” you moan loudly, giving up any pretence of trying to hide your feelings as he latches back onto your neck, sucking hard, and grabs hold of your hips, fucking you against his leg. 

“Poe,” you whine, dragging out his name. Not sure for a moment if this is real or if you’re still dreaming. 

“Fuck baby, yes,” he growls, biting at your skin before licking a stripe up your neck. “Keep moaning my name like that, keep doing it.” 

He kissed you sloppily, biting at your bottom lip and slipping his tongue into your mouth, as he moved. Before climbing on top of you and hooking his hands under your knees so that he could move your legs apart and settle between him. 

He moaned as he pressed his cock against your clothed heat, echoing your cry of pleasure. 

“Poe,” you whimpered between kisses, so desperate for every touch and caress. 

“Wanted you for so long,” he kissed you hard, trailing his lips down your jaw and neck while he ran his hands over your breasts and waist. “Always imagined what you’d sound like, feel like, taste like.”

He kisses down your chest, biting softly at your breast through the material of your top and moaning when you gasp and buck up against him. 

“Always want you to make that noise,” he groans as he keeps trailing his lips downwards, dragging his fingertips lower until he can slip them under the waistband of your trousers. 

You yelp in surprise as he pulls them off in one fluid motion, partially lifting you off the mattress in the process. The cool night air hits your feverish skin, but you barely have a moment to shiver before he’s pulling your legs back open. His fingers digging into your thighs and leaving bruises in his hast, not that you care. 

When his tongue touches your clit it feels like heaven. You gasp and moan loudly, crying out his name as he sucks. His own groan of pleasure vibrating through you.

He presses his left forearm against the inside of your thigh, spreading his hand out across your stomach and pinning you down as he devours you. 

Instinctively you grind up against him as your claw at the bedsheets. He sucks at your nub, alternating between kitten licks and rolling circles, driving you completely mad as he purposefully ignores your aching centre.  Poe growls low in his throat happily as you moan and writhe under him. 

“Poe, please!” You never imagined it would be like this, never dared to hope that he would want to touch you like this, and now he had pushed all rational thinking completely out of your mind, filled you utterly to the brim with only thoughts of him. 

He moans again, bucking against the mattress to give himself some slight relief. “You’re so wet,” he runs his nose through your folds, following it with broad licks of his tongue. He teases your entrance, just slipping inside for a smallest moment, and chuckling when you whine and try to thrust up against him. 

“How long have you been this wet, hmm?” He nips at your thigh, bringing his right hand up to trace the outline of your pussy while he keeps you pressed against the bed with his left.

“You been walking around the base just desperate for me? Just needing me to take care of you?” 

“Yes,” you sobbed, your skin burning with embarrassment as you admitted it. 

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers, the dark seductive tone faltering at your confession. He buried his face into your thigh, sucking a love bite into your skin. 

Poe presses two fingers into you easily, slowly sliding them in and out and moaning as he feels your walls contract around him. 

Your back arches, toes curling as he gently readjusts the angle, searching for the spot to make you see stars. 

“Poe,” you breathe, so overcome with the sensation of his thick fingers. 

He reaches up with his left hand and grabs yours, squeezing tightly. “That’s it baby, that’s it, fuck,” he bites his lip, watching your face intently. 

The ache in his dick is maddening, all consuming, he’s so hard he’s sure he could cum just from watching you. 

“Always need you,” he mutters, unable to stop himself as he continues to fuck you deep with his fingers. “Always so desperate for you, just want you all the time, I-” He stops himself, stumbling over the words he wants to say, that every fibre of his being demands he says.

He can’t speak those words, can’t admit them when every day is just another chance for the universe to tear you apart. 

“Poe,” you grab hold of him, pulling his lips to yours and kissing him deeply before you yank off your top and tug at his trousers. “I need you too.” 

He groans and kisses you back, almost completely swallowing your words. But thankfully he gets the message and helps you to tug down his trousers to his knees before he leans forward and thrusts into you. 

You both cry out, moaning loud enough to wake the whole base, still just for a moment to truly feel each other before Poe starts to move. 

He rocks his hips against you, thrusting in and out with long lazy strokes as he bites his lip hard enough to bleed. His features pinched together in deep concentration as he tries so hard not to cum. 

“I’m not gonna… I’m not gonna last long,” he moans as you clench around him, at how tightly you grip him and how your muscles tense as you arch up to meet his every movement. 

“Me neither.” You pant, every nerve feels like it’s on fire, ignited by every touch. 

He presses his forefinger against your clit, rubbing soft circles around the nerve and gasping when you twitch and clamp down on him. 

“Poe,” you barely get the word out, pleasure twisting in your stomach and chest and drowning your lungs. 

The slow rock is driving you insane, a gentle push and pull, give and take. It would be so much easier, so much simpler if it was hard and fast and meaningless and wasn’t… wasn’t…

“Baby,” he gasps, so close and needing more, needing you to overwhelm him, to-

You cry out as you cum, throwing your head back and squeezing him hard. He sobs as he follows, thrusting once more and stays deep as he cums inside. 

The sound of both of your breathing fills the room as your heartbeats return to normal.

There’s the smallest fraction of a second where insecurity raises its ugly head, starts to whisper in your ear. 

But it’s almost as if Poe can hear it too. He pushes himself up to look into your eyes before kissing you softly and holding you tight. 

You chuckle as he nuzzles your cheek. 

“I’ve still got my shirt on.” He mutters and you laugh. 

He grins and snuggles into your neck for a moment before he fumbles with the blanket, mostly managing to pull it over you both. “I’ll clean us up in a second, I just wanna…” He yawns and you smile. 

“Me too.” You kiss his cheek and hug him close. He sighs happily and holds you tight.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @whatthefishh  @mbakubabe @romanarose @pimosworld @jake-g-lockley @thefamilybloodstone

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#💚💚💚

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

GAAAHHHHHH!!! MEIFJWKODIR BEAUTIFUL! I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!

𝓢𝓪𝓭 𝓔𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰

𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐘 𝐕 𝐨𝐟 𝐗𝐗𝐕

[𝓪𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓼𝓽'𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽] [ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓 ] AO3 | SPOTIFY | PINTEREST summary ☾ ⤏ you and jake enjoy having movie nights, but he has the habit of spoiling the endings for you. this time is different, though. pairing(s) ☽ jake lockley/reader-centric | constellations!verse word count ☾ 1.9k a/n ☽ ⤏ my fifth 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 one derailed from me as well. I swear these guys have minds of their own. this ended up being a lot sappier than I intended, but...c'est la vie. I love one jake lockley. ☽ MASTERPOST ☾ ☾ PREVIOUS ENTRY ⤎ ☥ ⤏ NEXT ENTRY [TBA] ☽

“I’ll never forgive you for this.”

“Come on, querida. You should’ve had some idea that this would happen.”

“No, I absolutely did not!” You lifted your face from your hands, twisting to the side with your elbows still planted on your knees in order to glare up at your smirking fellow historical drama critic. “It’s not my fault that I don’t have a sixth sense for figuring out plot lines in the first ten minutes like you do!”

“Says the writer,” he chuckled, eyes glittering. “If it makes you feel any better, Steven wasn’t expecting it, either.”

That did, actually. You and Steven had long since developed the practice of conducting ongoing commentaries and speculations on the potential plotline based on the details revealed in whatever media you’d enjoy together—be it TV shows, movies, or books (print or audio)—whereas Jake was more the type to verbalize his predictions as they came to him, disregarding any suspension of disbelief. At least Marc only remarked on the glaring inaccuracies regarding combat, weapons, or injuries that Hollywood lauded for exaggerated effect.

On one hand, it used to drive you crazy—you preferred to experience things as they unfolded and let the story tell itself, following along for the ride…but, on the other hand, the knowing gleam in Jake’s eyes, the smug tilt of his close-lipped grin, and the way he’d start to pay more attention to you instead of the film (particularly with his hands—rubbing his palm over the line of your, at times, tense shoulders, grasping the nape of your neck and stroking the pad of his thumb along your hairline and under the shell of your ear, or petting your head like one would a beloved pet—about which you could never truly complain) eroded your exasperation over time. Now you almost looked forward to it—even if you still gave him a hard time about the inevitable spoilers involved.

Tonight, it would seem, however, that he’d decided to bide his time in order to see your unprepared reaction without dropping an obvious statement that would have indicated the plot twist to you ahead of time. For once, admittedly, you would’ve appreciated the warning.

“How could they say that about her?” you bemoaned, eyes returning to the screen with prolific lamentation. “She’s literally done nothing to them—she doesn’t even want to marry him, they didn’t have to drag her reputation through the mud!”

“I don’t know what to tell you, querida,” Jake chuckled, “it was visible from miles away.”

You huffed and turned away from him, refocusing your attention on the television screen. You watched the protagonist’s subsequent emotional breakdown with trepidation, frowning as she was scorned and criticized by the people that should have been her allies and had claimed to have been her friends. The only people that believed she was innocent in the matter were her sister and, fortunately, her love interest. He arrived late the next rainy night on a raven-black horse that shivered and bellowed mist from his nostrils as the man, drenched and pensive, dismounted to greet the distressed young woman at the door of her family’s home.

“Hey,” Jake murmured, nudging your side with his elbow. “It’ll turn out fine.”

You glanced up at him, relaxing slightly. You’d been teased in the past by several people for being so emotionally invested in fictional characters and their plight—your ex included—and while you weren’t ashamed of the fact you had the ability to extend so much empathy (even in hypothetical situations), you were sensitive to what others might think. Steven didn’t mind—he was much the same as you, honestly, and that was such a relief. Marc didn’t seem to mind one way or the other, thankfully. But Jake was a notorious tease and found a lot of joy in flustering you, and you were still getting used to gauging his personality since you hadn’t known him as long as the other two—so that he wasn’t poking fun at you about this was a monumental relief.

“I know,” you breathed, sinking into his side. He coiled his arm around your shoulders in response. “He’ll save the day with his money and marry her silly. These things never have sad endings.”

Jake hummed and drummed his fingertips on your upper arm. “It’s a good thing. Wouldn’t want you to be sad, chaparrita. Might have to pay that studio a stern visit otherwise.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart squeezed at the sentiment—as aggressive as it was. There was one thing that you had learned for certain since meeting him: Jake showed his love through protectiveness as opposed to the gentler means of the other two men. You’d never want him to hurt someone for you, necessarily (unless they deserved it, of course), but the thought that he would be willing to go up to bat for you, that he had your back no matter what, was far more reassuring than you had ever expected it to be. (Something, something, scary guard dog privileges.)

“Some movies need them, though,” you pointed out. “Sometimes that’s the whole point of the story—something out of the characters’ control happens, and they have to decide how they’ll react. Other times it’s pointless, serves no greater purpose to enhance the plot.”

“Shit happens in real life for no reason, though,” Jake pointed out, voice low as the music onscreen swelled. The love interest was embracing the weeping protagonist, having informed her that he had, in fact, solved the issue. “Sometimes there’s nothing you can do about it.”

You nodded, dropping your head onto his shoulder. “Some people are fortunate enough to have happy endings, though,” you murmured. “It’s a dangerous thing to claim, because things could always go wrong, but…” You swallowed, tucking your nose under the lapel of his shirt. “...I’m glad I met you guys. It was worth everything I’ve gone through.”

Jake stilled, falling silent. You had also learned that such intimate proclamations tended to throw him for a loop—he was not accustomed to revealing his inner emotions, since he’d repressed them (and himself) for so long. He was getting better at communicating in general, thanks to Steven’s long-suffering patience and gentle coaxing, but you could tell anything ‘mushy’ made him slightly uncomfortable. (Having noticed this, you’d asked him early on if he wanted you to slow down on giving him affection—but he’d visibly recoiled at that suggestion, more demanding than asking you not to stop. You could only really speculate since he didn’t talk about it much, but you knew that if you were in his position, even if such attention was new, you’d be famished for it. You’d decided he was just embracing his adjustment period instead of avoiding it, like Marc had tended to do at first.)

He shifted, angling his body closer to yours, and tucked the end of his nose behind the shell of your ear. “...We’re glad we met you, too, querida,” he finally murmured, his free hand slipping down to curl around the knob of your knee. He pressed his face into your neck, and you wondered if he could feel your pounding pulse against his lips. “You’ve done us a whole lot of good.”

Chest tightening, you focused resolutely on the television despite the warring urge to arm him up and press a litany of kisses all over his face and head—any affection he felt comfortable doling out was precious indeed, and you would grant him the privacy of tucking himself out of sight, even if it was under your chin. Marc struggled the most with letting himself be seen as any semblance of vulnerable—and while Jake was more inclined and apt to it, he was still learning to trust you in particular, so allow himself to lower his guard and be himself with you (while, simultaneously, discovering and determining exactly who he was).

To receive a compliment of such caliber from Jake, though, was the highest bestowment of honor anyone could receive. He was picky, you’d learned, extremely so—especially regarding people with whom he associated. He had high standards, given the fact that his top priority had always been protecting the system first and foremost. Allowing anyone with dangerous intentions close enough to potentially hurt them was simply unacceptable, and thus he kept most everyone at arm’s length. That was why he’d acted in such a way towards you when he’d been forced to intervene for Marc’s sake, leading to your first ‘official’ meeting—he never gave anyone the benefit of a doubt until they proved themselves worthy of his extremely loyal regard (and his protection).

“I’m glad,” you responded softly. “I always try my best.”

“It’s all we could ever have asked for.”

You caved, but just slightly. You tilted your head down to press a lingering kiss to the crown of his head, nestling your nose into the neatly combed curls and inhaling the complimentary scents of their shampoo and hair gel. You curled an arm around his back and rubbed your palm in a series of circles between his shoulder blades, forgoing the movie for the sensation of his breath hitching against your throat.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For letting me have my happy ending.”

He swallowed roughly, and when his muscles went rigid you almost expected one of the others to surface—Jake had a habit of retreating when emotions got to be too much for him, which you’d never taken offense to (only had ever worried, but it wasn’t usually very long before he slipped back into the driver’s seat to reassure you by diverting the topic to let you know he was okay)—but instead of Steven’s falsetto lilt or Marc’s flat baritone emerging to notify you of the switch, Jake’s rumbling rasp vibrated your skin via his scruffy lips brushing your artery. “It’s I who should be thanking you, chaparrita, for not running for the hills when you had the chance. You’ve…been there for them when I couldn’t be. And you didn’t…you stuck around for me.” He cleared his throat quietly. “Gracias.”

“De nada,” you returned, kissing his head again and reaching up to play with the errant locks at the nape of his neck. “Eres precioso a mi.”

He let out a breathless, if slightly wet, chuckle, and snuggled in closer. You counted it precious. You counted them precious.

“Tengo hambre,” you commented after a while, sensing he might like to have an out. “¿Qué tenemos qué podemos comer?”

Jake retracted, but it was slow and borderline reluctant, if you didn’t know any better. “Let’s order something, chaparrita. I don’t feel like futzing around in the kitchen this late.”

You smiled and reached for your phone. “Sounds good to me. Asian or…?”

“Thai.” To your surprise, Jake tugged at your arms as he reclined, coaxing you to recline on top of him, your back to his chest. He wrapped you up in an unyielding, tight embrace, smothering his face into your neck once more to mumble against your ear. “Those glass noodles Marc’s gotten before are good. With the chicken.”

You tried your best to bite back your smile, but you couldn’t help the heat building beneath your cheeks. You raised your phone over your face to pull up the corresponding delivery app. “Anything for you, handsome. Anything for you.”

#fanfic #thank you so much for writing this! #moon knight #jake lockley

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

AHHHHH KEKDJKSJFJF OH MY GOSH, THIS IS JUST SO CUTE!!! THIS FIC HAS ADDED YEARS TO MY LIFE! STEVEN IS JUST SO SWEET, I LOVE THEM TALKING ABOUT THINGS THAT HELP TO CALM THEM WHEN THEYRE NERVOUS! THEIR BANTER IS 10/10!!!

If it's not too much hassle, could you please tag me in the next part? (And any fics you write💚🫂)

oh, my dreams

(part 1: it’s never quite as it seems)

summary: Your name’s put you in some strange situations before, but this one might win the prize.

pairings: Steven Grant x fem-presenting!Reader**

rating: general audiences

warnings: strangers to…?, administrative fuckups, descriptions of anxiety/anxiety attacks. **I wrote this with a masculine-named AFAB reader in mind, for reasons I’ll explain below, but it could also be read as a transfem reader being deadnamed, so please read with caution if that’s a sensitive issue for you.

word count: 2650

author’s note: Written for the Moon Knight Spring Bingo @moonknight-events — this is entry #5 for “One Bed.” And thanks to @silvernight-m for the encouragement to finish this. 😘

Happy reading! ❤️

dividers by @firefly-graphics

You tap your keycard against the lock, half your mind on the lecture you’d just attended and the other half laser-focused on turning your brain off and some trash TV on. It’s the best way you’ve found to decompress, after a day of the sheer chaotic overwhelm that is more usually known as the academic conference.

Opening the door, you vaguely register someone else’s presence; it’s always irritating, the university’s insistence on saving money by forcing the grad students to share hotel rooms, but there’s nothing to be done for it. Dues must be paid, and someday, you’ll have tenure and you’ll never have to share a room again. But when you emerge from that pleasant daydream, you realize that something’s gone very wrong.

There’s a man in your room, lounging on the bed, tilting his head at you. “Hello,” he says, rather tentatively. “I — I think you might have got the wrong room.”

“Oh God — “ You fumble for the tiny envelope your keycard had come in, and can’t find it. “I’m so sorry — you must be right, let me just… but I swear it said 303, it’s got to be here somewhere…” After what feels like a year, you manage to unearth it, and it’s right there in black and white. You glance back to the still-open door, and those numbers haven’t changed either. Belatedly, it dawns on you: it’s happened again.

“Oh, shit,” you wail, dropping your bag on the floor. “Shit shit shit.”

“Are you all right?” He gets up and pads over to you, peering curiously at your stricken face. He’s British, clearly, from the accent; tousle-haired and dark-eyed and cute in the gentle, nerdy sort of way you like. Far too cute to be tainted by the swirling vortex of bullshit that always seems to follow you around.

“Fuck.” You scrub at your forehead, trying to ease the sudden headache that’s developed, and laugh bitterly. “It’s not personal, I promise — I don’t even know you…”

“Well, I’m Steven. With a V. Steven Grant.” He smiles at you, radiating a careful sort of friendliness, as though you’re a stray dog of uncertain temperament. “So now you know me a little bit, yeah? D’you want to come in and see if we can sort this out?”

You’re too flustered to object, and you step into the room and flop down into the desk chair, because your legs don’t seem to want to hold you up anymore. “Okay. It’s okay,” you repeat softly, trying to calm yourself. “He seems nice. He’s probably not a serial killer...”

“I’m definitely not a serial killer, if that helps.” His eyes are kind, concerned, and you feel oddly safe with him, despite your embarrassment at realizing you’d just said that out loud. “I’m just Steven, perpetually exhausted student. So what’s happened here? Is it something I can help with?”

“It’s my stupid name,” you growl. It happens all the time, no matter what you do to prevent it, and every time it does, it feels like sandpaper on your skin. You’ve put your pronouns in your email signature, you’ve written Ms. before your name, and none of it ever matters because people don’t fucking read. “They see it on the registration forms and just assume I’m a guy, and then something like this always goes wrong.”

“They did tell me I’d have a roommate,” he thinks out loud. “I saw your name on the list and I thought you were this bloke I know from my college, so I didn’t think anything of it…” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, facing you, and that’s when it hits you.

The bed.

The single, solitary, admittedly large and very comfortable looking, but still only, bed.

“There’s only one bed,” you sigh. “Of fucking course there’s only one bed.” Tipping your head back, you study the ceiling as though it has an answer for you.

“Well, that’s it then,” Steven says. “We’ll have to talk to the organizers — I’m absolutely sure it wouldn’t be a problem for them to move one of us to another room. I’ll go with you and talk with them, if you like.”

“I can’t,” you interrupt. You feel it rising, that itchy, frantic, skin-too-tight feeling, the certain knowledge that when one more thing goes wrong you won’t be able to hold the screaming in. You’re frantically trying to gather up the cracking pieces of your carefully constructed shell, and the tigers in the tall grass will be upon you before you know it. “I can’t, because then I have to admit they’ve put me in the wrong room, and they’ll have to shuffle everyone around and it’ll make a big fuss and I’ll have Pain In The Ass stamped on my forehead when I go to network and I’ll never find a PhD advisor and — “

I don’t need you anymore, you’ve tried to tell it so many times. There aren’t any tigers here — you don’t need to protect me like this. But it doesn’t work that way, and you know it. It’s a bit like a wild animal itself, the anxiety, the way you’ve tried your best to tame it with meds and therapy and other, less doctor-sanctioned remedies, and sometimes it feels like you’re finally learning how to be friends.

And then it turns on you again, vicious claws and teeth sinking deep, and you remember you haven’t learned anything at all.

“I just can’t,” you whisper.

Steven’s hand lands on your shoulder, and you flinch; you hadn’t noticed him getting up to approach you again. “Breathe, love,” he says gently. “Just — take a minute, yeah?” You try, but your brain and heart and lungs don’t want to get with the program, and he sees the panic in every line of you. He half-sits down on the table, never taking his hand off your shoulder, and the other hand finds yours and curls around it comfortingly. “The only good thing about having anxiety attacks,” he says quietly, “is that you know what to do when someone else is having one.”

He breathes, deep and slow, leading by example, and gradually your heart settles into a slower rhythm as though his own is pacing it. His hands are big, and warm, and they ground you, bringing you back to yourself. Tigers in the area, the anxiety whispers, fading, but not here, not right now.

“The way I see it, we’ve got two options,” he says softly, letting go of you and ticking them off on his fingers. “Option one, we go and talk to the organizers and let them sort things out.” You shake your head quickly; he must see the panic rising again, because he switches tracks immediately. “Option two, we, er — don’t do that, and just leave things as they are.”

Your eyes fly wide. You’d been half-ready to just leave, throw your opportunities away and run back to the airport with your tail between your legs, but... “You mean…”

“This isn’t some kind of a — a come-on, or anything!” he assures you quickly, brows furrowed. “I don’t want to be the conference creeper, you know? But it is rather late, and if you’re really sure you don’t want to talk to anyone about it, I don’t mind at all if you stay.”

“Even though there’s only one bed? Doesn’t that bother you?”

He shrugs. “It’s only two nights — I think we can manage to be grown-ups about it for that long, yeah?”

The faceless Many, the Here Be Dragons on the map, versus the gentle sweet-faced One, familiar only by a technicality: it’s an easy choice, after all. It’s probably not your smartest, and even as you make it, your rational brain is pressing you to reconsider. But the anxiety, for once, is silent.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Yeah. I’ll stay.”

*

You stay, and it’s — well, it’s nice. He’s nice.

He’s nothing but cheerful all evening, going out of his way to help you feel more comfortable with him and with this whole clusterfuck of a situation. And he’s funny, with a sassy wit that offers a glimpse of the brain below the messy curls. (You have a momentary thought of gratitude for the opportunity to see Steven Grant with bedhead tomorrow morning. It’s going to be epic.)

“I’m at Cambridge,” he tells you at one point. “About halfway through my PhD in Egyptology. On the linguistics end, mainly, not digging up tombs and things. But I have been on a dig or two.”

“Wow, Ancient Egypt. That’s like — the gateway drug. The thing that makes kids want to be archaeologists in the first place, and here you are doing it.” You smile at him, and he flushes.

“I suppose you’re right — always had a thing about it, as long as I can remember. Probably watched too many old movies as a kid.” He grins back at you, and it’s endearing as hell, warm and a little shy but somehow cheeky, too. “How about you? What’s your field?”

“I’m on the tech side. Mapping, satellite photography, ground-penetrating radar, all the fancy-ass things that tell you folks where to dig.”

“Oh, that’s fascinating!” he exclaims. “I could never — I’m hopeless with technology. Utter disaster.”

“Most of you are,” you retort before you can think better of it. “That’s why you have us.”

He laughs for the first time, and you immediately want to make him do it again. “That’s why we have you,” he acknowledges with a tilt of his head.

You’ve always been prone to crushes. They tend to creep up on you, more subtle than the anxiety, but no less consuming. The first tendrils always wind delicately around your ankles, and by the time you’ve registered their presence you’re already bound up to the knees. No no no no no, you tell yourself, you cannot do this right now. This is Not Allowed. This whole thing is more than weird enough already, without bringing his kindness and his intelligence and his big brown eyes into it.

Oh, no.

It’s already too late, isn’t it? the anxiety taunts.

Sure fuckin’ is, the crush responds.

You shove it down, ruthlessly, burying it as deep as you can. You keep it light, trading fieldwork tales, always the preferred currency at these things but more important than ever now. I’m for real, they say, trustworthy and honest and normal about things. I’m safe to talk to.

Steven ventures out for snacks to give you a chance to get ready for bed in privacy (god, how is he so nice), and when he comes back he nibbles on dark chocolate while he regales you with stories of Egypt. “Most people don’t know this,” he says, “but Cairo’s literally right up next to the pyramids. There’s a bloody Pizza Hut across the street.”

You stare, skeptical. “No. No way. That can’t be true.”

“Have a look at your maps,” he insists, pointing at you with the chocolate bar. “It’s absolutely true. Fastest way to spot the Egyptologist in the room is to show ‘em a movie where someone visits the pyramids and gets ‘lost in the desert.’”

You trade a few more stories, and then you can’t put it off any longer; your commitments tomorrow make a reasonable bedtime imperative. When there’s a lull in the conversation, you stand up and stretch. “I’m just gonna — “ you say awkwardly, gesturing toward the bathroom, and disappear to brush your teeth again (since he’d given you half the chocolate).

When you come out again, he’s rummaging for his own toothbrush, which means you have at least two minutes alone to decide how you want to navigate the inherent absurdity of getting into bed with a stranger. Don’t make it weird, the anxiety cautions. “By the way, do you have any, uh — bad habits I should know about?”

He looks up, startled. “Pardon?”

“I mean, like — do you hog the covers? Or snore?” You shrug as though it’s a perfectly normal question to ask someone you met a couple hours ago, and try to ignore the heat rising in your face.

“My, er, brothers — Marc and Jake — they say I talk in my sleep, sometimes. So I’m sorry in advance if I say anything bonkers.” Steven laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “Still don’t know if I really do, or if they’re just having me on.”

“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know,” I promise. “And if — if I can’t sleep, I’ll try not to keep you up.”

He smiles at that. “Likewise.”

And once he’s brushed his teeth, there’s really no putting it off any longer, and it doesn’t end up being as weird as you’d thought. Just two people climbing into opposite sides of a bed and settling down for the night, nothing weird about that at all. It feels rude to turn your back, somehow, so you curl on your side, facing him, and he clicks off the light and does the same.

You’ve tried to talk yourself out of it, but the apology spills out anyway. “I’m sorry — this is probably the last thing you needed tonight…” Your voice is small in the quiet room. “But — but thank you. For helping me.”

“No, no, it’s no trouble at all! This is good!” Steven protests. “I mean, not that you’ve got anxiety, but this — whole thing.” He waves his hand in a vague circle around the room. “It’s a good distraction. Means I’m not getting in my own head about my lecture tomorrow.”

Okay. That makes a certain amount of sense, and you begin to feel slightly better. “Do these conferences bother you too?”

He pauses for a moment. “Maybe… not quite in the same way as you? I don’t mind talking to people one-on-one and that, but presenting to a crowd always gives me a few fits, beforehand.”

“Do you — “ You swallow hard before continuing; it’s going to sound silly, maybe, but he’s looking at you so gently and like he understands, and you blurt it out. “Do you want to know a trick I have? It might help, if you want it…”

“Yeah?” He’s waiting as calmly as if you’re having this discussion over coffee, in broad daylight, not inches from each other in bed in a darkened hotel room, and it emboldens you.

“If I’m nervous about meeting someone, or — or giving a talk, or whatever, sometimes it helps me to, um — get there first.”

“Get there first,” he repeats, considering.

“Yeah. Get there first. Then it’s like — they’re coming into your territory, and you’re in charge.”

“That’s quite clever, actually.” He begins to smile, a broad grin creeping up like sunrise, and nods happily. “‘Get there first.’ I’ll remember that.”

A tiny glow of satisfaction burns in your chest, and you lie in silence together for a time. It’s a comfortable one, strangely intimate; you could talk, if you wanted, but for once you don’t feel like you need to. It’s enough just to be here, next to him, somehow knowing it’s enough for him, too.

It’s just — nice.

And then he stretches and turns, and for half a second your brain shorts out. “G’night,” he says, his voice already blurred with sleep. “Sweet dreams.” And he’s out like a light before you can even return the wish.

Even as your eyelids grow heavy, you’re convinced you’ll never sleep; how could you, when you’re literally in bed with a complete stranger, kind as he is? But the soft rise and fall of his breath is better than your white-noise machine, and the last thing you remember seeing before drifting off is his strong profile, silhouetted by the moonlight seeping through the space where the curtains don’t quite meet.

If you dream, you don’t remember it.

But it’s the first time you’ve ever been to one of these things and slept through the night.

part 2 coming soon…

@juneknight @spacecowboyhotch

author’s note, again: I got the idea for this fic from something that did, actually, happen to me as a teenager. Only in my case it was a summer music camp, not a conference, and my mother threw an unholy fit and made them change my room immediately.

(Sorry, Andrew. I guess we’ll never know what could have been.)

If your own name doesn’t match your gender presentation, for whatever reason, please know that I am fist-bumping you in solidarity and I love you.

#fanfic #thank you so much for writing this! #moon knight #steven grant

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

FKWJXNKEJDUD MY EMOTIONS!!! AHHH THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL!!! YOU ALWAYS GET ME WITH THE FEELS AND THE FLUFF! AMAZING!!!

uncalled for

summary: you get quite upset when poe "saves" your assigned mission by giving orders to your teams without consulting you; poe is determined to fix his mistake.

warnings: (public) arguing, talks of the future; family and having kids

tags: gn!reader, angst, being parents to bb8, fluff, this ends up being real sweet tbh

word count: 1.7k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

(uh yeah I'm back if you even noticed I was gone lol. I might just post this and disappear again for a little longer idk but anyways I'll explain the reason whenever I'm back for good; I'm okay don't worry, and I'm still gonna post fics don't worry it's nothing too serious fr)

It causes a disruption when you both barge into the hangar; despite the constant clattering and whirring of tools and material there, both your bitter shoutings have been overlapping the sounds ever since Poe started following you closely, right from the moment you hastily jumped out of your x wing to try to forget about the awful management of your mission that would probably cost you to never get to lead one again. 

“It was my call, not yours” you affirm bitterly, voice dripping with resentment, your steps heavy and hurried as you try to shake Poe off but he is anything if not persevering, so it only manages to piss you off even more and fuel your frustration. “I didn’t need you to save my mission or whatever,” you exclaim, causing heads to turn as you walk across the large room, barely minding what is going on around you. 

“I did because I knew it would work!” Poe tries to explain, still heeling you closely. “I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t sure it would be successful” he declares louder than he needs to, thrown off when you suddenly stop in your steps, turning to him.

“So you think you can make decisions for me? You think I can’t do it, can’t command a mission correctly?” you rhetorically ask, revolted, sighing a profanity under your breath before you storm off again, your steps resonating with frustration. Poe sighs and winces before he follows you again, taking a hold of your arm.

“Babe come on you know that’s not–”

You stop again, your patience running short. “You had no right to encroach on my orders, I knew what I had to do, and you stepping in with your own instructions could have blown the whole mission up!” you call out, pressing a finger to his chest. 

It’s when you finally take a moment to take a look at his face that you realize it, what is going on; you are being the center of attention, the little show everyone stopped their current task to sit and watch, your every word carefully awaited by your unwanted audience. 

You sigh softly, taking a moment to step back from the situation. “Now leave me alone before we embarrass ourselves further or before I tell you things I don’t really mean just because I’m angry and don’t wanna talk to you” you hiss softly before leaving Poe in the middle of the busy room where he watches you walk away, helplessly standing there. 

When he looks around him, most people turn away and avert their gazes to pretend they haven’t witnessed anything, and Poe is well too aware of the tension still lingering in the air even as you exit the room.

When Jessika climbs down from her ladder after watching the scene from her cockpit, BB-8 rolls over to her and chirps sadly, having observed yours and Poe’s argument from afar just like most of the hangar after his master went running after you. She kneels down to the droid’s level, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“That’s gonna be fine Beebs, they always end up figuring it out somehow” she affirms as the droid’s upper part sinks in distress accompanied by saddened beeps. Jessika can’t help but smile fondly at him and his obvious concern, at the fact that he quite literally acts like you are his parents.

—

A few hours have passed when Poe joins you again; you don't notice him at first, having made sure to get focused enough on your paperwork to forget about the whole situation and try to ease the frustration within you. It's only when you put your datapad down that you see him leaning against the door frame.

“You're so pretty when you're focused” he smiles gently when your eyes meet his figure, causing you to roll your eyes and reluctantly smile at his words despite your lingering frustration. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you sigh softly as you try to hide your slight smirk, gaze darting back down to enter numbers into your datapad.

He acknowledges your feelings with a nod, his lips pressed together in a tight line. “I know.” he admits, stepping into the room. “That’s why I’m here” You look back up at him, taking a deep breath as you set your datapad aside; despite the fact that everything he did since you wrapped your mission up got on your nerves, deep down you only wish for this to situation to get figured out and eventually be behind the both of you. You join him in front of your desk, leaning against it.

“I knew what I was doing. I was handling it” you affirm before he even gets the chance to do so much as open his mouth.

He holds a hand up to slow you down. “I know,” he nods understandingly. “I shouldn’t have redirected the plan, I should have trusted you. I was just afraid things would go wrong considering how it was all starting to go down so quickly” he explains. “I know I could have fucked it all up, everything you put in place so the mission could go right” you slightly tilt your head to the side in agreement. 

“And I know my move was probably a lot more dangerous than the plan you had in mind to make everything right but you know I would never put you or our teams in danger, only myself” he declares with a concerned nod, causing your expression to soften. “You, never. I would never risk it, no matter what” there’s a soft frown over his face as his eyes flicker with sincerity, his confession making your heart ache as it hangs in the air before he talks again. “And I never doubted your ability to command a mission.” 

You nod with a heavy sigh, acknowledging his apology. “I should apologize too. I shouldn't have lashed out on you like that either.” you admit and nod sheepishly, reflecting on your impulsive behavior. “I really wanted this mission to go right”

“For what it’s worth,” he starts with a small smile, trying to dissimulate a bigger one. “I talked about it with Leia and she thinks you did pretty good” his declaration doesn’t fail to draw an appreciative smile from you, one that makes him mirror your action. “And she thinks we would work great together”

“And I agree,” you reply, finally feeling a weight lift off your shoulders as the tension between you begins to dissipate. “We do make a good team.”

Poe’s smile widens, relieved to see you loosen up a bit. “Yeah, we do” he agrees with a small huff, stepping closer to you. “I just hate seeing you so worked up.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “I hate getting worked up,” you scoff. 

“I’ll try to think about it twice next time,” Poe promises, reaching out to gently take your hand in his. “I don’t want to step on your toes or make you feel like I don’t trust you or your judgment.”

Your fingers intertwine with his, the warmth of his touch calming you further. “Well I’ll try not to snap at you,” you promise in return, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as you let your head rest against his chest with a small, barely audible sigh. “Especially not in front of everyone,” you mutter, earning an amused chuckle from him. You melt into his touch as he leans to press a gentle kiss over your forehead, his hand that is not holding yours coming to wrap around you.

It is only after you pull away from his embrace and leave a chaste kiss to his lips that the corner of your eye notices a sort of spy in the corner of the door frame.

“What’s he doing here” 

Poe frowns before he turns around, huffing out a laugh when he notices BB-8 peeking out the door. “How long have you been here?” he jokingly scolds his droid that fully reveals himself now that he has been caught. “You know he doesn’t like when we fight” he softly sighs turning back to you, a mix of amusement and concern in his eyes before he looks at BB rolling over the both of you.

You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile at BB-8’s presence. “Very sweet of him to be looking out for us,” you start, reaching out to pat the droid’s dome affectionately. “But maybe he should learn not to eavesdrop.”

BB-8 chirps playfully, obviously pleased with the attention, seemingly eager to be a part of the reconciliation.

Poe chuckles, kneeling down to scratch behind BB-8’s sensor with a fond smile. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll work on that,” he says before glancing back at you with a soft smile. “He's our kid, he’s been worried sick about us, weren't you?” he turns to BB, who's beeping frantically in agreement.

You glance at him, then back at Poe, a softness settling in your chest at the sight of them together, your little family. “Our first kid, yeah” you smile softly, heart fluttering inside your chest.

“First? Meaning there's gonna be more?” Poe asks with a playful smile, getting back on his feet. He raises his eyebrows as he awaits your response, and you both laugh at the sudden change of atmosphere as Poe wraps a hand around you before pressing a kiss to your temple.

You huff out a laugh at his quick jump to conclusion, “I don't know, you're a pretty good dad to this one,” you shrug.

“A couple hours ago I was dead to you and now we're talking having kids” he laughs into your hair, a teasing tone in his voice. 

“You weren’t even close to being dead to me, you’re so dramatic Poe” you declare with a small scoff, poking his chest lightly. “That’s the reason Beebs loves you so much” you tease, making him huff out a laugh. “I’d say we should focus on surviving one parenting experience first,” you chuckle looking down at BB-8, nudging Poe playfully. “But who knows what the future holds?”

Poe grins, his eyes sparkling with excitement as his arm grasps tighter around his hold on you. “As long as I have you by my side, I'm up for anything babe.”

—

reblogs and feedback are extremely (I cannot stress this enough) appreciated!!

star wars masterlist: @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry @jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious @stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly

#fanfic #thank you so much for writing this! #poe dameron

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

MEOEKFKWKDJFJ AHHH THIS IS JUST SO CUTE OH MY GOSH!!!

The Baby Dream

Summary: You tend to have "the baby dream" every once in a while, but you never really mentioned it to your boyfriend Marc let alone had a conversation about having a baby with him in general. You tell him about the one you just had this time.

Warnings: not really anything real to warn about other than the reader's character feels a little sad when they find out that their baby was only something in their dream. Implied afab reader and implied that they breastfeed their baby. 

Author’s Snip: I have a mix of baby fever and recently had a baby dream of my own so I decided to use that as a prompt.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 618

Taglist: @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction (you too can join my tag list, just ask)

The sound of a small soft grunt and whine wakes you right up. The morning sun breaches through the bedroom curtains and gives the room a soft lighting that makes the room visible without burning your still sleepy eyes. You look around for a bit, finding Marc still asleep and snoring softly. You sit up in bed and find the source of the noise, seeing a crib in the corner of the room along the wall.

Oh, looks like Mel's awake. Who's Mel? You and Marc's baby daughter of course!

You get up, careful not to wake Marc since he dealt with her waking up and crying in the middle of the night. Walking over to her crib, you look down and see her look back at you with her cute little eyes. They look just like the boys', all big and doe-like.

You scoop her up and out of her crib and cradle her in your arms. You feel her weight in your arms along with her squirming slightly to get comfortable.

"Good morning," you softly coo, "How'd you sleep? Huh?" you ask her. Of course, she can't answer, but judging that she didn't wake up crying like she usually does when she's had trouble sleeping, she slept just fine. Mel's tiny hands grip your pajama shirt. "I see we want breakfast now," you comment in response to her grabbing.

You walk back to the bed so that you can be comfortable while you feed her, but when you're supposed feel yourself sit, you wake up.

The room looks just the same, say for the fact that Marc is in the act of getting up out of bed this time. "Oh shit, sorry, hun. Did I wake you up?" Marc asks. You shake your head and carefully sit up and look towards the corner where Mel's crib was, but there's nothing there. No crib or baby...

Right. You don't have a baby together. It was just another baby dream that you have occasionally. You feel a bit of weight in your chest at the fact that you and Marc's baby girl wasn't real. Even though she only existed in your dream for a moment it felt so real. Like you actually had her and took care of her.

You realize that you're starting to tear up and shake off the feeling. "Sorry, I just had a dream," you explain. "Do you want to talk about it?" Marc gently asks. You take a moment and then a breath. "We had a baby," you say, "That was it. We had a baby together and I woke up to her waking up and I held her for a bit before I actually woke up." you explain further. "It's a normal thing. I have dreams where I have a baby from time to time." you mention.

Marc just look at you for a second. You look towards him to see what has him so quiet. He has that look on his face when he's thinking about something and trying to choose his words. You let him do his thinking before he finally speaks. "Do... you want a baby?" he asks.

"Yes?" you say, unsure yourself. "I don't know. It's sort of a hormone thing, like baby fever," you say. "We've never really had that talk before, I know. So I don't know if you want to have kids," you mention. "Okay, but do you want to have kids someday?" Marc rephrases his question. "Yeah. I'd like to have a family with you someday when we're ready." you answer.

Marc nods. "Yeah..." he says, "I think that would be a good conversation to have sometime soon." he adds with a slight smile.

#fanfic #thank you so much for writing this! #moon knight #marc spector