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swan-of-sunrise · 2 years

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Loki and the Cosmic Sorceress’ Spellbinding World Tour (A Spellbinding-Verse Interlude)

Summary: Loki and (Y/N) embark on a month-long trip to visit a dozen of the most beautiful and unique libraries in the world, each stop jam-packed with plenty of adventure, excitement and romance for the God of Mischief and the Cosmic Sorceress.

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 11.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a depiction and discussion of PTSD and its symptoms.

A/N: As promised, here's a not-so-little one-shot chronicling Loki and (Y/N)'s nerdy but well-earned vacation! If you haven't already, I recommend checking out the Spellbinding Playlist; I added a song from each country they visit and they're all great, so go ahead and give it a listen! Thank you so much for reading and I hope that you enjoy! (And a special shout-out to @mostclevermiss for giving me such wonderful inspiration and for being an overall awesome person, I hope I did El Ateneo Grand Splendid justice!)

~ Loki and the Cosmic Sorceress’ Spellbinding World Tour (A Spellbinding One-Shot) ~

1. Biblioteca Vasconcelos Mexico City, Mexico June 25th, 2016

Although the first of the twelve unique libraries they’d be visiting during their globe-trotting, month-long vacation, the Biblioteca Vasconcelos was far from the most glamorous or inviting of the dozen. The exterior of the building did little to stand out as a center for knowledge, with concrete walls and steel fences holding in the surrounding vegetation, but the inside was truly an impressive sight; a crisscrossing array of expandable metal shelves filled the cavernous interior and open-air balconies of each of the seven levels overlooked the entire library, and sunlight filtered in through the large skylights and slatted side windows. Musicians were playing their instruments in the garden and teenagers practiced a dance routine near the glass facades on the ground level while inside, patrons were reading, studying and conversing with one another as they enjoyed the warm summer day. Loki and (Y/N), however, were taking a small break from admiring the unusual architecture and vast literary collection to help a certain friendly neighborhood Spider-Man with his schoolwork.

“I thought that Parker started his summer vacation yesterday,” Loki remarked, thumbing through a book of Mexican history as he leaned against a nearby bookshelf. “Didn’t he tell us all that he passed his final exams with high marks and that he qualified for the next grade’s advanced placement Spanish course?”

(Y/N), who stood at the railing of the fourth floor’s balcony and carefully filmed the floors below them, glanced away from her smartphone’s screen and smiled. “Peter’s an overachiever; he knows that his new Spanish teacher always assigns her eleventh graders a cultural report on Mexico, so…”

“He’s planning his report out ahead of time, hence why he asked that we film as much of our stop in Mexico as we possibly can.” Loki concluded and when his fiancée nodded, he let out an appreciative hum. “Impressive. I’ll never understand how that child manages to find the time to patrol the city as its friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, achieve high marks on nearly all his schoolwork, work on various experiments with Stark and Doctor Banner in the laboratory, maintain multiple friendships…”

“And do it all while somehow keeping his aunt out of the loop,” (Y/N) added as she panned her smartphone to capture the level they were standing on. “I speak from personal experience that sooner rather than later, aunts will always find out the truth. When I was sixteen, I thought that it would be a good idea to let one of my friends secretly pierce my bellybutton; naturally, it became infected and I was finally forced to tell Aunt Evelyn about it. She didn’t ground me or judge my obviously poor decision, but she did take me to the doctors and help cheer me up by telling me about the time she decided to over-tweeze her eyebrows right before taking her senior portrait.”

With a chuckle, Loki set the book back onto the shelf and crossed his arms over his chest. “It would seem that you and I were both quite the rebels in our youth. I was only beginning to learn how to wield magic when I decided that I wanted to grow a beard to rival Thor’s, but I miscalculated the strength of the spell and covered my entire body in hair; my mother was forced to reverse the spell I’d used and afterwards, she promised to never speak a word of my little misstep to anyone, but especially not to Thor.”

“Well, sweetheart, I think you’re handsome just the way you are.” Smiling, (Y/N) held her phone in one hand and rested the other against his smooth cheek before giving him a sweet kiss; Loki hummed in approval and while he kissed her back, his arm slipped around her waist and his long fingers teasingly traced patterns along the material covering her bellybutton, smirking in triumph when she pulled away to shoot him a reprimanding look. “You know as well as I do that there isn’t a piercing there, Loki.”

Loki shrugged, his grin widening when his fingertips slipped beneath the hem of her shirt and she stifled a small gasp. “I know, darling, but it’s awfully tempting to imagine if there was, isn’t it?”

(Y/N)’s lips were ghosting over his when the familiar voice of Peter Parker timidly called out, “Um…I-I think you might’ve called me by accident, Miss (Y/L/N)…” Their eyes widened in alarm and their attention quickly shifted to the phone clutched in (Y/N)’s hand. “I’m just…I-I’m gonna hang up now but thank you guys so much for filming the library and have fun on the rest of your vacation! Bye!”

The flustered teenager abruptly hung up and as they exchanged matching looks of guilt, Loki thought of the children that they hoped to have someday and sent them each a silent apology for all the embarrassment that their lovesick parents would force them to endure.

2. Biblioteca Nacional do Brasil Rio de Janerio, Brazil

“‘In 1755, a massive earthquake nearly destroyed the city of Lisbon, killing somewhere between ten and one hundred thousand people, turning hundreds of buildings into rubble and becoming one of the deadliest natural disasters in history. One casualty of the momentous event was the seventy thousand volume Royal Library in the demolished Royal Ribeira Palace; soon after the earthquake, King Joseph I of Portugal organized construction of a new Royal Library.’” (Y/N) read aloud from the well-worn travel brochure in her hands, briefly looking up from the paragraph she was reading to glance down at the grand reading room below. “‘Fear that another earthquake would devastate the new collection of volumes and the Napoleonic Wars reaching the borders of Portugal finally pushed the royal family into fleeing to the Portuguese colony of Brazil with their book collection in tow.’”

“Thus, creating the largest library in Latin America.” Loki leaned his forearms against the balcony’s railing and met (Y/N)’s gaze with an amazed smile. “It’s truly incredible how they were able to amass such a collection in less than three centuries.”

“I actually learned how they did it in one of my college courses! Back in 1907, it was decided that each publisher would send one copy of each new publication to the library, to grow Brazil’s bibliography in order to preserve national language and culture. It’s not the only library that’s implemented such a practice, of course, but is that a genius idea or what?”

Loki’s grin widened as he nodded in agreement. “It certainly is. Is that one of the policies you’ll be enacting once you complete your work on Alfheim’s public library, your royal highness?”

She playfully bumped her hip against his and leaned on the railing beside him. “It certainly is.”

After Amirah agreed to become the next Queen of Alfheim and informed (Y/N) that she’d be declaring her Defender of the Realm and Alfheim’s representative to the Nine Realms, (Y/N) began to brainstorm various ways to strengthen the realm’s cultural appreciation while simultaneously educating the Light Elves on nearly a thousand years of history they missed while trapped within Freyr’s barrier of Alf Seidr. She recalled the conversation she’d shared with Myriani and Hagen about her mother on the night she arrived at the rebel’s base camp, where Myriani revealed that Layeia’s dream was to establish a library for all Alfheimians regardless of social class; she planned to fill it with books from each of the Nine Realms in the cosmos, but she sadly died before her dream could come to fruition. Now that Amirah sat on the throne and Alfheim was beginning to heal, (Y/N) knew that there was no better time to finish what her mother started.

“I was skimming through your travel brochure just before our dinner reservation yesterday, and the Teresa Cristina Maria photograph collection that this library curates caught my attention; perhaps you could start a similar collection on Alfheim and fill it with photographs taken of various planets and people across the galaxy?”

Shrugging the small backpack off her shoulders, (Y/N) tucked the guidebook away and pulled out a spiral notebook, jotting down Loki’s suggestion before giving him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “That’s a brilliant idea, sweetheart!” She let out a low whistle as her eyes flicked across the page, noticing how nearly every line filled with messy scribbles and half-formed ideas for the ambitious undertaking. “You know, I really have no idea how I’m supposed to get all of this done without cloning myself or somehow messing with the space-time continuum.”

Loki’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, and he gave her upper arm a comforting squeeze. “Establishing a library this grand will undoubtedly take time, darling. If you go about things the way I know you want to, then the library will never truly be finished; it’ll continue to flourish and grow with each new generation, much like the very library we’re standing in, and it’ll be just as magnificent. And if you still feel overwhelmed, you can always create a committee to help you oversee the library’s development.”

“…I suppose it doesn’t sound so stressful and hopeless when you put it that way.”

Her fiancé’s tender smile widened in triumph. “Good. You’ve more than earned a lengthy and relaxing vacation, and it’s my solemn duty to ensure that you enjoy it to its fullest; that includes making sure that beautiful mind of yours remains free of any worry.”

“Oh, my savior!” She pretended to swoon, bursting into a fit of giggles when Loki easily caught her and began pressing kisses across her face. “Okay, okay, I surrender!” He captured her lips in one final kiss and when he pulled away, she rested a hand against his cheek and smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“For what, my love?”

“For being you.” Loki’s cheeks flushed pink at her sentimentality and her smile widened. “C’mon, let’s finish exploring here so we can return to the hotel and get ready for a night of drinking and dancing!”

3. El Ateneo Grand Splendid Buenos Aires, Argentina

After taking a long sip of his capuchino, Loki sat back in his chair and let out a satisfied sigh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that I died while heroically defending a library and that this bookshop is my personal Valhalla.”

“Mm-hmm,” (Y/N) hummed in agreement after taking a large bite of her jamón y queso. “I know that it sounds like an exaggeration, but this is hands-down the best ham and cheese sandwich I’ve ever eaten. I have to learn how to make this when we go back home…well, I should probably hone my cooking skills first before attempting something this tasty.”

“I’ll happily teach you how to cook just as soon as you teach me how to bake that delicious chocolate cheesecake of yours. You know, the one that you baked for Doctor Banner’s birthday party?”

“Deal.” Finishing her sandwich and taking care to wipe her hands off with her napkin, (Y/N) began sifting through one of the many stacks of books they’d piled beside their café table while Loki continued to enjoy his coffee. El Ateneo Grand Splendid, the world-famous bookshop occupying the inside of a former opera house, certainly lived up to its name; the opulent décor of the opera house, from its frescoed ceilings and detailed trimmings to its elegant balconies and lush red stage curtains, blended with the traditional features of a standard bookshop to create one of the most stunning book-buying experiences in the world. The empty boxes had been converted into private reading rooms with comfortable armchairs, the upper floor housed various exhibitions and displays, and the stage had been taken over by a small café, thus creating Loki’s absolute favorite bookshop in all the Nine Realms. “Which one do you think Sam would like more, the book about the history of shrimping in Louisiana or the joke book?”

Loki considered her question for a moment as a smirk played on his lips. “Wilson would enjoy learning more about the history of his hometown’s way of life, but I think that he’d find even more entertainment in the joke book.” His fiancée nodded and set the joke book aside, continuing to sift through the rest of the books she’d gathered over the several hours they’d perused the bookshop. “Darling, your enthusiasm is always a joy to behold but isn’t your Midgardian holiday season still six months away?”

“It is, but it’s never too early to begin holiday shopping!” (Y/N) beamed and Loki’s heart warmed at her excitement. “Besides, I love any excuse to find new books; el tiempo que se disfruta es el verdadero tiempo vivido.”

“‘The time that is enjoyed is the time that it truly lived,’” Loki translated with a grin. “I concur; we’ve certainly been enjoying ourselves on this vacation, and we’ve only visited three out of the twelve libraries we’re scheduled to see.” Loki noticed his fiancée flexing her ankles beneath the café table and gave her a sympathetic look. “Although, we might’ve been overly ambitious yesterday, touring the entire Biblioteca Nacional Mariano Moreno and taking that tango class all in the same day. If you’d like, I can begin packing our things tonight while you take a relaxing bath and afterwards, we can even call room service and order some flan mixto.”

The corner of (Y/N)’s lips curved upwards in an almost reluctant smile. “Well, I do love flan mixto and a bath does sound positively heavenly…the only problem is your lack of patience when it comes to packing.”

“It wouldn’t frustrate me so much if I could just use my magic, but we vowed that we would try to keep this a superpower-free vacation and I won’t be the first one to break down and use mine.” A flicker of amusement crossed his fiancée’s face and he let out an indignant huff. “You don’t think I can go an entire month without using magic?”

She shrugged noncommittally. “You’ve relied on magic for centuries, whereas I’ve only been using Alf Seidr for a little over a year. It stands to reason that you’d be the one to break down first.”

“But you forget, darling, over the course of those centuries I’ve developed impeccable control over nearly every aspect of my existence; all I need to do is sit back and wait out your more impulsive Midgardian half.” Sitting up in his seat, Loki set his cup of coffee down onto the table and gave her a wicked smile. “Perhaps we should make it a contest? If you win, I’ll have to watch whichever film or television shows you choose for an entire year and if I win, you’ll let me plan our honeymoon. Deal?”

“All right, deal.” They shook hands and Loki watched as (Y/N) turned her attention back to their stacks of books. “We should probably start whittling these down; I don’t think that Tony will appreciate if we have an entire pallet of books shipped to the tower…”

4. Bibliotheca Alexandrina Alexandria, Egypt

“Now that’s quite the view, innit?”

(Y/N)’s head snapped up from her cell phone but the scathing retort she’d prepared to level at the presumed catcaller died on her lips when she looked over at the man standing nearby; he was around her age, with a light olive-toned complexion framed by a wild head of dark curls and a muscular build almost hidden beneath the tee-shirt and oversized thin jacket he wore, and his deep brown eyes were examining the intricate carvings etched into the Bibliotheca Alexandrina’s gray Aswan granite exterior. The awestruck expression on the man’s face as he stood and took in the impressive architecture before him made (Y/N) smile and prompted her to approach him. “Makes you wish that the original Library of Alexandria was still around, doesn’t it? There’s no telling how massive it would be today if the Romans hadn’t burned it down.”

The man emphatically nodded. “One of the world’s biggest tragedies, that was; obviously not the worst of the lot, of course, but just thinkin’ about all that knowledge and history and how it was just erased from the world in the blink of an eye by Julius bloody Caesar…well, I can’t help but think that all those senators might’ve been onto somethin’ when they did the poor bugger in.” She burst into laughter at his unexpected words and even he started to grin. “Yeah, I can’t say that I’m fond of those Romans. The Egyptians, though, they were bloody geniuses; they invented the world’s first organized irrigation system, pioneered the use of canals and irrigation channels to water farm fields far away from the Nile River, built the pyramids by developing and using complex mathema-” He stopped talking and a sheepish smile spread across his face. “Sorry, I’ve just been prattling on here and I never properly introduced myself. My name’s Steven, Steven Grant.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” She shook Steven’s outstretched hand. “So, what brings you to the Bibliotheca Alexandrina?”

“The antiquities museum, actually. I’m a museum tour guide back home in London and this museum’s been on my bucket list for quite a while.” Steven glanced down at her engagement ring before looking back up at her. “Vacationing with your husband? Alexandria’s a great travel destination, innit?”

“My fiancé, actually, we’re taking a month-long trip to visit a dozen of the largest and most beautiful libraries in the world. I’m a former trainee librarian, you see, and we first met at the library where I worked…”

Steven beamed. “That’s so sweet, it’s like one of those Hugh Grant romantic comedies! Which other libraries have you two decided to visit?”

Before (Y/N) could answer, Loki walked up to them with two tickets in his hands and a curious gleam in his emerald-green eyes. “The next planetarium show starts in about a half an hour, darling, so that leaves us plenty of time to explore.” He turned to Steven with a polite smile. “And I see you’ve made a new friend. I’m Loki, (Y/N)’s fiancé.”

“Steven Grant.” They shook hands but the British man’s dark brown eyes narrowed in concentration. “Sorry, bruv, but have we met somewhere before? You look awfully familiar-”

“Loki of Asgard…” A disembodied voice called out, its deep timbre reverberating in the air around the three of them and causing a chill to go down (Y/N)’s spine. “It’s been many years since we last spoke.”

A yelp of surprise escaped (Y/N) when a towering skeletal figure appeared behind Steven, its human body wrapped in mummification linens and its decayed bird head staring pointedly down at them as it clutched a staff in its hand. She instinctively summoned her new Cosmic Sorceress uniform, her glasses switching into their invisibility mode as the shimmer of magic engulfing her body faded away, and two swirling balls of vivid purple Alf Seidr appeared in her hands, and she took a defensive stance while Steven gasped in shock. “Oh, my days…you’re the Cosmic Sorceress! I-I’m a bit of a fan, actually, you’re my absolute favorite Avenger.” The British man glanced over at Loki with an apologetic smile. “No offense, bruv.”

“None taken, Mr. Grant.” Loki returned his attention to the creature standing before them. “Ah, Khonshu. Still taking on avatars to protect the travelers of the night and dispense your cold justice against the evildoers, I see.”

“Unlike my fellow gods, I will not abandon humanity and leave them to evil’s mercy; I was once fully prepared to dispense my justice against you, God of Mischief, but it would seem that you changed your villainous ways on your own.” Khonshu turned to (Y/N) and cocked his skeletal head. “I have not seen a Light Elf in many centuries, nor have I seen one who wields the ancient Alf Seidr so easily.”

“The Cosmic Sorceress’s actually only part-Alfheimian; her dad was an American bloke and her mum was an Alfheimian princess, and they fell in love when she traveled down to Earth for the first time.” Sensing everyone staring at him, Steven’s ears turned pink and he stammered out, “I might’ve read that piece that Time Magazine did on you last month once or twice…”

Loki rested a calming hand on the small of her back. “Khonshu, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), the Crown Princess of Alfheim and one of Midgard’s Avengers. (Y/N), this is Khonshu, the God of the Moon; the old bird hasn’t been too fond of my more mischievous schemes here on Midgard, so I’ve faced the wrath of a handful of his Moon Knights. Who knew that using magic to create illusions of unidentified flying objects in the sky is equivalent to threatening the travelers of the night?”

Unable to fully process everything she was seeing and hearing, (Y/N) didn’t lower her hands or relax her defensive stance, the Alf Seidr swirling around her hands continuing to glow brightly as she slowly spoke. “Khonshu…like the Egyptian God of the Moon?”

The god inclined his head. “Indeed. I can sense the blood of Lady Astrid flowing through your veins; she was an honorable goddess, one of the very few whose company I took pleasure in.” (Y/N)’s eyes widened in disbelief as she glanced over at Loki, who gave her an ‘I’ll explain it later’ look but before either of them could reply, the wall of the library split open to reveal a stone tunnel etched with glowing Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. “I apologize for the sudden departure, but we’re needed for a meeting of the Ennead. Farewell, Loki Odinson and (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

The God of the Moon vanished in a puff of smoke and Steven flashed them a grin. “Well, it was really nice meeting you two, so cheers!” The British man cheerily waved and hurried into the tunnel, but not before (Y/N) caught him mumbling under his breath. “No, I was not fanboying over her, Marc, don’t be a knob…”

Steven Grant disappeared from view and the wall closed behind him, returning everything to its normal state; finally lowering her raised arms and willing away her magic, (Y/N) summoned her street clothes and glasses before turning to face her amused fiancé. “So, Egyptian gods and goddesses are real, and you shamelessly antagonized one by creating illusions of UFO’s?!”

“Yes, and yes,” Loki answered with a chuckle, his arm wrapping around her waist as a teasing smile played on his lips. “I expect you have many more questions for me, my love, but first…” He leaned closer to her and murmured in her ear, “It seems as though you’ve lost the little wager regarding our magic.”

“…Oh, dammit.”

5. Mafra National Palace Library Mafra, Portugal

With each stop on their rather unique vacation, Loki found himself learning more about the different ways Midgardians valued and maintained their collections of literature. The opposing techniques used by each country or culture truly fascinated him, but even a bibliophile like him was taken by surprise by certain practices; the Mafra National Palace Library was one of the finest in all of Europe, with nearly forty thousand volumes in its collection that dated back to the 14th century and impressive Rococo-style architecture, but its valuable books were defended from bookworms and moths by-

“Bats?” Loki’s jaw dropped in surprise and he looked up from the brochure he was skimming through at (Y/N). “They allow bats into the library at night to control the pests that might damage the books. Aren’t there more technologically advanced ways of protecting antique book collections?”

“Well, most libraries use mixtures of ethylene oxide or methyl bromide, and in some instances, they even use low levels of gamma radiation for pest control. From what I can assume, they’ve been using bats for centuries and since they work so well, they’ve just continued to utilize their…um, unique talents.” His fiancée shivered and cast a wary glance at a nearby wooden bookshelf. “Bats have always creeped me out. They’re useful to an ecosystem and they’re not really scary when you look at them, but when I was little, Aunt Evelyn and I watched this cheesy horror movie called The Abominable Dr. Phibes and there’s this scene with a bunch of giant bats…urgh, I had nightmares for days after that.”

Loki gave the hand he was holding a comforting squeeze. “I suppose we’ll have to add that film to the list of media our children can’t consume until they’re at least twelve.”

They continued exploring the grand library hand-in-hand and in comfortable silence, and it wasn’t until they were nearly done that (Y/N) finally spoke. “How many children do you imagine us having someday?”

Loki brought their joined hands up to press a kiss onto her knuckles. “That all depends on how many you imagine us having someday, darling.”

“C’mon, sweetheart, you can tell me! How many?” (Y/N) smiled as his ears began to turn red in embarrassment. “Oh no, it’s not a crazy number like eight, is it?”

“Norns, no! That’s far too much mischief for even you and I to handle…” He chuckled, hesitantly glancing over at his fiancée before continuing. “I suppose that I’ve always imagined us having four children.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in surprise. “Four? I guess it’s not exactly a crazy number, but I was thinking more along the lines of two; theoretically, our children will inherit our magic and I’m not too sure I want to be outnumbered by underage magic-wielders who’ll almost certainly take after their father and his mischievous ways.”

“Deny it all you’d like, my love, but I know how you adore my mischievous ways; need I remind you of how you were woken up this morning, or of just how loudly you voiced your overwhelming approval?” Looking more than flustered by his rhetorical question, she shoved her shoulder against his and he smirked at her endearing bashfulness. “That being said, I see your point about being outnumbered. Perhaps we could meet in the middle and make it three?”

“I’m not entirely opposed to trying for three…” (Y/N) smiled up at him as she swung their joined hands back and forth. “I do hope they end up inheriting your smile, though.”

“My smile?”

She nodded. “Mm-hmm, it’s so warm and charming but with a hint of playfulness, it’s one of the first things I noticed about you when we met.”

Loki felt himself grow warm at her sweet and unexpected compliment. “Well, I was hoping that they inherit your beautiful eyes. The way that they sparkle and catch the light, it’s enchanting.” They stopped in front of a large, gilded mirror and he moved to wrap his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder and grinning as they both looked at their reflections. “Two things are for certain: our future children will be just as beautiful as their parents are…” He pressed a soft kiss onto the slope of her neck and lowered his voice while one of his hands moved to rest over her stomach. “And you’re going to look even more spectacular than you already do while carrying them.”

A nearby huff of disapproval interrupted the kiss that (Y/N) had attempted to instigate and caused them both to look up at the two older American tourists glaring at them for their public display of affection; instead of dropping his arms and stepping back, Loki pulled (Y/N) even closer and cheekily called out to the judgmental pair, “What can I say? Libraries make my fiancée here terribly insatiable!”

Both American tourists sputtered in indignation and (Y/N) muffled her giggles with the corner of her sweater while Loki pressed a triumphant kiss onto her forehead and pulled her further into the grand library.

6. Bibliotheque Nationale de France Paris, France

“I can’t say that I’m a fan of this particular library’s exterior design,” Loki quietly remarked as they moved ahead in line to see one of the Bibliotheque Nationale de France’s most remarkable exhibits. “But its interior is certainly something to behold.”

(Y/N) nodded in agreement. “One of my professors back in college used to rant and rave about this library’s original design; it was intended to be largely made of glass and be illuminated with mostly natural light, but the books were exposed to the elements and they were forced to amend the design to include wooden shutters that cut down on the sunlight and protected their collections from any more damage.”

“At least the Globes of Coronelli weren’t damaged by such controversial architecture.”

They made it to the railing surrounding the enormous celestial globe and admired the precise detailing of the star constellations that covered its surface. “Did you know that these were commissioned by Louis XIV only after he found out that the Duke of Parma owned a pair? The Sun King was so jealous of the duke that Vicenzo Coronelli was brought in to construct an even better set of globes for him. They’re even personalized just for him; the terrestrial globe over there is a manifestation of the Sun King’s worldview and this celestial globe shows the stars that appeared in the sky on the day he was born.”

A smirk formed on Loki’s face while she talked and once she finished, he replied, “This Louis XIV reminds me a little of Stark. You remember that weekend retreat to his Long Island home last summer, don’t you? Stark grew annoyed that Barnes was building a nicer sandcastle than his, so he developed a computer program overnight and had some of his Iron Legion suits construct a fifteen-foot-tall fort out of sand and shells; there was even a drawbridge, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Yep, that’s our Tony,” (Y/N) chuckled and reached into her purse for her cell phone before beginning to take photographs of the globe. Her lips curved upwards into a small smile when she spotted the unicorn amongst the other 17th century constellations, both happiness and a familiar pang of sorrow filling her at the sight of her mother’s sacred symbol; the horned creature personified both love and war and after defeating Tarian and saving the Nine Realms from destruction, she officially inherited the symbol of her mother. I wonder what new symbol I would’ve picked if I decided to become the Queen of Alfheim, she thought with a hint of ruefulness.

“You would’ve made a wonderful queen in another life.”

She glanced over at Loki with a knowing smile. “That’s sweet of you to say, Loki, but you might be a little biased.”

“Perhaps, but I’m over a millennium old and in all that time, I’ve seen countless kingdoms rise and fall because of the incompetence of their rulers. Your mother’s ideas and plans to improve her realm were undoubtedly innovative, but your unique heritage would’ve helped you see her vision to fruition and your compassionate nature would’ve healed Alfheim after centuries of turmoil.” Her fiancé turned back towards the celestial globe and studied the constellations as he continued, “Your reign could’ve even outshined the Allfather’s.”

(Y/N) wrapped her arm around his and leaned the side of her head against his shoulder. “With a Prince of Asgard by my side, I’m sure that it would’ve.” Loki arched a curious brow at her. “In another life, one where my parents defeated Tarian and I was crowned the Queen of Alfheim, I think that we would’ve found one another.”

“My beautiful romantic…” He nuzzled his cheek against the top of her head before taking her hand and pressing a kiss onto her palm. “We would’ve caused quite the scandal in this other life, you know, the enchanting Queen of Alfheim and the roguish Prince of Asgard. A love affair steeped with passionate desire, intense melodrama, and political intrigue.”

“Sort of like Queen Anne and the Duke of Buckingham’s secret romance in The Three Musketeers,” (Y/N) pointed out before smiling to herself. “But hopefully with a happier ending than the one Alexandre Dumas wrote.”

“Naturally.” Pulling back slightly, Loki’s intense emerald-green gaze held hers as his expression softened and filled with such tender emotion that her heart swelled at the sight. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), in this and every other universe you’re the only person I’ve ever truly loved, and not even the Norns themselves could keep me from loving you.”

(Y/N)’s fingertips brushed against the cool band of his engagement ring and she gave him a teasing grin. “Now who’s the romantic?”

“Well, when in Paris…” With a mischievous smirk, Loki suddenly dipped her and silenced her peals of laughter with an overly-dramatic kiss on the lips; as quickly as it started, her fiancé righted her and gave her a playful wink as he took hold of her hand. “C’mon, let’s finish up here. I want to explore a beautiful city with a beautiful woman on my arm.”

7. The British Library London, England

The British Library in the city of London was truly a sight to behold. Not only was it the national library of the United Kingdom and a beautiful architectural achievement in a city filled with dozens of stunning buildings, but it also possessed an impressive collection of rare books and literature that could be viewed by the public every day; original copies of Beowulf, Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, Jane Austen’s History of England, Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre and Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures Under Ground were among its more famous items on display, but the reason that Loki and (Y/N) selected that particular library to visit was because of one very special treasure: William Shakespeare’s First Folio. The couple first bonded over their shared love of the Bard’s plays and they were beyond excited for the opportunity to see the first collected edition of his works with their own eyes; unfortunately, their enthusiasm had begun to wane after the long and challenging night they’d spent in their hotel room.

For the first time in almost a month, Loki had been startled awake by the sounds of (Y/N)’s terrified screams and the thrashing of her limbs underneath the covers. He tried everything he could to wake her from the nightmare she was trapped in but finally succeeded when he pulled her into his lap and wrapped his arms around her; she clutched tightly to him while she sobbed into his chest and Loki soothed her as best he could, whispering words of comfort as he rocked her back and forth and held her securely against him. Once she’d calmed down a little, (Y/N) told him between shaky breaths that she’d dreamt of the horrors she’d witnessed during the Battles of Alfheim and Boston, specifically the moment of her father’s murder at Tarian’s hands; she refused to fall back asleep and when Loki suggested that they stay at their hotel, she insisted that she was well enough for their scheduled visit to the British Library.

“The nightmares are an intense expression of the body working through traumatic experiences,” Sam explained to Loki shortly after (Y/N) had regained consciousness in the hospital. “They’re a normal symptom of her PTSD and I’ll warn you now, they’re something that she’s gonna be grappling with for a while. Healing from a traumatic experience takes time, Loki, but sticking to a consistent sleep routine will at least help her rest at night.”

We’ve visited seven countries over the span of nearly three weeks, Loki thought to himself with a twinge of guilt, the inconsistency certainly hasn’t helped her out. Glancing over at (Y/N) as they walked through the library’s rare book exhibit, he took note of the bags under her tired eyes and her slumped shoulders, and the sight of her looking so exhausted caused a lump to form in his throat. As they finished walking through the special collection room, a plan quickly began to form in Loki’s mind; he led her down the aisles and between the large bookshelves, claiming that he needed to find an armchair so he could sit down to fix his slipping sock, and they soon found one in a remote corner of the library.

“As incredible as it was to see one of the only two hundred and thirty-five copies of Shakespeare’s First Folio, I think I was more awed by those original handwritten lyrics from The Beatles.” Loki pretended to adjust his sock while he continued. “You know, I attended one of their concerts once.”

(Y/N) cracked a tired smile. “Was this before or after your little D.B. Cooper escapade?”

“Before.” With a chuckle, he reached for her hand and began rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “It’s a shame that the library’s collection of lyrics didn’t include my personal favorite.”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

“Take a seat and I’ll tell you,” Loki challenged as he gave his thigh a pat and his fiancée arched a single brow. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll cast an enchantment so the library’s other patrons won’t see or hear us.” A hint of apprehension filled (Y/N)’s eyes but she relented, seating herself on his leg and allowing him to hold her around the waist. “Close your eyes for me, please.” Her brow furrowed a little as she complied with his request. “Thank you. Now, take a deep breath for me; can you smell the scent of old paper and leather surrounding us? Feel the warmth of my body against yours and hear my heart beating in my chest?”

She nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“Good. Keep breathing for me, my love, and focus on the different sensations you’re experiencing.” After pressing a gentle kiss onto her brow, Loki rested his cheek against her head and began to quietly sing to her. “Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo, here comes the sun, and I say it’s all right. Little darlin’, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter…little darlin’, it feels like years since it’s been here. Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo, here comes the sun, and I say it’s all right.”

While he sang, he could feel the tension beginning to leave her body and he silently thrilled at the success of his plan.

“Little darlin’, the smile’s returning to their faces…little darlin’, it seems like years since it’s been here. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and I say it’s all right.”

(Y/N) nuzzled her face against his chest and with a fond smile, Loki removed her glasses for her and she murmured her thanks against the fabric of his button-down.

“Little darlin’, I feel that ice is slowly melting…little darlin’, it seems like years since it’s been clear. Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo, here comes the sun, and I say it’s all right.”

To his relief, her breaths began to even out and her body was nearly limp in his tight embrace. By sleeping inside a place that evoked comfort and safety to (Y/N), Loki prayed to the Norns that it would be enough for her to get some proper rest and vowed to stay right there until she did. “Here comes the sun, doo-doo-doo-doo, here comes the sun…” His lips brushed against her brow once again and he smiled down at his sleeping fiancée as he finished singing the hope-filled song. “It’s all right…it’s all right…”

8. Stadtbibliothek Stuttgart Stuttgart, Germany

“Loki, you’re being absolutely ridiculous-”

“It’s Thomas, darling, and no, I’m certainly not.”

(Y/N) arched an unimpressed brow at the man who sounded like Loki but who certainly didn’t look like him; her fiancé cast an illusion over himself before leaving their hotel room, now appearing to everyone as a tall man with light-brown hair, pale blue eyes and a neatly trimmed beard who went by the name Thomas. It was a disguise that Loki often used while on more secretive missions, but she had a hunch as to why he’d decided to adopt it during that specific stop on their vacation. “It’s been four years since…well, since your admittedly dramatic display here in Stuttgart. I don’t think that anyone here will recognize you and even if there’s a chance they might, you can always wear a hat or glasses instead of-” She gestured at his changed appearance. “-all this.”

Loki bit his lip and shook his head. “Your optimism is admirable, but I’d rather put my faith in my own illusions than a simple Midgardian disguise that only serves to fool the weak-minded.”

“Then what about-?” One of the Stadtbibliothek Stuttgart’s patrons shushed their raised voices and after murmuring a brief apology in German, (Y/N) grabbed onto Loki’s unfamiliar arm and pulled him down a deserted aisle before quietly continuing. “What about our promise not to use any unnecessary magic on this vacation?”

“The last time I visited this city, I mutilated a man’s eye and held over a hundred people hostage; in this specific instance, I’d say that the magic is warranted.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And being jump-scared by the ten-foot-tall skeletal and partially-mummified remains of the Egyptian God of the Moon isn’t? Loki, if you didn’t feel ready to visit this city again, then why on Earth didn’t you say anything sooner? We could’ve picked another library to visit in literally any other country-”

“Because I wanted to come here and make amends.” Loki’s blunt answer took her by surprise, and she watched with widened eyes as her fiancé’s shoulders sagged in defeat and he leaned against the bookshelf across from her. “I planned on coming here as myself and delivering one of the many checks that my charity wrote out to various institutions and organizations throughout the city; I wanted to do it as a way of apologizing to the people of Stuttgart for my actions that day, but once we arrived…”

He trailed off and (Y/N) nodded in sympathy, stepping forward and cautiously taking one of his hands in hers. “I wish you’d told me, but I understand why you didn’t. I also understand why you’re feeling guilty, but I think you’re putting too much of the blame on yourself; Thanos did unspeakable things to you and forced you to carry a weapon that influenced your actions, actions that can therefore only partially be blamed on you.” The illusion he wore slowly melted away as he finally looked up at her and she gave him a soft smile. “You’re a lot braver than you give yourself credit for, sweetheart. If donning an illusion makes you more comfortable, then that’s okay but if you still want to present that donation as yourself, then the Cosmic Sorceress will be right by your side when you do.”

Emerald-green eyes studied hers for a long moment and she watched as the anxiety melted away and was replaced with a look of adoration; he rested his free hand on her waist and guided her closer before pressing his lips to hers. When they finally broke their kiss, he rested his forehead against hers and brought his hand up to caress the skin of her cheek. “If I’m brave, then it’s because you give me the strength to be so, darling.” His thumb caressed her cheekbone as he leaned back and smiled. “I’d be honored to have the illustrious Cosmic Sorceress accompany me.”

“Illustrious, hmm? You sure do know how to sweet-talk a lady,” (Y/N) grinned and with a flick of her wrist, her blouse, jeans and sneakers were replaced by her improved purple and black uniform, and she felt her face begin to warm under Loki’s intense gaze. “What?”

“Just admiring my favorite Avenger and her brand-new battle uniform.” He adjusted the banded purple tiara resting above her brow and winked. “You know, I haven’t properly showed you how much I appreciate the new design of your uniform…”

(Y/N) bit back her smile at his suggestive comment. “Shameless flirt.” Giving his cheek a sweet kiss, she stepped back and watched as a golden shimmer engulfed his body, dissipating to reveal his gold, green and black Asgardian armor. “C’mon, my favorite Avenger, let’s finish up this mission so we can sightsee and have some alone time back at the hotel.”

9. Stockholms Stadsbibliotek Stockholm, Sweden

“This is hardly the worst thing that could happen during a trip to this particular library,” Loki called out over the din of battle to (Y/N), who was busy fighting off a group of Hydra agents near the library’s staircase. “Anything’s better than reading all those Norse mythology books and seeing how inaccurately Scandinavian Midgardians recount my life! Your precious Rick Riordan is no better, writing an entire trilogy of books that portray me as the villain and Odin as the benevolent ruler that the heroes all look up to…”

(Y/N) laughed, kicking one agent back and parrying away another’s strike with an electrified baton before slamming the hilt of her sword against his head. “I guess that means that the story about you playing tug-of-war with a goat isn’t true? You know, the one where you competed by tying a rope around his horns and your-?”

“Certainly not! Only a drunken idiot like Fandral could concoct such a tall tale,” He dodged an attack and slashed an agent’s weapon in half with one of his daggers. “And before you ask, Thor was the oaf who made up the one tale about the horse!”

“C’mon, sweetheart, it’s a little hard to believe that every single one of the myths that you supposedly inspired are all made up by Thor and his friends! Is at least one of them partially true?”

Loki heaved a weary sigh. “Perhaps, but you’ll have to guess which one it is because I vowed never to speak of it again!”

With a wave of (Y/N)’s hand, a trio of Hydra agents were engulfed by wisps of Alf Seidr and slammed against the wall, the force of the impact shaking the bookcases lining the balcony overhead; she quickly thrust her hand up and used her magic to stabilize the teetering structures, and Loki blasted a column of ice at an agent who was aiming his gun at her. “It’s not that story about cutting off Sif’s hair, is it?” Loki stubbornly remained silent and (Y/N)’s brow furrowed in disapproval. “Oh, Loki…”

“I know, I know, what I did was awful but, in my defense, I was young and quite foolish!” He aimed his hand at the ground, forming a sheet of ice that spread out and tripped up two more agents. “It’s taken a couple of centuries, but I think that Sif’s finally begun to forgive me for it!”

The battle was over with as quickly as it had begun, with (Y/N) and Loki defeating the last of the agents, whose unconscious bodies were strewn across the vast reading room of the library. Loki waited for (Y/N) to sheath her sword before examining the small cut running down the exposed skin of her bicep and using his magic to heal it, taking a moment to look her over and sighing in relief when he didn’t see any more injuries. “Leave it to Hydra to find a way to disrupt our vacation.”

Chuckling, (Y/N) reached up and brushed some wayward snowflakes off his Asgardian armor, unaffected as always by his imposing Jotun form. “They did sort of ruin our visit to this particular library…but it resulted in me learning more about your youthful misdeeds that you always pretend not to remember, so I guess that’s a plus.”

“Not to me, it’s not, but I’ll feel better about it if you promise not to tell our friends about that particular incident.”

“Of course I won’t,” His fiancée was smiling as she wrapped her smallest finger around his. “Pinky promise.”

Loki grinned at her adorable gesture and leaned down to give her a kiss, but a sudden shattering of glass startled them out of their playful conversation; they both raised their magic-filled hands and looked up to see a figure rappelling down into the Stockholms Stadsbibliotek from the shattered skylight, and Loki inwardly sighed once he recognized the figure clad in tactical gear.

“Oh, hey guys.” Clint gave them a jaunty wave with his bow once he detached himself from his rope. “I was just droppin’ in for a quick visit.”

(Y/N) smiled a little at the archer’s joke and walked over to give him a hug. “Let me guess, Hydra tracked us here after our public appearance in Stuttgart the other day and thought they’d try taking us out while our defenses were lowered?”

“Pretty much. Fury got word that they’d move in on you today, so he pulled me off a recon mission in Prague to have your backs; I told him you’d be able to handle yourselves but then he made it clear that I was sent more so to keep an eye on you.” Loki and (Y/N) exchanged a befuddled look and he elaborated, “He figured that you wouldn’t be very happy after having your nerdy vacation crashed by Hydra.”

Willing himself back to his Asgardian form, Loki surveyed the aftermath of their ambush and snorted in amusement. “Well, I suppose that Director Fury was correct on that front.”

The tactical team Clint was leading entered the library alongside a squadron of local law enforcement and as they began to take the unconscious Hydra agents into custody and secure the scene, the archer turned to them and grinned. “Wanna get some lunch after we finish up here? Nat told me that Fem Små Hus has some pretty tasty reindeer, I’ve always wanted to try some…”

10. Saraswathi Mahal Library Tanjore, Tamil Nadu, India

“These paintings are incredible…” (Y/N) breathed in awe as she reverently studied the intricate artwork adorning the ceiling of the Saraswathi Mahal Library, admiring the vivid colors and sweeping lines that merged together to form the image of a bull and an elephant. “Isn’t it amazing how after over five centuries – five hundred years – this beautiful building and all the rare manuscripts it houses are still here for people to enjoy and learn from?”

“It certainly is,” Loki agreed from his spot beside her. “After all that Asgard’s been through in the thousands of years of its existence, I’m still astonished that so much of its art has remained intact; the same can also be said for Alfheim, a realm that’s suffered twice as much as any other.”

Lost in thought as she stared up at the impressive display above her, it took her a moment to sense that she was being watched; she looked over to see her fiancé watching her with a tender expression on his face and she felt herself begin to warm under the weight of his loving gaze. “What is it?”

“You reminded me of a Sanskrit poem I once read.” Loki walked up to her and reached up to adjust the pink rose she’d tucked behind her ear before softly caressing her cheek. “‘The moon tries every month in vain to paint a picture of your face-’”

“‘-And, having failed to catch its grace, destroys the work, and starts again.” (Y/N) finished with a smile that only widened when Loki’s head tilted to the side in puzzlement. “It’s also a quote from one of my aunt’s favorite Bollywood films, Youva Prem; it’s what the main character says to his love interest when they meet for the first time. Aunt Evelyn kind of had a thing for Kingo Sr., but I always liked Kingo Jr. more.” A sudden flash of emotion crossed Loki’s face that (Y/N) took for slight jealousy and she pressed a kiss onto the hand that held her cheek. “Hey, Kingo Jr. might be the prince of an impressive familial Bollywood dynasty, but I happen to have an even better prince right here.”

Giving his head a small shake, Loki huffed out a quiet chuckle and took her hand, intertwining their fingers as they continued walking. “I’m not exactly a jealous man, darling, but certainly not where the infamous Kingo is concerned.”

“Wait a minute, do you know Kingo Jr.?”

“Oh yes, I’m quite familiar with Kingo Jr., and Kingo Sr., and every single version of Kingo that has ever graced the Silver Screens of Bollywood.” (Y/N) frowned in confusion but her fiancé continued on before she could ask any questions. “After our little interaction with Khonshu and his new Moon Knight, I told you about some of the other very-real gods and goddesses that Midgardians believe to simply be myths created by their ancestors; Kingo happens to be one of them, an Eternal created by the Celestials and imbued with cosmic energy thousands of years before even I was born. He and his fellow Eternals spent all that time protecting humanity and once their mission to eradicate all of Midgard’s Deviants concluded, they parted ways and traveled the world. Because he loved humanity so much and had quite the flair for the dramatics, Kingo became an actor and for over one hundred years, he’s posed as his own male descendants to continue acting in Bollywood.”

(Y/N) stopped walking as her mind struggled to process the vast influx of information. “You’d think that I’d be used to knowing that humans have never been alone in the universe by now…” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “My aunt and I had a crush on the same actor?”

“Darling, I just told you that a group of synthetic beings created by the universe’s oldest living creatures have been secretly inhabiting Midgard for thousands of years, and you’re more concerned that you and your aunt once shared a similar taste in men?”

“Yes, because right now that’s just about the only thing I can focus on that won’t give me a headache.” With a weak sort of chuckle, (Y/N) squeezed his hand and urged her slightly amused fiancé to keep walking alongside her, breathing in the scent of jasmine flower and sandalwood incense that permeated the air. “So, how did you become acquainted with Kingo? You didn’t shamelessly antagonize him like you did with Khonshu, did you?”

“No, I met him during the early part of the nineteenth century when Thor and I once snuck down to Midgard for a bit of fun; he was performing in an acting troupe at the time and he very nearly talked us into joining them, but Mother had Heimdall bring us back to Asgard before anything happened. Since then, she always makes sure to regularly check in on her sons while they’re off-world.” While (Y/N) hummed in interest at his insightful anecdote, Loki began to playfully swing their joined hands back and forth. “Truthfully, I’m a little offended that you assume I always seek to aggravate others upon meeting them for the first time.”

(Y/N) struggled to suppress her growing smile. “Well, I apologize for making such an unfair assumption, I must’ve been thinking of another God of Mischief.” He rolled his eyes but still pressed a kiss onto her cheek while she giggled and led him over to another of the library’s impressive wall murals. “So, are any of these other Eternals famous people in disguise?”

“No, just Kingo. The others tend to shy away from the spotlight…although, Thena did have a short fling with King Arthur during their visit to Camelot.”

“…I’m sorry, what?!”

11. Hakone Honbako Kanagawa, Japan

Romanoff: Has (Y/N)’s virtual consultation started yet?

Romanoff: If it hasn’t, can you give her a heads-up that Luke Jacobson can be a little…intense? She’s exactly the sort of client he loves to work with – super-powered, well-connected and stylish – but that doesn’t mean that he won’t be a little short with her.

Romanoff: Especially since she’s contacting him for a custom wedding dress and not a superhero suit :/

Marking his page, Loki set his borrowed copy of Kenji Miyazawa’s Night on the Galactic Radio aside and leaned across the bed to catch a glimpse of (Y/N); she was sitting at the table on their suite’s terrace, wearing her earbuds and listening carefully as she focused on her laptop’s screen. When Natasha heard that (Y/N) needed help finding a wedding dress, the spy used her various underground connections to garner (Y/N) a consultation with Luke Jacobson, a high-end fashion designer based out of Los Angeles who specialized in creating custom uniforms and suits for super-powered individuals. The designer’s schedule was so tightly booked that the only available appointment that (Y/N) could take was a virtual consultation at the tail-end of their vacation, the day after their day trip to Tokyo’s Minato Library; she was reluctant to book it out of guilt for intruding on their trip but Loki convinced her to in the end, promising her that he’d find ways to keep himself occupied during her consultation. With a small smile, Loki picked up his cell phone and typed out a reply to the concerned spy.

Loki: It seems to be going well so far; (Y/N)’s eyes haven’t begun glowing purple yet. This Midgardian designer would be an utter fool not to take her on as a client.

A moment later, Natasha replied with a moving picture of a frog puppet nodding in agreement and Loki snorted in amusement before setting his phone down and flopping back down onto the bed, his eyes scanning the bedroom that any bibliophile would fall in love with. Hakone Honbako was a library-themed hotel nestled in the mountainous hot-spring region near Tokyo, filled with over twelve thousand books and cozy reading aisles throughout; hand-selected books were included in each room while television sets were nowhere to be found, allowing guests to fully immerse themselves in their personal reading paradise with limited distractions. It was a peaceful lull in their jam-packed vacation, and one that Loki intended on enjoying to its fullest; on the other hand, the free time also forced Loki to finally consider a difficult conundrum of his.

“The intellect of a millennia-old god but the inability to make a damn decision,” He muttered under his breath, reaching for his phone and pulling up the tentative guest list for their wedding; their Midgardian friends and teammates made up the majority of the list, with small groups from Asgard and Alfheim making up the rest of it, but the number of guests was not what filled him with so much apprehension. Loki couldn’t decide whether or not to invite Odin to his wedding, or if a small part of him even secretly wanted the Allfather to be there to witness such a momentous occasion in his adoptive son’s life.

“It’s a decision that’s entirely up to you, brother,” Thor reassured him on the night before his and (Y/N)’s flight to Mexico. “Weddings can often times bring a family closer together, but that’s certainly not their true purpose; yours and Lady (Y/N)’s wedding day should be a grand celebration of your love and not a day of angst and strife.”

An uncharacteristically diplomatic answer from Thor but insightful nonetheless, he thought with a contemplative hum, closing his eyes and drumming his fingers against his stomach while he pondered his situation. The events of the past several years – the revelation of Loki’s true heritage, the near destruction of Jotunheim at his hands, Odin’s repeated rejections and his clear disrespect of (Y/N) – served as sound reasoning for barring the old man from the wedding. For over a thousand years before them, however, Odin Allfather had been the only father that Loki had ever known; he was often times distant and hardly hid how he favored Thor, but he was still his father and one of the few people he’d always imagined attending his future wedding.

Loki was so preoccupied in his own mind that he didn’t register that he wasn’t alone until the mattress dipped and (Y/N) snuggled up against him. “Guess who’s going to be wearing a custom Luke Jacobson wedding dress down the aisle?”

“Oh, darling, that’s wonderful!” He pulled her closer to him and pressed a congratulatory kiss onto her brow, smiling as he took note of the happy gleam in her eyes. “Natasha warned me that Jacobson might turn you down; I was afraid that the Black Widow would travel across the country to pay him a visit and personally introduce him to her Widow Bites.”

(Y/N) laughed and her fingertips began to trace absentminded shapes along his chest. “Well, he seemed a little temperamental at first, but I was able to win him over with my natural charm and no-nonsense attitude.”

“Both of which you possess in great abundance.” Taking in the warmth she radiated and the sweet scent of her lilac perfume, Loki’s eyes drifted closed and his fingers slowly intertwined with hers. “You have an exceptional gift for handling challenging individuals with nuance and composure, my love.”

He felt her smile as she nuzzled against the skin of his neck. “It’s nothing, really; I just refuse to lower my self-worth by giving into people like that.”

Loki’s eyes blinked open and while he fully absorbed his fiancée’s words, realization slowly washed over him; he valued himself far too much to bow down to custom and expectation, so why in all the Nine Realms would he do so on a day so important to him? To Hel with Odin, Loki thought as he pulled (Y/N) closer and closed his eyes once again, it’s about time that old fool realized that his actions have consequences. “Thank you, darling.”

“For what?”

“For simply being you, and everything that goes along with that.”

12. Central Library Vancouver, Canada

(Y/N) looked up from her guidebook with a bright smile. “I want to start a book club in the tower.”

Loki, who was preoccupied with admiring Vancouver Public Library Central’s exterior architecture and its striking resemblance to the Colosseum in Rome, didn’t take his eyes off the building they’d spent all afternoon in as he distractedly asked, “Did something about this particular library inspire your new endeavor?”

“Mm-hmm, the Vancouver Public Library used to sponsor a citywide book club called One Book, One Vancouver; the library staff would be presented with four titles by the organizing committee and select one title at a time for the club to read. It was a fairly popular program but according to this guidebook, the book club was discontinued in 2010.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea, darling, but I’m not sure how our teammates will feel about it.” Tearing his eyes away from the building, Loki rested his ankle on his knee and gave (Y/N) a small smile. “Besides Romanoff and her newfound fondness for audio books and Lang’s habit of reading all the books that Cassie tells him she’s read in school, none of them seem to have much of an interest in reading; I honestly wouldn’t put it past them to consider a book club some sort of punishment.”

She chuckled but shook her head. “Actually, I was thinking of opening it up to the entire tower; everybody from agents and scientists to chefs and custodians could join and once a month, we could meet in the ballroom and discuss the latest book before choosing another. It’s okay if the others aren’t interested in joining themselves, but they might always agree to help out a little; Clint could bring his famous homemade lasagna to a meeting or two, and Peter could even earn some volunteering hours for his college applications…” Her brows rose in surprise when she pulled her battered spiral notebook out of her backpack and noticed that nearly all the pages were filled with scribbled-down ideas inspired by their globe-trotting vacation. “I might have to buy myself a new notebook when we get back home…” A melancholy feeling washed over her at the thought of their amazing vacation coming to an end; after everything they’d seen and done as nothing more than just two book-loving tourists, it felt strange to go back to being world-famous Avengers and she’d be lying if she said she wouldn’t miss the anonymity.

Judging by the little line that formed between his brows, her fiancé must’ve been thinking the same thing. He draped an arm around her shoulders and brushed his thumb against the skin of her arm while she finished jotting down her latest batch of ideas, waiting until she was finished to finally speak. “Darling, do you recall the first time you brought me along with you to your weekly visit to the children’s ward?”

“How could I forget?” (Y/N) smiled fondly at the memory. “You were so afraid that the children wouldn’t want to meet you and that they’d be too scared of you to listen to me reading aloud to them. But when they saw you, they were so excited to finally meet my Avenger friend I told them all about that they barely paid any attention to me.”

Loki chuckled. “They did spend quite a long time interrogating me and taking turns trying on my battle helmet, but they eventually settled down to listen to you read. You read part of The Wizard of Oz to them that day; it was a charming story, of course, but one specific line stood out to me. ‘No matter how dreary and gray our homes are, we people of flesh and blood would rather live there than in any other country, be it ever so beautiful…’” A soft smile played on his lips as she allowed him to pull her closer to him. “‘There is no place like home.’”

As cheesy of a quote as it was, (Y/N) felt her saddened mood begin to brighten a little; she missed their friends and although she spent the past month reflecting on how different her life would’ve been if she’d gone on to become a librarian, she missed helping people as an Avenger. It’ll be nice to have some normalcy back in my life, she silently admitted before flashing Loki a smile of her own. “Since this is our last night in Vancouver, we should go out and do something special, something that we can only do here and nowhere else. Any thoughts?”

“Our hotel’s concierge mentioned several activities when we first checked in, so we can always ask her for recommendations.” After giving her a brief kiss, Loki stood and pulled her to her feet, his hand clutching tight to hers as they started off towards their nearby hotel. “The doorman warned me that Cambie Bar’s been closed indefinitely, something to do with a man using metal claws in a drunken brawl last night…”

13. New York Public Library New York City, New York

In just one month, Loki and (Y/N) traveled to twelve countries on five separate continents, visiting a dozen of the world’s most beautiful and unique libraries and a handful of popular destinations for bibliophiles. They enriched their knowledge of several fascinating cultures, explored each and every beautiful city they visited, got the opportunity to meet several kind and interesting people, and found plenty of inspiration for the library they were planning on establishing in Alfheim’s capital city. Loki wasn’t sure how it was even possible to fall deeper in love with (Y/N), but somehow over the course of their globe-trotting vacation he did; now that the coronation of Queen Amirah and their well-deserved break were behind them, he could scarcely wait for the day they were to be wed and he’d finally be able to call her his wife.

“It’s hard to believe that it’s only been a little over a year since we first met,” (Y/N) remarked, a fond smile on her face as she looked over at her old desk, no doubt recalling the memories of their weekly talks and all the shy, stolen glances shared between the both of them. “Strange, isn’t it, how in such a short period of time, two people can freely give their hearts over to one another and somehow just know that they’re the one that they’ll spend the rest of their life with?”

“One of life’s greatest mysteries,” Loki agreed, bringing their joined hands up to press a kiss onto her knuckles. “All I can say is that I never believed in the concept of true love until the moment I laid eyes on you.”

His brows furrowed in confusion when his fiancée suddenly dragged him down the nearest deserted aisle, making a sound of surprise as she held his face between her hands and captured his lips in a fiercely passionate kiss. Quickly overcoming his shock, he slid his arms around her waist to gather her up against him and allowed her to press him back against the bookcase, giving himself over to her fervent kisses and suppressing his groans of approval when her fingers carded through his hair. He stopped her as she started to pull back, bringing a hand up to cradle her cheek and caressing his lips against hers in one last slow kiss before allowing her to pull away; they were both struggling to catch their breaths, but he found himself working overtime to regain his voice when her warm (Y/E/C) eyes opened and met his.

“You have no idea how often I sat at my desk imagining doing that to you.” (Y/N)’s fingertips traced along his cheekbones, and she gave him a breathless smile. “I’m glad I finally got the chance.”

“Well, you’re free to do it again wherever and whenever you’d like, darling.” Grinning, Loki leaned his head back against the bookshelf and glanced around the portion of the New York Public Library they were tucked away in. “It’s a shame that we were only able to visit twelve libraries during our vacation…thirteen, if you were to count this one, but still…”

His fiancée’s smile remained intact. “Then why don’t we try to make this our own yearly tradition? You and I, visiting a dozen of the world’s most interesting and beautiful libraries together?”

“And what happens when we inevitably run out of libraries to visit?”

“We start visiting a dozen of the galaxy’s most interesting and beautiful libraries.”

Loki’s shoulders shook with laughter as he began peppering kisses across (Y/N)’s giggling face, but their cell phones suddenly chimed in their pockets before they could continue any further; when they both reached for their phones, a brief message from Steve Rogers appeared on their screens:

The Captain: Mission alert. Extraction imminent, meet at the tower in 10.

“It would seem that the God of Mischief and the Cosmic Sorceress are officially back on the clock,” Loki remarked with an exaggerated sigh before offering his fiancée his hand to take. “Ready for another adventure, darling?”

“With you, sweetheart?” (Y/N) laced her fingers around his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze that was accompanied by her breathtaking grin. “Always.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spanish Translation: El tiempo que se disfruta es el verdadero tiempo vivido-The time that is enjoyed is the time that is truly lived.

A/N: Now that we've seen their vacation, it's time that we finally see their wedding! I'm not sure when I'll be finished with writing the wedding, but it's definitely coming so stay tuned for that lol thank you all so much for reading and commenting! I’ve created a Spotify playlist inspired by this series, and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter. Enjoy!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2wx8TZwpDN0l33tES3W3Nk?si=5fcb3ef04de544e7

A Spellbinding Wedding

"Spellbinding" Masterlist

Tagging: @nexiva @ravenclawbitch426 @cminr @confusedfandomwriter @momc95 @nickkie99 @austynparksandpizza @brooke0297 @a-laufeyson @outoftheregular @itscomplicatedx @0-artemis @vivloki @crowleysqueenofhell @groovy-lady @mostclevermiss

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p-taryn-dactyl · 1 year

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in honor of me finally posting pt2 of failsafe, I've decided to make a poll to see what you guys will want to see next!! it would mean a lot if you would vote and reblog (but the latter is optional) <3 this is only for 12 hours I think so I can be quick to writing but if the poll closes and you didn't get to vote, you can send me an ask!! :)

thank you!!

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ivystoryweaver · 11 months

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With You (part 1)

next part || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist

Hi, everyone! This is not my first fic, but it is my first MK fic! I have been on Tumblr for ages, but never actually posted a fic here. (I know this account is newer. My much older one is my more personal blog).

Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader. No references to reader’s gender. No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 2890

Warnings: Angst, drinking, alcoholism, ummm cursing? Some kissing and stuff? No actual smut. Let me know if I missed a warning. Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.

Marc was a little quiet lately. Strangely quiet, even for him.

After finishing your shift at the hospital and stumbling home exhausted, you were eager to see your fiancé, maybe even talk to him to see what was going on.

After a brief eternity riding up in the old lift in your building, you finally turned the key in the deadbolt and let yourself into your shared flat. As usual, one of the boys had left on a small lamp in the entry way, its incandescent glow the only illumination in the flat except for the florescent light of Steven’s fish tank.

Depositing your belongings on the entry table and kicking off your shoes, you quietly made your way toward the bedroom. But as you passed the darkened kitchen you heard a whispered, “Shit,” followed by the sound of a glass bottle landing on the countertop.

Marc.

He was drinking. Even with only the moon’s glow through the kitchen window, you could make out his preferred brand of whiskey.

In the span of a heartbeat, you took in the sight before you. Marc was facing away from you, as if he had been staring out the window, perhaps cursing the moon. Sweatpants hung low on his hips as if he’d made little effort to tie the drawstring. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt and the muscles of his back expanded with a labored breath.

Broad shoulders sagged as his fingers gripped the counter’s edge, his head bowed in what was likely shame. His curls tumbled forward, and you were certain that his long fingers had raked through them relentlessly in your absence, to be able to pull them from Marc’s preferred style.

God, he was beautiful like this, in the moonlight. You couldn’t breathe for a moment, and you wondered how he was able to bring this reaction out in you after four years as a couple. Still...you were worried.

“Marc?” You softly called, giving him a moment to hear your voice and acknowledge you before you attempted to touch him. Despite your loving and very physical relationship, he didn’t like to be caught off guard by anything - most especially not by touch.

He sighed so softly you almost didn’t hear it.

“Marc--”

“I know,” he bit out, though his voice was soft, sounding insistent rather than angry.

You paused, confused. “What?”

His hand reached for the whiskey bottle, which he lifted and quickly set back down on the counter, shoving it away from him. The liquid sloshed but didn’t spill - he had already taken care of too much of it himself.

“I know,” he repeated, still refusing look at you, or even lift his head from its bowed position.

Fairly certain you knew what he meant, you clarified, “You mean you know you’re drinking?”

Huffing out a sigh, he pushed his fingers through his curls, shifting uncomfortably. He didn’t want to face you like this. You had been through this - his drinking. It was bad at one point - drinking every night, passing out, getting into fights, but he worked hard and got sober. He worked so hard...

As far as you knew, this was his first drink in two years.

You were devastated on his behalf, but more than anything you wondered what could have caused him to pick up a bottle.

Finally, he turned his head to the side, granting you the view of his profile. “Yeah, I am. So let’s hear it.”

He was waiting for something from you. A lecture? Disbelief, anger, something.

Pausing to calm your racing thoughts, you tried to figure out how to keep from running to him, grabbing him, overwhelming him, smothering him with love and concern.

Impatient, he turned all the way around, leaning against the countertop to glare at you. You could barely see his face in the darkness, but you could imagine the grumpy glower he wore.

“Well?” He asked, sounding more defeated than annoyed.

Squeezing your fists together, you exhaled quietly. Whatever anger or disappointment he was expecting from you tonight, it just wasn’t there. All you felt was overwhelming compassion and deep concern. What had hurt your Marc so deeply? Who were you going to have to tear apart?

Easing toward him, you moved carefully, slowly, angling your body toward his side, ending up beside him. Placing one hand gently on his forearm, you felt it flex in nervous anticipation. He stopped breathing as your eyes flicked up to his.

“Are you hurt, Marc?” You softly inquired, not even daring to squeeze or rub his warm flesh.

Exhaling shakily, he quickly shook his head.

You rubbed your thumb across his arm, feather soft, that small point of contact searing your skin with yearning for him. “Is this okay, sweetheart?”

His chest rose with a pained breath. With a slight nod, his chin dropped down to his chest, unable to look at you anymore.

You dared to rub and down his arm then. Small strokes of your fingertips dancing on his flesh, soothing, not demanding. “Missed you today,” you said sweetly, momentarily ignoring what was clearly agitating him the most - what you would think of him breaking his two-year sobriety.

Truthfully, your concern was growing with every passing moment. But you knew Marc as well as you knew yourself. You could get nowhere with him if he didn’t feel safe. And was so safe with you. You would burn worlds down for this man you were about to marry.

“What are you doing?” he harshly whispered, recoiling only a fraction from your touch. “I almost finished the bottle.” A confession of sorts.

Gently giving his arm a final squeeze, you let go, after laying a soft kiss to his bare shoulder. Reaching for the bottle, you shocked the hell out of your fiancé by taking a swig, wincing as the strong liquid burned your throat.

“Damn,” you gasped, immediately taking another drink. “You didn’t save much for me.” Tipping the bottle again, you never got to your third swig before Marc ripped it from your grasp.

“What the hell are you doing? Don’t drink that shit.” He flung the bottle into the sink, where it crashed and broke. It definitely sounded more dramatic than it looked - he hadn’t tossed it very hard, but you still involuntarily flinched, which, of course, worried and upset Marc.

“Shit, baby...I-I’m sorry, I wasn’t going to...I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s okay, Marc, I’m okay,” you quickly assured him, moving fully into his personal space for the first time all evening. You decided to move and speak with confidence from here on out. He needed to know where you stood. Placing your palms soothingly on his broad, bare chest, you felt his thundering heart.

“Hey,” you whispered, gazing lovingly up into his frantic eyes. Repeating his name, you waited for him to look down at you, into your eyes, which he finally, reluctantly did.

“I’m sorry,” you softly soothed, reaching up to trace his jaw line with your fingertips. “I didn’t mean to upset you by having a drink.”

“Why?” he harshly whispered. “I don’t want you drinking that.”

You made a face, “Baby, you were drinking that.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” He jerked away from your touch. “So just say what you’re going to say. Just fucking say it.”

So he was waiting on a lecture. Or a fight maybe.

“Is there any more?” you asked as he began to pace the kitchen floor. He looked a bit like a caged animal - contained but alert.

He paused for a moment, almost snarling at you, but seeing your innocent, truly curious expression, he quickly decided that maybe you were really curious and not mocking him.

“Steven’s bookshelf,” he answered candidly. “The one by the closet - you know, the ones he never reads.”

You nodded slowly, pushing off the counter to walk that way. “Clever,” you replied. Marc was hot on your heels but said nothing else until you retrieved a second bottle of whiskey - same brand - and walked it back to the kitchen.

He assumed you would open the cap and pour it down the drain. He actually wanted you to. But all you did after twisting off the cap was take another long, burning swig.

Before he could begin to react, you asked, “Are you going to have anymore to drink tonight?”

Shaking his head in disbelief, he grabbed the bottle from your hand and finished what he thought you had started. The amber liquid tumbled from the bottle, splashing in the sink and filling the air with its stale tang.

“What is wrong with you? Shouldn’t you be the one doing this?” He huffed, dropping the empty bottle to join the first, broken one.

“No, I absolutely should not be the one doing this, Marc,” you evenly responded. “I should not be pouring out the alcohol that you brought into our home. That is not my job.”

“Ah, there it is,” he snapped, his fists clenching as he leaned toward you, ready for a (verbal) fight. “Let’s hear it, then. Tell me how much I fucked up.”

“No.” Your voice was calm and you took a confident but small step backward. It was not a step of fear, but simply a way to diffuse the fight he was apparently expecting.

“Marc, you’re a grown man. I’m not going to scold you, or lecture you, or tell you what to do. And despite what you may have been expecting, I’m not going to fight with you. If you want to drink, you’re going to drink. There is nothing I can do or say to change that.”

He looked stricken. Were you giving up on him? Tears stung the corners of his eyes before he could stop them. He’d had a lot to drink and his head was starting to pound. If you weren’t even putting up a fight, he must have really screwed everything up.

“A-are you...are you going to leave?” He whispered, physically withdrawing, turning to brace himself on the countertop once more.

“No, baby,” you answered him evenly, confidently. “I will never leave you. Not unless you made it impossible for me to live here with you. But you wouldn’t do that. Ever.” Easing over to him, you gently laid your cheek against his bare back. “I’m your partner. Not your boss, or a god or a parent. We’re a team. If you’re hurt, I’m there with you. I’m here, Marc. I’m here.”

“But I fucked up,” he shook his head sadly, his voice breaking. “All that work, all that fucking work to stay sober and I...”

“Exactly,” you agreed, carefully sliding your arms around him from behind, watching for any sign of physical discomfort from him. “You made a choice tonight and you hate the choice you made. That’s all that matters. You’re the person that you answer to. What you say goes. If you want to do better for someone, it has to be you. Not me, not Steven. You. Nothing I do will ever change that. Nothing I ever say will keep someone from doing what they decide to do.”

You squeezed him gently. “So no fights from me. No lectures. But I’m not going to baby you either. If we’re going to drink, that’s the way it’s going to be. You and I can accept that reality or a different one. A reality with no drinking. That’s why I took the drink tonight. It’s just a drink. It’s not evil. It doesn’t have a motive. It’s just liquid in a bottle. It’s what you feel right before you drink -that’s what you have to ask yourself, Marc. What happened right then?”

His body seemed to crumple in on itself and he slowly sank down to the cool tile of the kitchen floor, his back pushing up against the cabinets as he shook his head sorrowfully.

“I can’t,” he gasped, tears trailing down his beautiful, moonlit cheeks. Shaking his head despondently, he turned his broken gaze to yours as you joined him on the floor. “I can’t...everything will change now, I just can’t.”

How could he do this to you...to Steven? He was trying so hard to hide everything he’d learned from Steven - that they were not alone in this body. That there was another. And Khonshu. Stupid, fucking Khonshu still had them enslaved. How could he ever tell the two of you? He had only known for two days and it was killing him inside.

“Come here, baby,” you soothed, reaching to pull him into your arms. Something had happened to set him off. You were certain of it now, more than before, and despite your calm demeanor, you were scared.

Your worries both eased and doubled when his body softened in your embrace and a British accent greeted your ears.

“Darling...what’s all this, then?” Steven asked you, nodding to his state of undress and your positions on the hard kitchen floor.

“Steven,” you breathed, pulling him in for a hug. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he sweetly replied, granting you a soft kiss. “You alright, love?”

Before you could answer, he shook his head slightly, “Bollocks, got a bit of a headache. Has Marc been drinking?”

The look on your face told him everything.

“Bloody hell,” he sighed, rubbing his temples. “Two years sober right down the drain.”

Honestly, the sobriety thing, although crushing for him, was not the highest priority right now. Something was wrong with Marc.

“Steven, let’s go to bed,” you decided, standing up and offering him your hands.

Several minutes later, you and your fiancé slid under the covers, freshly washed up and ready for bed.

“Steven,” you softly repeated his name, running your fingertips over his jaw line, the way you had done with Marc earlier. “I love you.”

“I quite love you too, darling,” he sweetly replied, kissing you softly. “Now tell me what’s the matter.”

“Do you...are you aware of anything going on with Marc?” you asked as Steven’s arms slid securely around you. “I think something’s wrong - like big picture wrong. We didn’t have a fight, like - I don’t think the problem is with us. Did something happen?”

Rubbing your back soothingly, Steven answered the best he could. “Not that I know of. Marc has honestly been a bit closed off with me lately. He is somewhat of a quiet bloke from time to time, but...yeah, I’m pretty certain he’s not been exactly an open book these last few days.”

“Okay,” you breathed, trying to think of what could have happened. “I’m sorry for putting you in the middle, my love. I try not to do that, but he was so upset tonight, and the drinking...”

“He..he didn’t upset you, darling? Or...hurt you? Did he?” His warm brown eyes darkened in concern.

“What, Steven, of course not,” you insisted, sitting up in bed. “You two would never hurt me, I know that.”

“Of course, love, but it’s just...” Steven hesitated, sitting up to join you. “Marc isn’t always at his best when he’s been drinking and...when I was holding you, just then, you--you’re trembling.”

It was true. You hadn’t realized it, but you were more upset than you’d realized.

Letting out a sigh of defeat, you reached for your fiancé, whispering his name pleadingly as you climbed across his lap. Strong arms wrapped around your back, gripping you firmly as he pulled you into his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed against your lips. “It’s alright, love.”

Feeling so safe in his arms, against his strong body, you pressed your lips against his, your fingers caressing up his neck, into his curls. Your body melted into his embrace as you slid your tongue over his. Admittedly, you were feeling a little desperate and Steven was most likely intoxicated, but it was heavenly to feel him pulling you into him as your tongues tangled, hands grasping to get somehow closer.

You went on like that for a short while, rubbing your body against his, sucking on his tongue the way he loved, fingers threaded through his curls, which made him almost feral. Lurching forward, he tumbled on top of you, ignoring the pounding in his head and running his hands up your bare thighs.

Despite how wonderful you felt, he paused, touching his forehead to yours for a moment of reprieve.

“Steven, are you okay?” You managed to whisper between kisses, looping your arms around his neck. “Your head still hurting?” You asked because you could tell he was holding back a little. You had been kissing for a while and his hands had yet to travel underneath your underwear or (Marc’s) oversized white t-shirt.

Easing his forehead down to your collarbone, Steven pressed a kiss to the soft skin of your chest. “Too much bloody whiskey,” he murmured. “Sorry, darling.”

“It’s okay. Feels good,” you breathed on his ear, which made him shiver.

“Didn’t mean to get too distracted, love,” he conceded, rolling off of you and rubbing his temples. “I know you’re worried about Marc. I am too, if I’m honest.”

There were no answers for you that night. Steven realized quickly that he needed some sleep and the two of you hoped that Marc might be there the next morning to give you some answers.

#moon knight #moon knight fic #moon knight fanfiction #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #marc spector x you #steven grant x you #mcu #oscar issac fic

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flightlessangelwings · 4 months

Text

Late Nights

Neighbor!Steven Grant x gn!reader

Word count- 1.8k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), accidental voyeurism, masturbation, fingering, unprotected sex, praise, feelings, protective!Steven,fluff, no use of y/n

Notes- This check two things: part of my neighbor Steven Grant series and a box (praise kink) for @moonknight-events Bingo. And tho it's part of a series, I wrote all the parts so that they can stand on their own. This as been in my wips for so long and I'm so happy to finally have written it!! I've missed our dear Steven too! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on new fics!

It was late, and Steven should have fallen asleep hours ago. Yet, he laid wide awake, his mind racing as he fiddled with his rubik's cube. Steven just couldn’t seem to get you out of his mind. He thought about you all day long- while he was at work, he wondered if you would like the exhibits he worked around. On the days he was lucky to pass you in the hallway on his way to his door, the image of your bright smile stayed with him well into the night. Even when he was in bed, Steven couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have you there with him, nuzzled in his arms.

He felt too nervous to make the first move, though.

But, a sound from the other side of the wall made Steven gasp- it was you. He heard you whimper and he immediately shot upright as his mind raced. Should he go over to you? Were you just having a nightmare? Or did something happen and you needed him?

As Steven pondered the options, he heard you cry out again, louder this time. His breath caught in his throat as you whined again, but this time it was different. Steven was sure he heard his name.

“I’m coming, love,” he whispered to himself as he jumped out of bed and grabbed the spare key you gave him in case of emergencies.

Steven scrambled to his door and his hands trembled as he opened it. Bolting the short distance to your door, he gritted his teeth as he unlocked your door and burst inside in a rush. Shutting the door behind him, Steven ran across the space to your bed, scared that he would find you hurt or in trouble.

But, what he found instead froze him in his tracks.

You were sprawled out on your bed, one hand cupping your chest, pinching your own nipple and the other between your legs. Your eyes were shut as your hand worked to pleasure yourself and you were lost in bliss until the sound of your name in Steven’s voice made your eyes snap open.

“Steven…” you gasped as you locked eyes with him.

The world felt like it was on fire, and as much as Steven knew he should leave, having caught you in a private and intimate moment, he couldn’t make himself move. It was as if you enthralled him, freezing him to the spot where he stood.

And you were flustered, covering yourself with the sheet as you realized you were so loud that you caught Steven’s attention. But, the way he looked at you made your heart pound. More than being embarrassed that he caught you pleasuring yourself, you felt your skin burn at the thought that he heard you cry out his name while he did so.

It felt like an eternity where neither of you moved, both too unsure of what to do or say to ease the tension in the room. It was Steven who finally moved first, though.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he stuttered as he covered his eyes and turned away, “I should go.”

“Wait,” you replied out of reflex.

Steven turned back to face you, his jaw tight and his eyes burning into your figure on the bed.

“Stay,” you whispered in a soft tone as you sat up and dropped the sheet, “Please stay,” your voice shook as your nerves overtook you, but you figured it was now or never.

He swallowed hard as his hands trembled, “Are- are you sure?” He sounded just as nervous.

“I’m sure,” you replied in a hushed tone as you kicked the sheet away, exposing yourself completely to him.

Steven felt his skin warm as he suddenly felt overdressed. He felt like he was in a dream, but if he was, he didn’t want to wake up. Moving before he realized it, he crossed the rest of the space and leaned forward, placing his hands on the foot of your bed. “Are you sure about this, love?” he asked again in a low tone as his eyes drank you in.

“Yes,” you breathed without hesitation.

Both of you were nervous, it was a bold move and uncharted territory for each of you. But, the need overtook the nerves. Slowly, Steven reached out for you, cupping your face tenderly in his hand. You let out the breath you held as you leaned into his touch. As his thumb brushed across your cheek, Steven also exhaled, “You’re so lovely.”

Your mouth parted as you gasped softly. Mirroring his action, you reached for him, grabbing his shirt and yanking him closer until your lips crashed together. Muffled groans echoed between you as you instantly deepened the kiss, and Steven’s hands roamed all over your bare figure. As you kissed him deeply, you tugged at his shirt, motioning for him to take it off.

“Let me see you too, Steven,” you whispered.

Steven let out a short laugh before he broke away to do as you asked. This time, it was your turn to gawk as your eyes roamed across his chest. You had always found him attractive from the moment you first met, but to see him shirtless before you made your heart flip in your chest.

“Wow…” you breathed.

He giggled nervously, “Wow to you too, darling,” he quipped.

That made you laugh as you pulled him close again, “Touch me, Steven,” you murmured as you guided him to crawl onto the bed so that he hovered over you.

Resting on your back, you looked up at Steven as his arms framed your face. The two of you froze again as you locked eyes, but this time it didn’t last. Steven was the first to move as he leaned forward and kissed you, taking the lead this time. His kiss was slow and soft, but you moaned into him as you felt his emotions in the kiss.

His hands roamed all over your body, running up and down your sides before cupping your chest. You broke the kiss to let out a louder moan as his hands ran across your nipples while he kneaded your chest.

“Steven…” you whimpered as you arched your back.

Encouraged by your moans, Steven’s hand ran down your body until one dipped between your legs. You gasped when you felt a finger at your entrance, making him pause.

“Keep going… please…” you begged.

“Can’t say no to you, love,” Steven smirked before he slowly pushed a finger into you and started to gently thrust in and out.

Your mouth dropped open as you cried out, “Steven… Feels so good…”

His eyes darkened at your words, and he couldn’t help but pick up his pace before he added a second finger, “You’re exquisite, darling.”

All you could do was moan as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, coating them in your slickness as he did so. His fingers filled you more than your own could, yet you still craved more. “Steven…” you pleaded, “Please… Need you…” you choked on your words, flustered at just how desperate you were.

“Shit love,” he breathed, astonished that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

Carefully, Steven pulled his fingers out of you before he pushed his pants down to free his cock. His heart fluttered in his chest as your hungry eyes landed on his hardened length. Slowly, you peeled your eyes away and up his body, soaking in every inch of his skin before you met his gaze. Heat rose in the room as the two of you locked eyes, and the unspoken question lingered in the air.

Swallowing hard, you nodded, answering without the words needed.

Steven whispered your name as he positioned himself at your entrance, crawling over you as the tip pushed in. Both of you gasped as he started to fill you, and you both clung to the other as your heat engulfed him inch by inch until he was completely sheathed inside you.

“Fuck, Steven,” you murmured, “You feel so good,” you couldn’t help but moan as you wrapped your arms around him, “Fuck me… Please…”

He breathed a soft, “Fuck,” in your ear as his hips moved on their own.

Moans and groans filled the room as Steven’s hips rocked against yours. What started as clumsy and unsure quickly morphed into hot and desperate as Steven thrust his hips faster.

“Yes… Steven… So good… Feels so good,” you babbled in his ear as you dug your nails into the skin of his back, desperate to feel him as close as possible.

His eyes rolled back into his head as he felt his climax already start to build. Between how good you felt and the babbling praise that flowed from your lips, he knew he wasn’t going to last. “Fuck… Darling…”

You let out a loud gasp as he thrust as deep as he could into you, hitting that sweet spot with precision, “Fuck!” you screamed, “Right there!” you opened your eyes as he paused in that moment, “You’re beautiful, Steven,” you whispered.

“Not as beautiful as you, love,” he smirked back before his hips took over again, thrusting into you with abandon.

The cries you let out echoed in the room, and both of you were sure the other neighbors could hear you but neither of you cared. All that mattered to each of you was the other, and the climaxes you both desperately chased. Incoherent babbling dripped from your lips in between your moans until you screamed even louder as your peak hit.

“That’s it, love,” Steven wasn’t sure where that came from, but as he talked you through your climax, he found it turned him on even more, “Lovely,” he preened as he felt you clench around him as you came hard, “Fuck…” he stuttered as his own orgasm hit right after yours. Steven groaned your name as he spilled himself inside of you, and he clung to you just as much as you did to him as he rode out both your climaxes together.

Completely spent and out of breath, Steven collapsed down on top of you, clumsily pulling out of you as he did so. He only relaxed for a moment, though; after hearing you gasp, he shot right back up onto his elbows to check on you, “Are you alright, love?” he asked with worry as he cradled your face.

Keeping your eyes closed, you smiled and leaned into his touch, “Never better,” you replied in a hushed tone before you kissed his palm, “That was better than how my night started,” you added with a chuckle.

Steven’s face lit up as he leaned forward and gently kissed your forehead, “I agree,” he whispered with a laugh of his own.

“Stay with me, tonight?” you asked in a meek tone.

“Anything for you, love,” Steven replied as he made himself comfortable and the two of you tangled your limbs in each other, curled up and safe in the other’s arms.

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moonlight-prose · 1 month

Note

Heyy I never send requests because honestly I can’t explain what I mean but can you do

*hard to sit here and be close to you, and not kiss you* from the fritz gerald sentence starter list with steven grant

I loveeeee the way you write him 🥰

THE WAY THINGS CHANGE

a/n: thank you so much darling! i've been off my writing game for awhile. but i was listening to the head and the heart last night and gained some much needed inspo for steven. only to find this perfect request sitting in my inbox yet to be answered. so i hope you enjoy this late response.

summary: memories of steven grant haunted you like a history you could not change. they were your dreams, nightmares, and wishes that never came true.

word count: 1.5k+

pairing: steven grant x reader

warnings: none, angst, my attempts at being a writer again, idk this is probably not very good so be warned.

The sky was set aflame as the minutes and seconds ticked by. Your mug filled with cheap wine sat on the edge of the roof, your hands clasped around it. You wondered if you imagined hard enough that maybe the liquid would burn hot. Would it turn to coffee? The same type you had with him. Would the sun fade to a soothing darkened sky, scattered with very few stars and even fewer wishes.

His smile was an object of permanence in your mind's eye. The quirk of his lips, the pink hue that fell into a pout of confusion. Even if it was just to show he was listening.

Although when it came to Steven, he always listened.

If you shut your eyes—imagined a night sky of infinity and constellations and stars not yet wished upon—you could see him. You could feel the way his curls twined around your fingers. The soft brown was somehow your favorite hair color now. You never knew you had one until him. They became a staple when you remembered him. The singular trait you latched onto when you could no longer trace the shape of his face, the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose.

“What’s your favorite thing about the night sky?” you asked on a whim. The coffee perked you up slightly. Bitter and grainy on your tongue but perfect nonetheless. It allowed you to stand there at least, to stay awake as his own mind fought against the exhaustion that no doubt riddled his bones.

He never complained though.

Never told you that he lived on barely enough; that his mind was a place of chaos he’d been privy to for quite some time. You saw him as much as you could, but sometimes time never seemed to work in your favor. Time seemed to be intent on keeping the two of you apart.

He smiled—bright enough to put a sunset to shame. “The moon.”

“Of course,” you huffed.

His life wasn’t a secret to you. Steven—ever the man to consider others emotions—made sure to be upfront with you. As much as he possibly could of course. But some secrets were simply not his to tell, not a history he could divulge. So he made up in whispered words of lands that existed centuries ago. In stories that bridged the gap between humanity and the past. He regaled you with the history he could speak aloud with the hope that it would be enough.

That you’d be okay with just that.

“Tell me yours love.”

Somehow breath turned nonexistent around Steven. Your default had become to live eternally without it. Not that you minded much. Breathing was no longer a necessity when you yearned for the sensation that came without it. The skipped beat of your heart, the warmth that spread through your stomach, and the love you felt spark along each nerve and each limb.

With Steven you felt like you existed on a different plane. Problems were nonexistent. Humanity became an afterthought, and the possibility of anything flourished like a flower at the start of spring. Bright and beautiful and full of endless potential.

You’d describe your relationship with Steven that way. A perfect replica of that actually, but every now and then life collided with your shining star, knocking away the wish before you could make it. Steven held your hope in his open and inviting palms, yet the thought of permanency with him…felt further away with each passing day. He couldn’t remain. He could barely stay for the moments spent awake together.

“The stars,” you whispered, casting your gaze out onto the sea of tiny shining sparks in the sky. An endless amount of them out in space, yet so few shone in the night sky.

“For the wishes?”

You smiled. “I guess so.”

Oblivious to you, he had moved closer, his leg centimeters away from brushing against yours. “What are you wishing for tonight?”

Could you tell him? Could you reveal that your mind—your heart—was set on him. After all this time it would always be him. Steven had sunk into your life as one would fall to the bottom of a river. Softly, smoothly, until your breath slipped free in a thousand tiny bubbles. Yet you held the option to come up for air; you had every choice layed out in front of you.

When it came to Steve though…sinking was the choice you’d make every time. You’d rather drown in his sweetness than live without it. A fact that you’d come to terms with months ago.

“You tell me,” you replied, your eyes meeting his. So full of life, so full of hope. It nearly broke your heart in two.

He smiled. “It’s not really a wish.”

“I don’t care.”

“It’s…uh…” He tapped his finger on his leg. A subtle beat of morse code, each letter spelled out before your very eyes. You caught the makings of an L and an O, but the echo of his cough dragged your attention away. “It’s hard.”

“What’s hard?” you breathed.

He cleared his throat, a hint of crimson spilling onto the tops of his cheeks. “Hard to sit here and be so close to you, and not kiss you.”

Your stomach swooped, breath escaping your lungs faster than you could suck it in. Yet you still held his gaze. You kept it like a closely guarded secret; dug your fingers and nails into its makeup hoping that some part would remain once this moment ended. Once you were alone again, yearning for him to return. That was the thing about Steven though. You never had to hold on so tight, because without knowing it, he was already embedded in your heart. He was a part of your DNA.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you said softly, leaning a bit closer. The heat of your mug seared into the skin of your palms, but you ignored it for favor of the burning ache that spread through your stomach. Until it wrapped tightly around your heart.

Like a vice you’d never be able to escape.

“No?”

You shook your head, leaned even closer, and watched his eyes flick down to your lips. “Guess you figured out my wish.”

He let out a breath, shaky and warm, and you nearly collapsed as it washed across your face. Perhaps he wanted to say more, or maybe you should have been the one to keep talking, but Steven was never one to keep you waiting. He yearned for you like the moon did the sun. An ongoing cycle of passing one another by, until nothing remained but your simple silly little wishes scattered across the sky.

He held onto each one with reverence. With the patience of a man who knew that your time together would come. You’d flourish together, pass across one another. Even if it was for a brief amount of time. Steven had always been your wish, your eclipse that was yet to come, yours in more ways than you could imagine.

Cupping your cheek, he tugged you close enough until his nose pressed to your skin, his shaky breath an indication that he felt just as nervous as you. That this small moment of time was anticipated with a fervor you’d never understand. His lips met yours, barely there at first, a soft brush of skin against skin. You felt hesitant, scared that he wouldn’t want more than this.

Until you heard him groan. Broken and long and absolutely withering. He tugged you closer, his lips slotting against yours rougher than before. And you felt the heat spill searingly into your chest, a soft moan bubbling to the surface to echo in the night air. He swallowed it with ease, his fingers lightly digging into your cheek, hand moving to press into your waist. You could still taste his nerves on your tongue, feel the way his body remained slightly tense, but with each touch of your skin to his he began to loosen.

He bloomed for you right there on that balcony with the moon as your only witness.

Hot tears slipped down your cheeks, the sunlight spilling back into your vision as you finally opened your eyes again. Sunset melted into dusk, the soft hues of blue and purple streaking across the sky. Until you could see the moon begin to rise in the east. A glimmer of the man that once held your heart in his.

The creak of the roof door echoed behind you. Probably another tenet coming to admire the view. You gathered your mug, wiped the flow of tears that refused to stop, and moved to give them the space. You’d seen enough of the moon for one night. There was no reason you had to stick around to pick out hopeless stars and lost dreams. That would remain in the past with the rest of your memories.

“What are you wishing for tonight love?”

The breath caught in your throat, eyes wide as you whirled around to face what you assumed would be a figment of your imagination—a cruel trick of your mind. Yet there he stood. Wearing different clothes, and holding a different demeanor, but you’d recognize him anywhere.

You smiled slightly, your fingers tightening around the mug. “You tell me.”

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant #moon knight #moon knight fic #a dream within a dream week🍷#me posting a fic in 2024???#unheard of

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bibli0thecary · 2 years

Text

No One Can Hurt You

summary: they would never bring you into the face of danger, but what if danger comes preying on you?

pairing (s): marc spector x reader, steven grant x reader, jake lockley x reader

word count: 2.7k

warning (s): break in, intruders, hurt/comfort

moon knight masterlist

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

You had never been in the face of danger before. Your boyfriends would throw themselves off a cliff before they let anything bad happen to you. You were so precious to them that they would shield you from the horror of the world with all of their might. Of course, you knew what they do once the moon decorated the night sky, but they never let you get exposed to any danger.

You were the only person who could make them feel normal, sane, and they never wanted to taint your innocence with what they were doing. And to their relief, you were okay with it. As long as they came back to you, safe and sound, then you would never ask a question. So used to feeling safe all the time, you never expected that night to happen.

It was around 2 a.m. when you were jolted awake by a loud crash just outside of your home. Rubbing your eyes in a sleepy daze, you sat up in bed, thinking that your mind was tricking you. You grabbed your phone and saw a text from Marc who was fronting that night, saying good night and he loved you. You smiled, realising the text was sent just a few minutes before you fell asleep.

Another crash was heard and it alerted you to get out of the bed, gripping your phone tightly. You wanted to think that it was Marc who was outside of your home right now, but then again he had a key and if he left it, he would knock. He always did. He said he did not want to scare you, and you knew it was not him who was creeping outside of your home at the moment.

Walking out of your bedroom, you tried your hardest to be optimistic, that maybe your neighbour was getting in their home, dropping things on their way. It was foolish, but you just wanted to think of anything that could avoid you from being in a frightening situation which you were in.

But your heart ran a mile, fear was pumping through your veins as your eyes locked at the front door, seeing that someone was trying to break it. You shook your head, realising it must be more than a person who was breaking into your home, as you could hear distant whispers from them.

Your feet was glued to the floor, tears started to flood in your eyes. You wanted to tear your gaze from the door, but you could not. It felt like they could break the door anytime now, and you did not know what to do.

“Marc..”

You whispered under your breath, the thought of him was comforting you a bit.

You ran into your bedroom, locking the door before getting in the closet. You did not know if you were doing the right thing, but fear was clouding your mind as you called your boyfriend, hoping that he would answer.

After what felt like eternity, you heard his voice. You called out his name, not realising that your words were lost in your sobs, and tears were rolling down upon your cheeks. You had never felt so scared before that you felt like you might pass out in the closet.

“Why are you crying? Did something happen?”

His questions only made you cry harder, pulling your knees up against your chest as you tried to hide yourself even more if that was possible. Marc was on the other line, his heart was sinking to his stomach at the sound of your gut-wrenching sobs.

“Y/N, talk to me, sweetheart.”

“There’s someone outside. They’re trying to break the door and— And I don’t know what to do.”

Silence. Your heartbeat quickened as you could not hear him anymore, and it made you think of the worst.

“Marc, I’m scared.”

“I’m coming to you, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay.”

He promised, but you did not miss the tremble in his voice, worrying about you as he could hear how scared you were.

“Where are you?”

“I’m in my room. In the closet.”

“Alright, stay there. I’m coming.”

At his words, you were worried that he would stop talking to you and you would be alone again, with the intruders. But Marc stayed on the line, comforting you as much as he could.

“Y/N? Are you there? Tell me what’s going on.”

He frantically asked, as he heard you screamed. His heart shattered, hoping that nothing bad was happening to you. Then he heard your voice again, calming him down a bit. But your next words made his blood run cold.

“They broke the front door… They’re coming in.”

You cried, hugging your phone close to your chest as Marc was no longer responding to you. You did not know what was going on with him, but he had stopped talking and you were scared to death. You needed him there with you.

You could hear footsteps coming closer towards your bedroom, and you prayed that they would take what was in the living room and leave. But that did not happen. A loud bang could be heard and you flinched, trying not to scream.

They were trying to get into your bedroom.

Putting a hand over your mouth, you silenced your cry as you felt fear growing in your chest. You tried to think of your boyfriends, wanting to believe that they would get here in time and everything would be fine. The thoughts dissolved from your mind when you heard another set of footsteps coming, letting you know that there was another intruder who just arrived, and when he did, your bedroom door was flung open.

You could not think of anything that would make them come to you. Perhaps they just wanted money and they would leave. You knew you were wrong when your life suddenly became a walking nightmare, as they opened the closet, amused smirks were on their faces once they spotted you.

They were not looking for anything else, but you.

“Let me go!”

You screamed, as they dragged you out of the closet by your arm. You hated to see how proud they were to see the fear in your eyes, and you were not letting them get the satisfaction. It was imprudent but you were not going down without a fight.

Somehow you managed to kick one of the men in the groin, making him fall on the floor. It only seemed to anger the other two when one of them easily held you back, since he was much bigger than you. You glared daggers at the man who was standing in front of you, swallowing the fear which was starting to suffocate you.

“I know you’re scared. But if keep your mouth shut, we’ll make this easier for you.”

If you were not so frightened, you would have rolled your eyes at his words. You did not know where you got the courage, but he pissed you off so much with his arrogance when he was breaking into your home.

“You’re that pathetic that you need to bring your friends just to get me alone?”

The man was not happy, but you did not regret a word you say. He slapped you hard across the face, that you could taste blood on your tongue. A groan escaped your lips, staring back at him who had a nasty smile on his face.

“You’re going to regret laying your hand on me.”

“Why would I?”

He laughed, and you tried to get out of his friend’s grip when he threw you on the bed harshly. Tears streamed down your face as you felt another slap on your cheek, your ears were ringing and you were getting dizzy. You were sure there was blood on your face, and the thought of dying was chasing you.

You thought you were imagining things when you saw a familiar figure standing in the room, but then when you heard his voice, you almost cried again, but not out of fear this time.

“Close your eyes, princesa.”

Jake’s voice was enough to comfort you, as you closed your eyes. Knowing how violent he could be, you did not dare to open your eyes before he asked you to. Jake would hate himself if you ever had to witness him murdering those people, even if he was protecting you. He never wanted your head to be tainted with the murders. You were his heart, his innocence and his trust— And he loved you to death.

Hearing screams from the men, you almost felt bad, but then you reminded yourself that you should not. Minutes felt like hours when you finally felt arms around you, making you flinched in fear.

“It’s me, princesa. It’s alright now. Look at me.”

You opened your eyes to find your lover’s gaze on you, and you did not wait any second to throw yourself into his arms. Jake could hear the breaking of his heart as you sobbed into his chest, body trembling with worry and fear from what just happened.

“When you said that they broke the front door, I took over from Marc. Do you need Marc? I can—“

“Please don’t leave me.”

You buried your face closer in his chest if that was possible, and Jake would put a bullet in his head before he could leave you crying like that. The only reason he offered to let Marc front was because he thought he was the worst at comforting you, but it was clear you did not want him to leave, and he was more than happy to provide you comfort.

“I need to get you out of here first. Is that alright?”

You nodded weakly, realising that there must be bodies in your bedroom right now. The thought sent shivers running down your spine, not daring to look around as Jake carried you in his arms, a hand was covering your face to make sure that you did not see anything that was going on the room.

You only opened your eyes when you felt the comfort of Steven’s bed, their bed, and Jake placed a kiss on your forehead. He looked at you for a moment, contemplating whether to tell you or not about what he was feeling. But when you nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck, he knew he had to. You were so important to him.

“I was scared something bad would happen to you, and I never get scared before.”

He confessed, caressing your face in his hands softly. His gaze hardened when he saw a bruise started to form on your face. Your bottom lip was split, and his heart clenched at the sight of your blood. He could tolerate blood but not yours. They hurt you.

“As long as I’m here, no one can hurt you ever again.”

Rage was dripping from his voice, but you knew it was not directed to you. Seeing a frown on his face, you put your hands on his wrists. Your touch calmed him down, and only you had the effect on him.

“I’m safe now. Thank you for saving me. I love you.”

Jake shook his head, not believing that you were thanking him. He felt like he was going to die when he saw those men in your home, and he never wanted you to feel threatened ever again.

“I love you.”

He whispered, kissing your forehead again, just to remind himself that you were there in his arms and you were safe. You let him hold you, knowing that he needed to feel your presence. After a moment, you felt him shifted a bit, a faint smile found its way on your face.

“Love? Are you alright?”

Steven was worried as he sat up in bed, putting his hand on your chin as he studied your face. He winced when he noticed that you were hurt, and the look in his eyes almost made you cry.

“It’s okay, Steven. Don’t worry about me.”

“It’s not okay, love. You’re hurt.”

Steven felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He promised you so many times that he would never let anyone hurt you, and yet there you were, with bruised cheeks and bloodied lips. He wanted to tell himself that it could have been worse and he should be grateful that you were alive, but he could not help but be worried of you.

“Steven, my love, I’m fine.”

You tried to convince him, as he treated your bruises with an ice pack, careful not to hurt you even more. Steven hushed you, and it brought a smile on your face. When he was done, he kissed your nose softly, making a chuckle escaped your lips.

“I love you, Steven.”

His smile disappeared from his face, and you tilted your head a bit, wondering what was going on in his head. He took your hands in his, kissing your knuckles as he tried his best not to break into tears in front of you.

“I love you too. I don’t know what I would do if something bad happened to you tonight.”

His voice cracked, and tears pooled in his eyes. You rested your forehead against his, the fear and worry that you felt tonight were nothing compared to the warmth of his arms. His scent comforted you in a way that only he could, making tears spilled from your eyes.

“I’m here now and I’m safe.”

Steven nodded at your words, letting himself cry as well. Seeing the bruises on your face was a reminder that someone had gotten to you, no matter how hard they tried to shield you away from danger, it seemed like the world has another plan for you.

“Did you see what happen to them?”

You shook your head at his question, and he let out a sigh. Steven wanted the intruders to get what they deserved, but he despised the thought of you seeing what happened to them once Jake was there. The sight of killings would change you forever, and he would not want that.

“Jake made sure that I saw nothing.”

“We love you, you know that, right?”

You smiled, nodding your head. Steven laid in bed with you in his arms, drawing stars on your back as it always managed to lull you to sleep. However, you could not bring yourself to sleep, as the fear still lingered in the back of your mind, and Steven could feel how tense you were.

You knew you were safe, and that was what you had been saying to your boyfriends. But your head was a cruel space, and it was as if you could still hear the loud crash outside of your home, and the breaking of your bedroom door.

You did not realise that you were crying, not until your boyfriend wiped your tears away. You looked up at him, recognising his warm eyes right away as you let out a choked sob from your throat.

“Marc..”

Your whimper struck him across his heart, and his arms around you tightened. He would always be there to chase your fear away. He would die protecting you if he had to. He would choose you over the whole world if it ever came to it.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m here.”

You curled your hand in fist around his shirt, as he pulled you closer to him. You only needed to know that he was there, and it was enough to let you know that you did not have to be scared of anything now. Marc was there with you.

“I love you. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He promised, rocking you in his arms gently. You felt safe around Steven and Jake, but there was something about Marc that felt like home, and you could feel your eyes fluttering shut at the sound of his voice.

“I love you too, Marc.”

You finally let sleep claimed you, as Marc stayed awake for the rest of the night, never once did he take his gaze away from your sleeping figure. And when you woke up the next morning, Marc kept his promise as he was still there with you. Your lovers would never leave you.

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight

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softlyspector · 2 years

Text

Halloween again

Summary: Halloween only comes once a year...Right?

Or,

You and the boys are inadvertently trapped in a time loop after Marc breaks up with you.

Pairing: Steven Grant x f!Reader, Marc Spector x f!Reader, Jake Lockley x f!Reader

Word Count: ~10.8k

Warnings: memory loss, angst, loss of control

A/N: Happy Halloween! 🎃 I hope you enjoy! Please, please, please let me know what you think!

Marc remembers the moment Jake first saw you. It’s imprinted in his mind, a watershed moment for the system, a change in the season, a spear of light into the darkness.

Really, it had been Steven who noticed you first, though he hadn’t been fronting.

It had been early summer, maybe technically still spring, and unseasonably warm, and the last light of the day had been fading from the sky, casting a golden glow over everything.

Marc had, wrongly, assumed that the sepia-like filter surrounding you had something to do with the setting sun.

But that wavy quality, that otherworldly blurriness, never quite goes away. Even months later, you’re still dripping in gold, surrounded by a soft bronzed glow. Even when you’re sharp, even when you hurt, you’re bathed in that amber fade.

If Jake hadn’t been fronting, you never would have become a part of their life. Steven had been stunned into silence for a moment at the white dress swirling around you, the flowers in your grip, your raised hand as you attempted to hail a cab.

The gold that stretched and bent around you had reminded Marc a little of the field of reeds, warm and sunned and safe.

“Ay, dios mío,” Jake has said when he’d seen you, Steven’s voice directing him to look, look over there, look.

He’d looked over at the same time you had spotted him. “Sorry, are you taking rides?” Your voice, like honeycomb, like peaches soaked in syrup, and yet gaveled, rasped. A voice all three of them could listen to for an eternity, for longer than that.

“For you? Of course,” Jake had said, even though he’d declared moments before that he was done, fucking done, no more fuckin’ rides today.

The closer you came, the more you became distorted, like they were seeing you through the lens of a shitty camera.

A moment comes though, when you tilt your chin back, so your head blocks out the sun and you finally come into sharp focus. “My hero,” you’d said to Jake, “You have no idea what I just escaped from.”

“Wedding? Run-away bride?” he’d asked, and Marc had felt that part of Jake that attaches to things with a fierceness that rivaled Steven’s, rear up and latch onto you. He’d felt the protectiveness cocoon around you in Jake’s mind, gods-forbid someone had hurt this angel standing before him.

“Not quite,” you’d laughed. “Wedding? Yes. Bride? No.”

Jake had softened, crushed his smoking cigarette under his heel, and opened the backdoor of the cab for you. “That’s such a relief to hear, hermosa,” Jake had said before everything went black for Marc, shoved down and back, away from the front.

It was before Marc could say no, chant it, shout it.

No, no, no no, no, no.

Not another one.

Not another shining, crystaled thing to shatter and bend and break.

Not after he ruined things so thoroughly with Layla.

Not again, not again, not again.

It wouldn’t matter.

Not that it ever did with Marc Spector.

“- bloody brilliant, you are! No wonder Jake was so keen on my meeting you!” Steven exclaims, not worried about being too much, as coming off as too enthusiastic.

You smile at him over a cup of coffee, the steam briefly obscuring your features. “You can stop by sometime and I’ll show you how it's done if you’re interested.”

Steven is smiling again, and he’s aware he looks like a fool. “That would be brilliant.”

A laugh bubbles up out of you, and Steven thinks he’d like very much to be bathed in that sound. Your voice already mesmerized him, but your laughter is like a balm. If your voice is like a honeyed peach, your laughter is crystallized sugar. “Really, I’ve never met someone that thought what I do is so interesting.”

“You’ve got to be jokin’, love. Artifact restoration? I bet you get to handle the most interestin’ things.”

Steven wants to reach out and touch you, to cup his hand over yours but he’s not sure it would be welcome.

You’d only learned about him and Marc a few days before and besides he isn’t really sure what the boundaries were supposed to be.

Jake is silent, but watchful, making no comment on the progression of the conversation between you.

Though he has to know, has to be aware of the little squiggly feelings surfacing in Steven, at the awe that you inspire if nothing else.

“Go ahead,” Jake says.

And Steven reaches forward to take your hand. You smile, run your thumb over his skin, the filtered, golden light of you sparkling over him in waves.

You pat his hand, “You’re welcome anytime to see how it's done.”

It’s only a few days later that Steven finds himself at your place of work, carefully watching you restore a painting that must be hundreds of years old. He’s not really sure he’s actually allowed to be there with you, and so he’s quiet, careful of you, waiting for the moment the spell between you is broken as you grin over at him.

But it never really is, not ever.

Marc is nervous the first time he fronts when you’re around.

Already, he sees the danger of you, the lurking, looming hurt that you can level against him.

Jake and Steven are head over heels for you, they think about you all the time, they plan around you, they look forward to seeing you, to getting to hold your hand and kiss the corner of your mouth.

Jake in particular is love struck. He harbors such a deep affection for you that it surprises Marc sometimes.

He does everything you ask; he would walk over broken glass for you, haul himself over hot coals. He does everything you don’t ask too, brings you flowers and drives you wherever you need to go.

Evidence of your relationship, your influence in their lives, is all over the flat.

You decorate the flat differently for each season, your sweaters are tossed over the back of the chair, your spare toothbrush sits in the cup at the bathroom sink. They have cookware in the kitchen cabinets now that are a pale pastel green, compliments of you.

Not only that, but your art – your paintings – are hung on the walls now. You got Jake to paint too, one evening.

And he does it all the time now.

Badly.

But he does.

You think it’s funny, and Jake likes that you think it’s funny.

It’s baffling, it’s frustrating, it’s wonderful.

Marc wants that weirdly focused energy of yours, that sepia steeped, sunshine warmth to be pooled around him.

And so, when he finally fronts, and you greet him, with a smile that pulls at the crinkles by your eyes, he knows he’s a little bit doomed.

He wants you too much already, and he doesn’t get to keep the things he wants.

“Marc,” you breathed, like you’ve been waiting for him for a long time.

He immediately likes the weight of your attention and knows that he shouldn’t.

You’re standing there in a witch’s hat, a frown on your face, when Marc tells you they’re breaking up with you. You have gold temporary tattoos imprinted into your cheeks and along your neck and jaw, your eye makeup is dark and dramatic. The long sleeves of your dress drip down past your hands, and Marc catches the brief glimpse of your skin beneath when you flutter your hands over the corset you wear.

You make a cute witch, he thinks absently, eyes tracing down the tulle skirt, the purple and black striped tights.

You reach up and take the hat off, dropping it onto the tabletop before you collapse into the chair across from him.

The silence stretches between you.

But Marc refuses to break it.

Jake and Steven are screaming, throwing themselves against the proverbial bars of their mind.

“Pendejo!” Jake snarls at him, fearful more than angry. “Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, Marc! Don’t-,”

He tunes them out, already on the path to ruining everything anyways, just like he’d always known he would, just like he always told them he would.

He should have been kept out of it, for everyone’s safety, for Steven and Jake’s wellbeing. He should never have been allowed into the relationship, he’d proved a long time ago he wasn’t cut out for that.

“Marc,” Steven’s voice is much gentler, quieter. “Please, don’t do this.”

There’s a bowl of candy on the table between you, Steven and Marc and Jake’s favorites. You’d gone out of your way to find Marc’s favorite candy, a rarity in the UK. You press your thumb into the plastic of the dvd case in front of you. It’s something Marc finds weirdly endearing about you, your preoccupation with dvds despite all the streaming services.

The golden sheen of you is faded and muted in the low light of the flat, the hurt you must feel siphoning away the sun in your veins.

You look exhausted, the line of your jaw tight, the set of your mouth hard. You look like he’s plunged his hand into your chest, like he’s digging his fingers into the meat of your lungs.

“Marc,” you say, his name folded and crumbled in the fist of your voice. You pause, and you don’t say anything else for a long moment. Your voice isn’t like peaches steeped in syrup now. It’s like the cracked bark of a winter pine, hollow and gap toothed with hurt.

He watches your throat work, watches the glisten of your eyes. Marc waits, knows its torture for you that he refuses to say anything. You give a humorless chuckle, your gaze following the path of his hand as he takes a sip of whiskey straight from the bottle in his hand. “Can I - Steven and Jake -,”

“They feel the same,” he lies, voice blunt and flat and emotionless.

Steven is shouting now, his voice loud and angry and so very hurt, when Marc shoves him down, away, back. He didn’t need to see this anyways, didn’t need to see Marc upend another good thing. “Okay,” you nod, bottom lip trembling. “So, this is it?”

“You ask for too much,” Marc says harshly, because he knows it’ll hurt, it’ll sting and cut and bruise. “You take too much. You want too much from us. We can’t tell you everything.”

You don’t answer for a long moment and Marc doesn’t look up at you, the focus of his eyes shifting on the amber liquid inside the bottle in his fist.

Turning into my mother, he thinks bitterly, the swirl of the liquid disgusting him, but not enough to make him stop. Turning into my fucking mother.

“That’s fair,” you admit, like it has any kernel of truth.

He winces.

He wishes you would get angry.

He wishes you would shout that it isn’t true, that it’s his fault. He wants you to scream and fight. He wants you to tell him that he’s the problem and if he’d just fucking disappear the world would be better for it. You could have Steven and Jake then.

“It’s not fucking fair,” he snarls suddenly. “It’s not and you know it.” He looks up at you, from the grain in the table. “Why don’t you fight?”

“I don’t want to fight with you. Haven’t you fought enough?” Your voice is small. “I don’t want you to have to fight.”

He laughs, and it’s a self-hating sound, harsh and loud and so broken the shattered glass of it slices his throat open. He’s bleeding, his soul is bleeding, his heart begging. Don’t do this, don’t do this, don’t do this, why do you always do this -

Because it was only a matter of time.

Only so long before you got it, before you see him for the broken little marionette he is. It’s only a matter of time before you see what everyone else does, the shredded tatters of him coming apart at the seams. It was bound to happen that you’d see the crushed innards, the fleshy red, raw beating heart of him. You’d see the desperation for this time to be different, you’d laugh and you’d crush what little of him that was left in your fist.

Eventually, you’d see exactly what his mother saw in him.

Weak. Cowardly. Bad.

It’s better this way, better he gets to give it a clean break rather than waiting for you to shatter it all when you realize what he is.

His throat works, tears threatening the back of his eyes.

Marc wishes you would scream, throw something. It would make more sense than this resigned, quiet love you have, than your acceptance of his knowledge of what is best for the system.

He doesn’t, he wants to tell you, he doesn’t know best and you should ask for Steven or Jake, you should demand to see them.

They know better, they know more, they don’t ruin things over something that hasn’t even happened yet.

Marc is spiraling, spiraling, spiraling.

His head spins, and he wonders again why this is more comfortable, why strife and arguments made him weirdly calm, why unconditional love and stability made him feel like he was losing control of everything.

He knows he’s spiraling and he should stop drinking and he shouldn’t have started drinking, but it's all too late, it’s all too much. He’s derailed, and nothing can stop him now.

Because you’d asked, a few days ago you had asked about his childhood and what happened to him and he had known their time with you was limited. Your voice had that golden, honey streaked tinge to it as you’d asked Steven, “What happened? You don’t have to tell me. I just wonder sometimes and Marc doesn’t talk about it.”

There had been a smear of latte foam and cinnamon on your upper lip when you asked, a scarf tucked under your chin, and Steven had reached out and wiped it away with a gentle sweep of his thumb.

“That’s Marc’s story to tell,” Steven had smiled at you, held your hand in one of his own. “You’ll have to ask him. He might not be ready quite yet, but he’ll tell you sometime, love.”

At least this time, Marc hadn’t run away, hadn’t sent divorce papers in the mail and fled without a word.

He’d faced up to you, broken it off in person.

“What are you afraid of Marc?” You ask now as you dig one nail into the wood of the table. Your voice isn’t accusatory, never demanding.

You. You, you, you.

I am afraid of you. I am afraid you will look into me and see all the sharp broken edges and you’ll decide I’m not worth it.

So, he has to do it first, even though he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want you to leave, he doesn't want to lose you. It’s why he wants you to fight and yell and -

But you aren’t that kind of person. You’d never scream at him, you’d never lay a hand on him. But that would make more sense wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t it? Doesn’t he deserve it?

There are faint whispers in the back of his mind that remind him he’s supposed to be over this already. He’s supposed to know already that love did not equal a slap across the face, that the people that love you don’t hurt you on purpose.

Instead he curls his hands into fists and lies again, “Nothing. I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t trust you.”

It’s all his life is, one long lie.

Why did you have to ask Steven about the past? Everything would have been fine if-

He hears your breath catch, listens to you fight for air before you choke out a scoff. “That’s low. I - Marc - I wouldn’t make you tell me. I don’t want you to, ever, if you aren’t ready.”

No, you wouldn’t have made him, wouldn’t have made demands, and that’s what’s dangerous. Because he would have told you, and that’s when you would have turned to disgust, that’s when you would have seen how black his heart is, and that’s when you would have realized the depths of how wrong everything about him is.

Stop drinking, something in the back of his mind whispers. You didn’t want this, this isn’t what you meant to say.

Right, he’d started drinking for courage, to tell you all the bad things and let you decide because he hadn’t done that with Layla and he wanted to keep you so fucking badly but-

“I’m sorry you feel like you can’t trust me.” No, no, no, she is the only one we trust, the only person we - “I’ll sleep on the couch,” you continue. “And tomorrow I’ll…I’ll be out of your hair. I’ll have to come back for my art and some other big things though.”

The art. What will they have on the walls if your art is gone?

“No,” he hears himself say, voice choked and raw. “You can take the bed-,”

“Fuck you, Marc,” you say suddenly. “You either care or you don’t, which is it?”

Care. He cares so bad.

“That’s what I thought.” You stand and walk toward the bathroom, your voice a warble in your throat. “Happy Halloween.”

Marc lies down with the ceiling spinning above him, sad and angry and brimming with self-hatred, simultaneously wondering why he just did what he did and telling himself that it’s all for the best, for all of them.

It was impulsive. It was stupid. It was the best decision he could have made.

He hopes Jake and Steven will forgive him.

He knows they will, eventually.

The ceiling continues to rotate.

Marc doesn’t move.

He watches you emerge from the bathroom in your pajamas.

It’s the first time he’s seeing you sleep in something other than one of their shirts.

Your makeup has been wiped away, the smoky look around your eyes gone, the temporary tattoos scrubbed roughly away. You don’t look at him, but he hears you sniffle, he sees how red rimmed your eyes are.

You lie down on the couch with the blanket that lies across the back.

You flick out the light and Marc pretends he can’t hear you crying.

His last thought, before he falls into an alcohol induced stupor, is that Halloween is your favorite holiday, and he’s ruined that, and he regrets everything.

Steven’s chest aches when he wakes, the thick squeeze of the previous night’s emotions clutching at his lungs until he feels like he can’t breathe. His heart is sore, a dull ache radiating out in little pulses.

He bloody hates being the one to wake up when Marc goes off drinking much more than he should, but to his surprise, the only thing that hurts is his broken heart. He feels betrayed by Marc, angry with himself that he’d let Marc say what he had, that he hadn’t been stronger.

He sits up gingerly, still surprised that no pain comes, that his mouth isn’t filled with cotton, his head isn’t spinning, sick isn’t crawling up the back of his throat. He curls his fingers into the comforter over his body, glancing around the empty flat. A low, flat, graying light filters in the windows, casting everything in shadow.

He wonders how early in the morning you must have left, to already be gone before the sun has fully risen.

A tear slips down his cheek before he can stop it.

“Hermano,” Jake says, his voice gentle in a way it usually isn’t. “It’s okay. Maybe we can explain to her.” Steven turns and looks into the mirror next to the bed, nodding at Jake who looks back at him.

“Marc?”

Jake just shakes his head and Steven sighs.

Marc did what he thought needed to be done to save them all, to spare them hurt and rejection, only for Steven to be left with the emotional turmoil of it all.

“Think she’d listen to us though? After what he said…” Steven asks, voice trailing off as he turns the duvet back and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “What on earth?” Steven mumbles, glancing down at himself.

“What?”

Steven glances back at Jake, who is watching him carefully, and gestures to himself, “In your memory, has Marc ever gotten himself ready for bloody bed when he was in that state?”

Jake frowns, eyes flicking down Steven’s pajama clad body, “No.”

“Right, and tucked himself in as well, can’t have been…” You were too upset last night, you would not have tucked Marc in, you wouldn’t have even spared him a glance after the things he said to you. Maybe you would have slipped a blanket over him, but you certainly wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of yanking down the duvet and negotiating Marc beneath it.

Steven leans in and sniffs the sheets, and notes the absence of the stale scent of whiskey that was always present after a night like the one they’d just had.

“Jake…” Steven trails off, something about it all feeling ever so slightly off, like reality has shifted in a way he can’t understand yet.

The flat is still decked out in all your Halloween decorations, things that you and Steven and Jake and Marc had taken turns putting up together. Steven squints at the window, the early morning light seems to be fading instead of intensifying. He reaches over and flicks on the bedside lamp just as the sound of someone clipping down the hall echoes down the corridor.

A rattle of keys follows, and then the door is swinging open and you are there.

That glow of gold that surrounds you, the crisp, honeyed peachiness of your voice that swaddles Steven in a happiness he didn’t know he could have, radiates around you.

The lights on the other side of the flat flip on, and you shoulder the door closed behind you, carrying a few shopping bags in your hands. “Hey, baby!” You call, smiling at him. “Why’s it so dark in here? Were you napping? It’s a little late for that, you won’t sleep properly. Or were you just getting a few winks in before our movie marathon?” You say cheekily.

Steven breathes out your name at the same time that Jake does, stunned.

He stands and approaches you slowly, fingers knitting nervously together before him, Jake’s voice in his ear, coaching him, telling him that everything might be okay.

You turn and smile at him. “Can Marc hear me? Look what I found at that shop down the road,” you rifle through one of the bags you’d deposited on the table. “It’s that candy he loves that I can never find anywhere. And just in time for Halloween!” You finally find one of them and hand it to Steven. “Already well stocked on you and Jake’s favorites,” you pat his cheek gently before moving away.

Steven is so bewildered he can’t answer you. A terrible curl of déjà vu sweeping through him.

He distinctly remembers you saying the exact same thing yesterday, sans the bit about the lights being off.

“I remember that too,” Jake says. “I remember her fuckin’ saying that.”

Steven shakes it off, ignores it.

In any case, you should be angry, you should hate him, you should hate all of them. You should not be smiling and happy, you should not be casting your sunshine yellow glow around the flat.

Maybe you forgot something.

Maybe you were here to tell them off, to tell them you never wanted to speak with them again.

But then why did you have candy? Marc’s favorite, no less.

“I - I thought you would have already been gone by now,” he offers weakly in return, testing your mood.

You frown at him over your shoulder, slipping your jacket off your shoulders. “Gone? Where would I have gone?” The frown sticks on your face as you turn back to him. “Oh no, is this your way of telling me you’ve been called away by Khonshu?”

“No, I - we - Marc,” he stutters to a stop. You’re watching him with your head tilted to the side, a genuinely confused look contorting your features.

It’s then that Steven notices you’re still wearing your Halloween costume. You still have the little gold tattoos on your cheeks and neck. “You - Marc broke up with you. You were going to move out.”

The confusion in your eyes softens out, shifts toward sympathy. “Maybe you had a nightmare Steven,” You say gently. “I’m right here.”

“No,” he says, flustered. “You don’t understand. It - Marc was upset because he thought he…it doesn’t bloody matter what Marc was upset about. The point is he broke up with you for all of us.”

You take a step closer, lying your hand on his arm, “Steven, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Not a dream,” Marc says suddenly from the reflection in the window, his presence like a shot to the heart. “It wasn’t a dream.”

Steven pointedly ignores Marc, tangling his fingers with yours instead, tugging you closer to him, inhaling the warm, spiced scent of you. “Marc and Jake are saying it wasn’t a dream either.”

“Okay,” you say calmly, pressing yourself into his arms, tilting your chin into his. You smile, and carefully press a kiss into his mouth. “But I’m still here. And I’m real.”

He locks his arms around you, feels Marc trying to nudge his way to the front. “Real,” he agrees.

But the candy.

And the costume, your cute little witch hat.

The tattoos on your cheeks that you’d wiped away with your eye makeup the night before.

“Dear heart,” Steven murmurs. “Why are you still dressed for Halloween? Didn’t you pick up the candy yesterday? Shouldn’t you be at work-,” But a glance out the window shows that the heather gray light has now faded to black, the glow of streetlights and traffic on the road below the only source of light filtering in the window.

“Steven,” you tilt your head at him, nudging your nose against his. “I’m just getting home from work. Today is Halloween.”

The way you say it grounds him, a fact that he can hang onto in this moment of uncertainty.

Steven releases you when you tug away, fishing your phone out of your work bag to flash the time and date at him.

Monday, October 31 18:09

“What the -,”

Steven steps away from you, rattles around the flat until he can locate his phone, and finds the date and time the same.

“What the fuck?” Marc mutters, clutching the phone tight in his fist. He spins around to find you lighting candles, the witch hat tilted to the side on your head.

He feels unsteady as he watches you, because this is the exact moment yesterday that he’d decided to break up with you, rather than to tell you the truth and have your rejection curl on the back of his tongue.

Only yesterday, he’d been drunk and he hadn’t spoken to you yet, hadn’t commented on you finding his favorite candy.

“Marc!” Steven is hissing at him from the reflection in the black screen of the phone in his hand. “Marc! Don’t you dare even think -”

Marc ignores him, tossing the phone down on the bed and crossing the room back to you. You’re dumping the candy into a large bowl, yesterday’s stack of dvds to your left, before you turn and plug the holiday string lights in, glowing little pumpkins coming to life where they hang in ropes from the ceiling.

“Baby,” Marc says, and he can hear the desperation in his own voice.

You turn and smile at him. “Hey, Marc.” You proffer the bowl to him, “Found your favorites. Are you sure I can’t convince you to wear a costume?”

“I broke up with you yesterday. It wasn't a dream. You were gonna move out today. You hate me and I deserve it. And now it’s not morning, its night, and its fucking Halloween again.”

You lie a hand against his arm. “Marc,” and his name is so alluring on your tongue, like the sweet sugar of a love he most certainly does not deserve. “I could never hate you. I’m here. I love you. You say it's not a dream, fine, but honey, I don’t remember it.”

Marc stares at you, let’s you cup his jaw in one hand. Your skin is warm against his, you smell like lavender and sage.

“Do over,” Jake says quietly, and when Marc glances over at the mirror he meets the fiercely irritated gaze of his alter. “Somehow we’re getting a fuckin’ do over,” he stabs a finger at Marc. “Do not mess this up, pendejo.”

“Do over,” Marc murmurs, turning back to meet your eyes. “Is this a do over?”

A second chance.

Marc Spector is not worthy of second chances.

You shrug, and Marc is struck by you, about how you don’t insist that what he remembers is a dream, you accept that to him it's real, and that it upset him.

“I don’t know,” you say. “All I know is that it’s Halloween and I want to watch movies with all of you and carve that last pumpkin,” you point to the last unmutilated pumpkin sitting by the front door. “Can we do that?”

Marc cups your face between his palms, eyes trailing over the temporary tattoos stenciled over your cheeks, gold and curling over your jaw and down your neck. “Yeah,” he says, feeling lighter, like everything might be okay, like maybe he hasn’t fucked everything up. “But I wanna tell you about something too. If you’ll let me.”

You smile, eyes crinkling, teeth a shine in your mouth. “Sure.”

Marc dips down, presses his lips to yours in a lingering kiss, sliding one hand down your side to curl around your waist. “I’m sorry,” he breathes into you. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

“You’ve done nothing to be sorry for, Marc,” you say kindly, reaching up to stroke your fingers over the blade of his cheekbone.

If only you knew how undeserving he is of that sentiment.

Marc decides not to question the gift he’s been graced with, has the urge to pour that bottle he’d been sipping out of last night down the drain.

“I’m still sorry,” he persists, even though you don’t know what he’s apologizing for and he doesn’t explain it, instead tugging you impossibly closer, until the line of him touches every edge of you, his lips brushing against yours with each word. He needs you to know, he needs you to know even if you don’t remember it. “I need you to know that. I’m sorry and I didn’t mean a fucking word I said.”

“Okay, baby,” you coo, as he watches the flutter of your lashes against your cheek. “I forgive you, okay? Whatever you did, it’s not unforgivable.”

His throat goes tight, a lump that he can’t swallow sitting on the back of his tongue. “Yeah,” he croaks. “But-,”

“It’s okay, Marc,” you sweep your thumb over his cheek again before you bump your nose against his. “I’ll get the movie on, if you order the pizza and put some popcorn on.”

“Deal,” he nods. “I got it.”

You grin and kiss him gently, before moving away from him.

Marc turns toward the kitchen counter, takes a few deep breaths before he goes searching for that bottle.

When he finds it, it’s nearly full, exactly as it had been yesterday.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Steven asks nervously. “Why doesn’t she remember yesterday?”

“It’s better not to question miracles,” Jake interjects before Marc can say something depressing. “We’re getting a second fuckin’ chance.”

Marc doesn’t comment, dumps the alcohol down the drain without preamble, the smell of it making him sick, his mother’s face flashing behind his eyes.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself after the bottle is discarded in the trash. “Popcorn. Pizza.”

Jake takes you to bed at the end of the night, cradles you tight against his chest, tucks you in close.

It’s late and you’d given yourself a stomachache from eating too much candy and giggling through the Scream movie because you’ve seen it a million times and laughing at the carving of Khonshu Steven had done on the last remaining pumpkin, depicted as a literal pigeon with a staff.

Marc’s determination to tell you about his past had waned and Jake had reassured him that he had time, it did not have to be that night.

“I don’t want to lose her,” he says to Jake as he holds your pliant body close. “I don’t want to lose her like everyone else. Leaving first, it's easier.”

Jake understands. “We don’t have to be alone anymore, Marc,” is the only response he can formulate. “We don’t have to hide from her. We don’t have to run away.”

He tucks your head under his chin, pressing his nose against your temple. The scent of you is grounding, like sage and lavender and orange, accompanied by the spun sweetness of the mass amounts of candy you’d consumed.

You tangle your fingers into his shirt, your breathing is even and deep.

Jake allows himself to relax, reassures himself that this was all some horrible dream.

Tomorrow would come, and you’d still be there.

Marc wakes to graying light and an empty bed.

Confusion washes over him, and then a sense of despair.

He knows it immediately, deep in his bones.

Something is wrong.

He shoves the comforter back and sits up, glancing around the flat. You’re nowhere to be found.

“Marc?”

“Steven,” Marc breathes. “Do you feel -,”

“Yes,” he’s nodding in the mirror across from the bed. “Something’s wrong. I think – feels like yesterday again, yeah?” His voice is high and nervous.

Marc pushes himself up out of bed, scrambling around the bookshelves to access the rest of the flat.

The pizza boxes from the night before are gone, the pumpkin is back by the door, the surface of it smooth and uncut, there are no dishes left in the sink, or candy wrappers in the trash.

And, when he rips open the kitchen cabinet, the bottle of whiskey is back, nearly full.

“What the fuck?” He growls, slamming the bottle down on the counter with enough force to crack the glass.

He curses again, and tilts the thing into the sink.

Then.

Keys in the door.

Marc slowly turns to face the door, horror slowly dawning on him.

“Hey, baby!” You greet, checking the door closed with your shoulder. “Why’s it so dark in here? Were you napping? It’s a little late for that, you won’t sleep properly. Or were you just getting a few winks in before our movie marathon?”

“No, I-,”

“Look what I found at that shop down the road,” you say excitedly, just like yesterday, before you search through one of the bags. “It’s that candy you love that I can never find anywhere. And just in time for Halloween!” You find one of the candy bars, holding it out to Marc proudly, shaking it at him until he takes it from you. “Already well stocked on Steven and Jake’s favorites,” you pat his cheek gently before moving away.

Marc can only breathe out your name, fingers curling around the candy in his hand, confusion burrowing down into his gut. “Is today Halloween?”

You turn and frown at him, shimmying out of your jacket. You’re still in that witch costume, gold tattoos shimmering on your skin. “Yeah, did you forget? You promised we’d watch scary movies together.” And then your gaze softens, “Oh no, is this your way of telling me you’ve been called away by Khonshu?”

The déjà vu that sweeps through him almost knocks him down.

Marc shakes his head, steps back from you, feeling a bit sick, “Sorry, sorry, I’m-,”

He’s not okay.

He’s confused.

He half wonders if he’s finally lost his mind, that you really left on Halloween and that it broke him and now he’s doomed to re-experience that night over and over, all of the things he should have done instead of breaking things off with you for no real reason.

Sense and nonsense, your brain is a pendulum swinging between a very difficult reality, he hears someone whisper in the back of his mind.

He shakes his head, trying to get that voice, Harrow’s voice, out of his mind.

Organizing principle.

No.

No, this is real.

You are real.

But then…why the fuck is it Halloween again?

Steven turns and smiles at you as best he can. “Hi, dear heart, how was work? Do you have the time? We did fall asleep for a bit.”

Just like yesterday, you smile and dig for your phone in your work bag before you toss it to him.

Monday, October 31 18:09

“Bollocks.”

“You okay?” You peer at him closely, popping the witch hat onto your head at a jaunty angle as you step nearer until you can touch the corner of his jaw. Your fingers are cold, like slivers of ice pressed into his skin. There are crescent shaped bruises beneath your eyes, like you haven’t slept. “What’s going on?” The corner of your mouth twitches, “Did Jake tell you I wanted you to dress up?”

Steven stares at you, at the golden haloing, loopy-ness of you. But something about you is off, acrid, like the flaxen buttercup of you has been poisoned, like there’s a sulfuric edge to you.

“No,” he says softly, because this is different from yesterday’s Halloween. You had made no mention of a costume for him, not even when he’d fronted to carve the Khonshu pumpkin.

Though, hadn’t you said something to Marc about it?

Are you sure I can’t convince you to wear a costume?

“No,” Steven repeats carefully, “he didn’t.”

“And would you be willing to dress up with me?”

Even though you’re smiling, something about it seems wooden, like you’re rehearsing lines in a play. Your smile is just a bit too stiff, your energy stale.

Before Steven can answer, you’re turning away, lighting the candles and plugging in the smiling pumpkin lights, lifting the stack of dvds to flip through them, humming when you land on Scream.

Again.

“How about I get the movie set up and you order the pizza? Pizza and popcorn sound good, right?”

Just like yesterday.

You’re saying exactly the same things as yesterday, and the day before that, which also happens to be bloody yesterday.

“Love,” Steven says cautiously, a horrible sense of dread settling into his bones, “Do you remember yesterday?”

“Yesterday?” Your voice goes high, like you’ve never heard of such a thing. “What do you mean?”

Steven pads closer to you, reaching out to touch the small of your back. “Like, this has all happened before. Yesterday was Halloween too. Do you remember that? We did all of this yesterday.”

You turn and frown at him, the expression on your face frozen and broken. It scares him, the look on your face, like he can’t recognize you. Your eyes are fractured, like you’re trapped inside your body.

“Are you feeling alright, Steven?” Your voice is like ice, and he doesn’t respond because you’ve never sounded like that, you have never sounded like there’s a dagger behind your words.

But your eyes don’t match that frostiness, and when he opens his mouth to respond, you giggle. It’s high-pitched and garish, unlike the glow of your usual sugared, crystaled laughter.

“Of course,” You say mechanically, “Of course I remember yesterday.”

Steven lets you step away, turning his phone over in his hand. Your gait is stilted, your movements stiff and hard. He watches you slot the dvd in, a smile still plastered on your face, the backlit blue glow eerie on your face.

A bead of sweat drips down your forehead, like something is costing you a great effort.

It’s then that Steven notices the silence.

Although he can see the glow of traffic in the window, he cannot hear it. He can’t hear anything, not the traffic on the street below, not the hum of the fridge, not the pop and spat of the radiator.

Nothing.

The flat is silent.

The only sound is the press and patter of you clicking the buttons on the remote in your hand.

“What the fuck is goin’ on?” Jake’s voice cuts through the flat’s stale air, the gray light, the soundless room. “Mi vida,” he growls, sweeping around the bookcase, “Look at me.”

The glassy look in your eyes shakes Jake to his core, your smile is petrified, the curve of your shoulders chilled beneath his touch. And even though you’re wearing make-up, those little gold tattoos on your cheeks and the dark, bold look that rings around your eyes, he can tell you’re tired.

“Organizing principle,” Marc is whispering. “Organizing principle. Is this real?”

Jake shakes you gently, says your name desperately. “What happened yesterday? I need you to tell me.”

“But why? Today is Halloween-,”

“I know, and so was yesterday, and the day before that.”

You don’t seem to hear him, continuing blandly, like you’re reciting a text. “No. Today is Halloween, Jake.” A tear slips down your cheek, though you continue to smile.

Fear wells up the back of his throat, choking him, as he wipes the tear away. “Yes, today is Halloween. What happened yesterday, corazón?”

You don’t answer, another tear sliding through the gold tattoo, tracing a line through the center of one. The tattoo is in the shape of a crow, its beak sliced in half. “Today is Halloween,” you murmur, like you’re an automaton that doesn’t have an appropriate pre-recorded answer to his question.

Something stretches and pulls at the tendons in his chest, tightening them until he can’t breathe, not really.

“Do you remember the day we met?” He asks, not really wanting to know the answer.

“Of course,” you perk up at that, brightening just a little. “Always.”

“What happened? Where did we go?”

You frown, the light flickering out of you again, “What do you mean? Don’t you remember?”

“Remember? I could never forget,” he slides a thumb against your cheek, gold flecks of the tattoos peeling off against his skin. You’re cold, your skin is like ice against his fingers, like peels of frost might flake off of your body if he wasn’t careful. “But I want to hear it from you. What were you thinking? When you saw us for the first time?”

Your smile stays in place, and you tilt your head to the slide, the witch hat sliding off and crumpling on the floor.

Anguish slowly crawls in your eyes, and Jake can feel it being mirrored back at you in his own. “I found Marc’s favorite candy in the shops on the way home.”

Jake can only nod, slowly releasing you.

He tries to remember what Marc had followed that up with the day before.

Clearly whatever was trapping them here with you in this day wanted this conversation to play out in a different way. “I love you,” he says, tipping your chin up. “We love you, querida.”

“And I love you.”

Jake takes a breath, the knot in his chest loosening a little bit.

“The breakup,” Marc supplies, his eyes desperate in the mirror. “I told her about the breakup.”

Jake nods at Marc, and then takes your hand. “I’ll order the pizza, you get the TV workin’ right.”

You smile, the wooden fractured-ness of you fading a bit, like Jake is an actor opposite you finally remembering his lines.

“Okay, baby,” You lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth, the press of your frigid lips makes him shiver.

Jake waits until you’ve eaten pizza, until you’re settled in the crook of his arm downing piece after piece of candy, to broach the subject with you.

His memory is in little pieces, scratched and scuffed and failing because he cannot remember the pizza being delivered, it simply is, it simply appeared.

As if the greasy cardboard boxes have always been stacked in the center of the coffee table.

The weird gray light still lingers, and Jake is starting to wonder what would happen if he opened the front door, if he jumped out the window to the noiseless street below.

Though, as he’d returned to the apparently planned dialogue, the sounds of the street had echoed up again, the thrum of the fridge and the crackle of the radiator too.

“Hey,” he rubs your shoulder. “I gotta talk to ya about somethin’.”

Steven had wanted to be the one to do this part, but something about the situation put Jake too on edge to even consider letting Marc or Steven front.

“Hm?” Your tired eyes turn away from the screen. “What’s that, Jake?” You smile, and it looks genuine, there is a love lodged there that can’t be faked.

“Today is Halloween,” he tells you. “So was yesterday and the day before that. Maybe we’re losing our mind or maybe it was a dream,” he tells you carefully, using the language that Marc had that first day. “But to us it was – is real.”

You nod and curl your legs over his lap. Jake slips his hand down your thigh and over your knee. “Marc broke up with you.”

“Why?”

Jake stills.

It’s not a question you asked before.

“He, uh, he thought it was for the best.”

“Does Marc hate me?” You ask it so casually, like the answer doesn’t matter. You reach forward and dip your hand into the candy bowl, pulling out a piece of chocolate that you deftly unwrap and pop in your mouth, happily chewing. “Does Steven hate me? Do you hate me, Jake?”

“No,” Jake answers, feels the echo of hurt through all three of them. “No-,”

Marc is silent, his presence a brick wall in Jake’s mind, his own pain sealed off from theirs. Steven’s quiet hurt is almost worse.

You lift and brow and unwrap another piece of chocolate, shaking your head. “I mean,” your voice is raw, your throat working hard, the tendons pulling, even though your body is relaxed. Jake knows you’re fighting, his brave girl trying so desperately not to hurt them the way this fucking time loop wants you to.

“He has to hate me,” your voice creaks and cracks and splits and this time Jake can’t answer you, he can only look at you, at the agonized, sorrowful pools your eyes have turned into, like you’re not in control of anything, like you’re trying so hard to hold the words inside. “You have to hate me too. I know Steven does.”

“No,” he shakes himself, trying to find the threads of this conversation from before. “No, we – he broke up with you because he was trying to protect you.”

“From what?”

“From, fuck, from us, I guess. Us.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head, observing him for a long moment when he doesn’t continue. “Are you going to hurt me?” The words are so fractured, so bitten off, he almost can’t understand you.

“No, baby, never,” Jake rasps.

This is not what he’s good at, this is not something he can fight. You are not something he can fight. He doesn’t know what comes next, what he’s supposed to do now, now that you’ve sputtered off in the direction of them hurting you.

“Tell her, Jake,” Steven directs. “Correct her. Don’t let her think that.”

Jake licks his lips, nodding. “Fuck, no,” he repeats, “Marc wanted to tell you about his – our childhood.”

You just look at him, your eyes pained and waiting. Jake squeezes your knee, feels the glacial sensation of your fingers curling around his.

“But he was afraid. And he broke up with you instead.” Jake takes your hands, sweeps his thumbs over the backs of your icy fingers. “We didn’t want to.”

Yesterday, you had been understanding, kind.

Yesterday, you were warm.

The loop doesn’t want that today.

Today, on this Halloween, you say, your throat working violently, “But he did. And here you are explaining it instead.”

“Yesterday-,”

“Yesterday doesn’t count,” you spit. “Today you hurt me.”

Your eyes are empty now, like you aren’t present, like there’s nothing at all inside you. Like you stopped fighting, so you don’t have to hear what you say either.

The pattern, that Halloween, repeats and repeats and repeats, for six more days.

The system doesn’t sleep, and it’s clear that you aren’t either between the starts and ends of those terrible days.

Sometimes you are kind and understanding, other days you bite into them with a force so hateful it makes all three of them wonder if there’s a truth of it living inside of you.

But they see the way you fight with the words, the way tears slip over your cheeks, the bitten off, teeth clenched way the words travel out of you.

And they tell themselves that they know you don’t mean it.

Breaking the loop seems impossible, the conversations stalled, the chill of your skin growing by the day. One wrong word, even the tiniest off script, sends the whole thing careening away again. There’s something they’re supposed to say to you, but they can’t figure out what it is.

They watch the sunshine peeled goodness of you fade until you’re lifeless and gray, the beginning of each new day like the start of a terrible sitcom.

One evening, you ask who’s paintings dot the walls of the flat. Another evening, you can’t recall what your job is. You’re never able to tell them how you met, where you met. You’re never able to say when you first met Steven, over cups of steaming coffee as you gushed about restoration. You don’t remember the pub Jake took you to instead of your home when you hit it off that first day in the fading warm sun of late spring.

And you certainly don’t remember the first time you met Marc.

“Tell her about -,”

“No,” Steven disagrees. “She’d never want to know like this. She’d never want us to be forced to talk about that.”

Marc refuses to say anything anyways, in all the days that pass. He’s sure that it’ll all break, that this loop ends the way it started.

You will leave no matter what they say.

Jake is exhausted when he wakes on the seventh day, but he’s pissed too.

A blood red rage is running through his veins, lighting the inside of him on fire.

He throws back the duvet, curses in the silence of the flat, the flat, dead, graying light.

He doesn’t wait to hear what Marc and Steven think of his plan.

Instead he shoves his feet into the first pair of shoes he sees, and wrenches open the front door. The hall looks the same as it always does.

He steps out into the hall, not sure what he’d do when he got to the street below-

The bed is soft, he doesn’t think he’s been lying down for long, the pressure on his chest having nothing to do with any physical ailment.

He doesn’t bother with shoes this time, wrenching one of the windows open, desperate suddenly to get outside.

He should know though, as soon as he opens the window that it won’t work either. The air is stale, the same temperature as the flat, and there is no noise that echoes up from below.

Jake shoves an arm out, starts to lift himself –

“Fuck!”

“I don’t think that’s goin’ to work, mate,” Steven says. “I think we’re trapped here. There’s something we need to do here, to break the circle or loop or whatever it is we’re in.”

Jake rubs a hand over his eyes. “Okay, fine. How?” He can’t keep doing this. He and Steven can’t keep doing this. There’s no reprieve it seems, between the start and stop of the loop, so they haven’t slept in days.

You haven’t slept in days.

“Bloody hell, Jake, I don’t know,” Steven paces back and forth in the mirror. Jake notes the bruises under his eyes, the sallowness of their skin.

He feels sluggish and slow, hollowed out. Jake isn’t used to shouldering emotional burdens for the system, and he wonders for a moment how Steven manages to get out of bed in the morning with the weight settled across his shoulders.

“I can’t have her lookin’ at me like that again. Like she doesn’t know us. Fuck, like we did somethin’ to hurt her,” Jake says, his voice sawed off and worn. “I can’t.”

“Maybe today will be different,” Steven says helpfully, trying for a bit of optimism. “She was different each day, yeah? Just a couple of consistencies, depending on how we approach her.”

A thrill of fear knocks up Jake’s spine, a fear that doesn’t belong to him.

Marc’s presence is like a flame, burning hot with tension, a flare in the day where he hadn't been for days now. “What if she’s angry? What if I tell her and she’s angry.”

“She won’t be-,”

“I don’t think telling her under duress is the solution, Marc! She’d hate knowing that when she’s back to herself.”

“We don’t know that,” Marc grits out, fists clenched. “We – I never thought she’d be – ,”

Some of the days you’ve been dismissive, irritated, disbelieving.

“Why don’t we focus on what we’re supposed to be fixing to break us out of this cycle, yeah?” Steven cuts Marc’s anxiety riddled rambling. “We broke up with her – ,”

“Marc-,”

“We,” Steven emphasizes. “We broke up with her. We thought we bloody fixed that the first reset but clearly not.” He swallows and turns to watch Jake back, where he still sits in the graying light of the flat. “I suppose…well, the only other thing – ,”

Jake looks to Marc, pacing around the other mirror. “Marc needs to tell her.”

“Maybe not,” Steven says, picturing your anguish over their being coerced into telling you something like that. “Maybe not everything. Just a start. Maybe just explain why it is we broke up with her, but that we aren’t ready for the rest.”

“She’s not going to want to find out this way,” Jake says as the jangling sounds in the hall, your slow pace down the hall. “Her eyes, she’s not in control. She isn’t -,”

“There might not be another choice.”

The door opens.

You are smiling, “Hey, baby!”

Jake follows the script they seem to have been set with you.

There are circles beneath your eyes, and he can hardly bring himself to meet your gaze, not when you look so miserable and confused, like a puppet on strings.

The look in your eyes begs, demands that he cut the strings.

“Mi vida,” Jake says, when the first movie is finished and your eyes are slipping shut, exhaustion weighing you down. “We’re gonna break this thing here and now. I need to tell you something, if you’ll let me.”

You don’t move, your body slumped into his, eyes blank and staring at the TV as you yawn. “Shouldn’t Marc tell me?” You have been dimmed, your light gone out, your voice sleepy and so far away.

“Marc’s here,” Jake says, sweeping a hand over your forehead. “And Steven too. We all need to tell you somethin’. Not just one of us, all of us.”

There’s a long pause, like whoever has the cords of your fate in their hands is deciding if this is good enough. “Okay,” your voice is small, and your eyes are ringed with tears when you turn your gaze to his. “I’m listening.”

“Yesterday was Halloween, and a couple days before that too. But I think you know that already.” You don’t say anything, wide, brokenly tired eyes watching his. “I think you remember it all too and we’re sorry you’ve had to go through whatever this is.”

You straighten and take his hands in yours, tucking your legs into his side. “I’m listening,” you repeat, hands cold and stiff. “I’m here. I’m always right here.”

You seem startled at the words that pour forth, like they’re your own and not the repetition of something none of you can see.

“We know. We were afraid.”

“I know.”

Steven squeezes your fingers, tugging you that much closer to him. “Hi, love.”

“Hey, baby.”

The thing squeezing at his lungs, at his heart, until it feels like he might pop and deflate, eases just a bit.

You’re answering him. You, not something else.

“Marc shouldn’t have said the things he did.” A tear drips down his nose and you reach up to wipe it away, pressing your thumb to his chin. “But he did and we’re sorry for that.”

Steven captures your hand, and presses his lips to your palm, your wrist.

That magic, golden sheen of you that Steven loves, is muted and subdued. You look tired and worn and hurt. “You said I ask for too much. And maybe I do. You said you don’t trust me. And maybe I did something to make you distrust me.”

“No, dear heart,” he rushes to reassure you. “No, Marc was just upset.”

Your tongue seems to have been loosened and Steven clutches you tighter when your words seem to be your own. “I wouldn’t have made him tell me, Steven. I never meant to make him feel like it was a condition to my love.” You pause and swallow thickly. “I love you. I love all of you.”

“We know, love.”

“You still don’t have to tell me.” You shake your head, your throat straining again, “Never. Not if you don’t want to.”

“We know that too.”

“So what is he afraid of?”

Marc blinks at you, at the shape of you in his arms, and the weight of the regrets that pulled on his soul. Before he can even open his mouth, you’re saying, “It’s not your fault, Marc. This is not your fault.” You sound fierce, ferocious in your lioness defense of him.

He chuckles weakly, sliding his thumb against your temple. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah. Certain of it, actually,” You blink at him, owlish and open and waiting for him, always waiting for him. “So what are you afraid of?”

“You,” he croaks, the honesty splitting his throat open, making it raw and hot. “I’m afraid of you. I’m afraid you won’t want me. And I know that’s on me.”

You curl a hand against the back of his neck, and he closes his eyes, not able to look into the shining center of you. “I’m still not ready to tell you. But the thought of it, of when I do…I know you’ll abandon-,”

“What makes you think that? Haven’t I proven myself enough?”

He feels your breath on his lips, warm and sweet, as you press your forehead to his.

“You have.”

“Okay.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to run away,” you say softly. “You could have said that you weren’t ready, that you might never be. And I would understand. I understand some things just can’t be said.”

When Marc pulls back to look at you, your sunflower glow is back, your little tattoos are gone, and the eye make-up too. His sepia steeped girl.

You look more tired than ever, bruises underlining the space beneath your eyes, like a hollow that he personally dug out himself, like he’s cratered you.

“I don’t want to run away,” he reaches for you, digs his fingers into the purple and black tights, dragging you into him. “I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“And what did you do?” It’s not accusatory, just prodding. “Honey,” you coo, a kindness he doesn’t deserve breaking up your syruped voice. “What do you think you did?”

Marc hesitates, not really sure what the right answer is. Shouldn’t have broken up with you? Obvious. Shouldn’t have spoken for Steven and Jake? Yeah, definitely.

Shouldn’t have gotten drunk? Yes.

Before he can answer, you’re shaking your head, like you can hear his thoughts. “You shouldn’t have pushed yourself to tell me something you weren’t ready to.”

“I wanted to.”

“Baby,” you murmur, a tear careening down your cheek, “if you have to get drunk to tell me, then you aren’t ready. If you have to force it, you aren’t ready. If you feel like you have to and not because you want to, then you aren’t ready.”

“What if I’m never ready? What if this is forever?”

“Then I’m just glad you have Steven and Jake to take care of you,” you say. “Someone to share it with.”

Your skin warms under his touch, like fire breathed to life. “And you? What about you?”

“As long as you’ll have me, I’m here.”

Marc opens his mouth, but the world goes dark.

The day after Halloween comes with a vengeance.

Steven’s mouth is cottony and dry, his head is spinning, and the sheets smell like stale whiskey, but the morning light is yellow and flickering, not pale gray nothingness.

You’re still there, sleeping on the sofa. Your things are still scattered about the flat - the paintings and sweaters and stacks of dvds. The Halloween decorations are still strung up, candles he doesn’t remember being lit burned down low, the smell of leaves and cinnamon sugar permeating the air, the pumpkin lights still plugged in.

There are pizza boxes on the table and a cracked whiskey bottle in the sink, still oozing amber liquid.

And the pumpkin by the door is carved, a pigeon shaped Khonshu.

Steven scrambles upright so fast he nearly falls out of bed, feet hitting the floor with a bang as memories flood back into his mind.

He trips across the room in his haste, lands on his knees at your side, where you’re still asleep.

“Love,” he says, not able to keep the shrill worry out of his voice. “Love, please, wake up, I -,”

“Steven,” you murmur, blearily looking up at him. “What’s the matter?”

“I - you - I,” he sutters before he gets a grip, “Do you remember yesterday?”

You slowly sit up, rubbing your fists over your eyes, before you tug him up from the floor into the space next to you. “God, which one?”

Relief as he’s never known it rushed through him. You remember. You were there with them.

Steven reaches for you, wraps you up tight against him. “Don’t go. Please. We don’t want you to.”

“I know,” your voice cracks, your hand is on his cheek. “You broke the loop. My little level-headed genius.”

Steven fits himself against you, absorbing the warmth of you. You’re no longer cold, no longer a specter in your own skin. He doesn’t answer you, can’t seem to find his voice, stuck in the back of his throat.

“Are Marc and Jake alright?” You ask. Then, voice quieter, glazed and low, “Did Marc mean it?”

Marc just holds you for a moment, pressing his nose to your temple, crushing you into him, like he might pull you inside his bones. “I’m sorry,” he whispers instead of answering you. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” you hold him back, dig your fingers into him hard, down into the meat of his ribs. “I won’t say it's okay, but I know.” Your other hand finds his hair, stroking back the locks, curling through the dark strands. “Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” his voice is a little squawk.

You pat his hair, and he wants to cry but doesn’t. “Did you hear what I said? You shouldn’t have pushed yourself to tell me something you weren’t ready to.”

“I-,”

“I am not going anywhere,” your voice is like a promise. “I’m not. Especially not over this.”

Marc nods, nods and nods and can’t fucking speak. “I’m here. You don’t have to push me away. I won’t ask for too much and if I do you can tell me to back off. You don't have to run away. I won't hurt you. Okay?”

“Yeah. I hear you.”

“I’m not your mother. You aren’t her either.”

And even though you don’t know the details, you’re right.

Marc can’t find his voice so he watches you, watches the glow of sun over your skin. “I love you. And it’s not easily broken. It’s not glass you can shatter.” You smile then, and press your nose to his, “and we are never ever ever watching Scream again.”

Finally, a laugh bursts out of him. He tucks you close, holds you tight, breathes in the orange and sage scent of you, tension bleeding out of his shoulders.

The sweet warmth of relief floods Marc and Steve and Jake, like they can breathe for the first time in a few long Halloweens.

#marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #moon knight #steven grant x you #jake lockley x you #marc spector x you

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sortofanobsession · 2 years

Text

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

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

Minors DNI

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

Tag Requests are Open just message me.

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

Word Count: 800+

Part 1 of a new WIP Series.

Series Masterlist

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

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

Critical Need to Know Information:

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

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

Part 1: The Meet Cute

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beautiful things,” she says with a wink.

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

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

“Sorry,” Steven starts again.

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

“Yes, of course,” Steven nods.

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

“It is but-” Donna started.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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luveternals · 5 months

Text

paring: TF141 x male reader. rating: mature, MDNI. cw: (heavy stuff guys, I think) violence, death, implied suicide, failed suicide attempt, implied temporary death, morally grey reader, insanity, immortality, not a poly (lol too possessive irl for it, sorry). this story is... mostly just angst and mainly not finished (meaning possible serie? Idk). a/n: took me an eternity bc I didn't know who to write for... nice. Anyway, status update for steven grant x reader is scheduled for next week(Nov 30th). y'all went mad for it while I said I wasn't sure about it! lmao (psst, I approve) ~ ~ ~

When all sensations and feelings get ripped away from you, you realize that the wait is worse than pain.

And it grows more and more unbearable the longer years go by.

Wander the city without destination. Expect that cursed urge that comes yanking at your insides and guiding your body like a puppet. Never be sure when it'll come, but know that it will. At the start, it was nothing but a growing emptiness carving itself deep inside you, but now it’s become an insatiable hunger that never seems to leave you alone.

And when that urge eventually comes, it's worse than the wait.

The knowledge that you are finally about to fill the emptiness as you follow whatever it is that it’s tagging you along. The realization that you are nothing but a selfish bastard who is letting his greed guide his very being.

All at the simple price of a stole life.

You stand on the edge of the roof and peer into the streets below.

The longer you wait the more you feel like you’re fading away, and the deeper the hunger grows. And so here you are, jumping over the edge and glading down through the air like a leaf falling off a tree. Your feet brush against the pavement without a sound as you land at the mouth of the alley, the breeze blowing louder than your presence.

Deep into the alley, a man presses his back against the farthest wall, terror blurring his gaze as he grits his teeth. One of his arms hangs limply against his side while the other presses against his stomach over the nasty slash sipping blood into the fabric of his tunic. His eyes jump from the approaching thugs blocking every escape to the sword he’s lost somewhere near the entrance of the alley. It lays at your feet, useless.

The stench of death grows stronger the larger the stain of dripping blood grows under him. You creep closer, waiting.

“Sorry, pal,” one of the attackers says, a nasty grin tagging at his lips, “it’s you or us, y’know. Gunna be luckier next time, ay?” he raises both his arms over his head and brings his sword down onto his victim wih a final ‘whoosh’.

Blood splatters into the wall and the thieves are onto the body before it can even fall onto the ground, ripping at its belongings like vultures. It takes them less than a minute and soon they dart out of the alley cackling and whooping.

You stand over the body, staring at the despair frozen into its expression for what seems an eternity. Then you crouch down and lower yourself over it. A shriek cuts through the air but you are too far gone to care for it. Your body feels heavier as your soul sinks lower, bones and flesh latch into your very being. You let yourself go, ignoring all sounds that break the still silence surrounding you and all voices that echoe inside your head.

What if this is another failure? What if this is actually not possible?

You try to open your —his— eyes, but the lids are heavy and when you finally do open them, your vision is blurred. There is someone staring down at you, their hand slapping at your face to keep you awake. “—hear me? Help is on the way, but you need to stay awake.” Their voice is muffled, as if trying to talk to you through water, but their concern is palpable even for your half-conscious brain.

You grin at them.

You did it.

You’re alive!

They've gotten good at it, you'll give them that. It hasn't been a month yet and they've already found you.

Granted, it's gotten challenging to stay hidden for longer than a few weeks before your needs start to mess with your head.

You're running, slipping through the crowd with delirious laughter. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, and you watch the helicopter follow your every move.

You won't be able to hide. You're trapped, and they know.

You shove a man out of your way, jump over the railing and land on the sidewalk below with a roll.

They've blocked the traffic and redirected it to keep any car or vehicle from running your way.

“They're learning,” you grin and glance over your shoulder, making sure they can see your expression. “Let's see how much, though.”

You push forward and rush your way to the other side of the road to the railing of the bridge. It's a fall of over fifty meters. This body will not survive the impact with the water below.

You're at the railing when something stabs into your side and an electric current sends your senses to overdrive.

You wake up hurting. And it's one of the most intense pain you've experienced so far. But before you can scream at it, numbness spreads through your body, and all your senses grow muddled.

You can't move. You can't feel. Only see and hear, though even those are muffled.

It reminds you how it is to not have a body and not be able to do anything about it.

It's worse than the pain.

The second time you wake, you're sitting in a chair, head hanging and limbs restrained with more chain than it's probably strictly necessary.

The numbness is gone and you let yourself let out the softest sigh of relief.

There's a camera blinking at you from a corner of the ceiling and you let a smirk cut through your expression. It's sharper, meaner than you usually would give your hunters. But the memory of numbness they put you through sends phantom tingles to the end of your fingertips, and you can't find it in yourself to be anything but nasty right now.

There's an ugly, useless table made of metal before you, and you don't even stop yourself from rolling your eyes at it.

Right. At least they're not some mad scientist cutting you open to study how you work. Not that they'd find anything useful really.

The door past the table opens and your captures finally make their entrance.

“Is this how you make friends?” you says, leaning back into a lazy slump, despite the restraints, to stare at them as they move deeper into the room. “You electrocute them and tie them up with a nice, little steel ribbon?”

They're all wearing full masks (skulls, how fitting) and gear, covering most of their features besides the more obvious. Their height and the like.

It doesn't bother you. You're not here to familiarize with them, but it would have been nice to see the faces of those who've finally managed to catch you and lock you up.

“Have you no shame?” one of them says, but his tone doesn't betray his true emotions. He sits on the chair opposite yours and folds his hands in front of him, resting his arms onto the table.

There's four of them, the ramain three spread around the tiny room. Standing by the door or looming over your shoulder like a creep.

“You steal the faces of others and make whatever you want of their lives.”

“So? They are dead. Like it or not, they won't miss their lives since they'd already found a new one on the other side.”

There's nothing to hide here. They're simply trying to guilt trip you. Everyone knows what you are, and the world has been alerted about your existance. It's just that they've never managed to catch you.

What you do might be cruel to some. But to you, it's the only option you have to live.

Your 'victims' — as everyone so loves to call them — are already dead by the time your soul replaces theirs. You have never killed anyone but yourself and consequentially their empty body. But you have never taken the live of another to make it yourself with your own hands.

All you are doing is trying to keep your head above a water that is a life with no ability to feel. Sensations and emotions both. All you are doing is keeping from losing yourself to madness.

Is it too much to ask?

“They might be dead. But you're hurting those you love and care for them.” the man says, “dying isn't the problem. You are not the one hurting. Those who you leave behind, they are the ones to really suffer.”

The words are like a sword through the heart, sharp and incessantly slow as it sinks in. You hang your head and grit your teeth. “Shut up.”

Laughter echoes into your ears.

“Shut up!” the chains rattle and strain when you throw yourself forward. They leave angry bruises on your skin.

“This is not the end,” he smiles and cups your face, his frail, trembling hands passing through your cheeks as he forgets himself. “this— you'll find a way when you're ready. And I'll see you on the other side.”

~ ~ ~ reblog, comment and/or follow if you like what I write. please and thank you. without feedback I don't have a reason for keeping this blog alive, since I created it so I can practice my writing.

#story day #tf 141 #x top male reader #cod mw2 #top male reader #dom male reader #cod x reader #male reader #reader insert #x reader #cod mwii #cod #tf 141 x reader

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jupitersmoon167 · 2 years

Text

So it’s been a week since I’ve posted my Khonshu/Marc/Steven x Eternal!Reader idea (seen here), and my mind has been wandering, crafting scenarios surrounding this idea. And I thought, why not share? Especially since a lot of people seem to like this idea.

I would like to note once again that these ideas are free for anyone to write about, I’m not planning on writing anything about this (at the moment at least), so if anyone wants to write a Moon Knight fanfic involving an Eternal!Reader, go ahead! I highly encourage it!

Moving on to my additional thoughts:

So after the reader reveals herself to Marc/Steven (how does Jake factor into this I’m just realizing?) after the deviant attack, and when she reveals her purpose for being on Earth and her past relationship with Khonshu, how would the Moon boys react?

I’d imagine they’d both be angry, Marc more so than Steven (at least in my mind). They’d question whether or not their relationship with the reader was genuine, or if they were just being used as a means to see Khonshu? And there’s the fact that she isn’t from Earth, and that she’s a being more than 7,000 years old sent by some cosmic power to protect humanity and helped shape the history of the planet, while at the same time not interfering with the atrocities committed by humans. So I’d imagine they’d be quite angry with the reader. She of course tries to explain this to them, but a fight breaks out (the Moon boys aren’t as understanding as Dane), and harsh words are thrown at the reader (by Marc, Steven is mostly quiet).

And then she has to go.

“Marc, Steven, I need to take care of this.”

Marc laughs humorlessly. “Of course you do.”

“Marc-” she sighs.

“No, you know what? Go. Take care of your ‘mission’, or whatever the hell it is that you were sent here to do, and leave.”

“……I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

“No, do both me and Steven a favor and never talk to us again.”

So the reader goes with Sersi, Sprite, and Ikaris to find the others. And as they progress along, she calls them when she can (they never pick up the phone) and leaves messages telling them about her journey.

“Hey, just landed in the States. We’re headed to Ajak’s place, I’ll call you when we get to her house.”

“Hey, um, so we got to Ajak’s. She……got attacked by a deviant and is…………Anyway, we’re flying back out again, probably going to find Kingo. Let me know if you get this, we’re in the middle of nowhere in South Dakota, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m not getting any service.”

“So, I’m realizing that you’re both probably ignoring me. Which is totally fair, believe me. I should’ve told you guys the truth from the start, and I regret not doing that. But regardless, I’m going to keep sending you updates. Though you’re most likely not going to listen to them anyway. We’re heading to Australia to get Gilgamesh and Thena. I’ll be sure to update you on our progress soon…….I miss you, both of you.”

“Hey, sorry I haven’t called in a bit, things have been…..hectic. A lot of bombshells have been dropped and things just got much more complicated. I don’t want to bore you with the details, I’ll uh….tell you both all about it when I come back. Hey uh, when’s the last time you called you’re dad?”

“Screw the theatrics, I don’t even know if you’re even going to get this. We’re in the middle of the god damn Amazon, because Druig thought it would be a grand fucking idea to place his cult here of all places. He’s a stubborn bastard, but if we’re gonna pull this off we need him. I meant it earlier when I said you should talk to your dad, you uh, never know when he’ll kick the bucket, so to speak. I miss you guys, I wish I could talk-”

“We were attacked by deviants, Gilgamesh is dead……..he died protecting Thena. I’ve lost two of my family members in the span of a few days, and my friend is giving me the silent treatment. Are we even friends anymore? I know you said not to talk to you guys again, but frankly, I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

“……..I think this might be the last time I call you. I get it, I’ll stop contacting you. I just……I guess I was hoping that we could put this behind us and move on. But that’s obviously not gonna happen, is it? And frankly, I don’t blame you guys for ignoring me, you both have every right to hate and despise me. Just……yeah. Have a good life you two.”

“I know I said you wouldn’t hear from me ever again, but I just have to say this before the world is inevitably blown apart by a newborn celestial. I love you both, so so much. I just wish I got to tell you that in person, and not over the phone when I’m heading towards a live volcano to put a celestial to sleep. Regardless, I just wanted to let you two know. I’ll see you when this is all over, that is if you even want to see me. And if we don’t fail, and Ikaris doesn’t kill us. I probably should’ve mentioned that previously-”

It’s past 5am when I’m writing this, and I’m shit at writing dialogue (especially about feelings), but I just wanted to get this out before I fell asleep. If some of what I’ve described isn’t coherent, let me know, and I’ll discuss it further in length when I’ve gotten some shuteye 😂

I also wanted to add this kicker. I’d imagine it’s when Marc/Steven try to call the reader after (finally) hearing all the messages she left (it only took until they saw the Celestial emerge from the ocean on tv to hear them), only to get hit with this when they try to call her.

“We’re sorry, you have reached a number that is disconnected or that is no longer in service…..”

So…..do with that as you will 😈

Once again, anyone is free to write anything regarding what I’ve given out. As long as I get a shoutout, I’m content with anyone taking what I’ve said and writing their own story.

#moon knight #eternals #moon knight x reader #eternals x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #khonshu x reader #marvel cinematic universe #my thoughts

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stevesbestgirl · 9 months

Text

Phases of the Moon - Part 6

Steven Grant x f!Reader, eventual Marc Spector x f!Reader

5684 words

Warnings: chances of swears, FLUFF, lots of silly flirting, my shitty interpretation of French poetry, AND a lot of shitty jokes, so you’re in luck, allusions to a toxic past relationship but nothing specific, like 1.2 seconds of protective Steven

A/N: This will likely be something of a midseason finale, as I still need to finish fleshing out the arc of the second half because I start therapy next week and anticipate being kind of a mess Marc complicates things. I respectfully request that y’all not send asks about when the next update will be (although I’m eternally grateful for your enthusiasm ❤)

As always, keep in mind that I am not a system and am not an expert. All of my information about their relationship comes from the Moon Knight show and I use that as my reference point.

*Bold type is spoken by Marc when Steven is fronting.*

Masterlist

You walked back to the bus stop both a bit quieter than you’d been the rest of the day. Steven wished he’d cleaned up his flat a bit; he really hadn’t planned to invite you back. It certainly wasn’t the temptation he needed. But he wanted to give you your gifts- he wanted to give you anything you wanted. If he was being honest, he didn’t want you to go yet either. He hadn’t had enough of the way you held his arm, your fingers trailing down until they slipped in between his.

When you boarded the bus, Steven sat down beside you and you slid just a bit closer. He wasn’t sure if you’d done it consciously or not, but the fact that you wanted to be closer to him made his pulse quicken. The quick burst of confidence urged him to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

As he did, he couldn’t help but ask, “Is that alright?” He just couldn’t seem to picture himself not being nervous around you.

You smiled, “It’s nice.”

“Are you alright?” Your responses had been a bit short since leaving the restaurant.

You nodded, “Might be a little tired. I think the cake did me in.” You chuckled softly and then Steven noted the slight delay in your speech now. He supposed he had sort of dragged you all over the place today.

He couldn’t help but glance at your shoes, “Are your feet alright? We did a bit of walking today, didn’t we?”

You leaned into him, “I’m alright, Steven.”

“You could invite her to stay,” Marc suggested.

“I bloody well can not!”

“Yes, you can. I bet she’d say yes.”

“Tomorrow is your day to front- or have you forgotten?”

“If you invite her, you can have it.”

Steven glanced at you, tucked under his arm, looking content, before meeting Marc’s stare in the bus window, “Do not do this to me, Marc. I mean it.” He didn’t want Marc’s day to front and he certainly hadn’t thought Marc would call his bluff.

“Stop being so dramatic-”

“Alright, for the sake of honesty, my feet do hurt a little, but not more than your average day out and it was definitely worth it, so no feeling bad, alright?”

“Hm?” It took Steven a moment to catch up.

“Are you alright, Steven?”

You smiled weakly, “I think I might be a bit tired myself.”

“Guess we better get you home then. Which stop is it again?”

He glanced up at the display at the head of the bus, reading off the next stop before cursing softly, “The last one.” He hastily grabbed the rope to request a stop and you followed him to the front of the bus as it squeaked to a halt. You said a quick thank you to the bus driver, climbing down after Steven onto the curb.

“Well, we’ve only overshot by about a block, but I’m so-”

You leaned into him, “It’s alright, no big deal. I wanted more time with you anyway, right?” You stepped back, “So which way is it then?”

Steven’s apology fizzled, a faint smile taking its place on his lips, “That way.”

“Must be something interesting in that head of yours,” you prompted. Maybe a little more teasing was alright.

He chuckled, “You’ve no idea, love.”

“Maybe someday you can share with me.” He knew you were teasing him again; it was getting easier for him to tell. But he wanted to tell you.

Marc’s stony face appeared in the glass of a passing storefront, “Do not tell her.”

“Now who’s being dramatic?”

“Steven, I’m not joking. You will scare her away.” If Steven didn’t know better, he’d say Marc sounded a little afraid.

“Alright, alright, don’t have a fit- I wasn’t going to.”

“Which number are you? We haven’t passed it, have we?”

“Actually, it was back there,” Steven gestured over his shoulder.

“Wait, really?”

“No, I’m only joking,” he laughed. “It’s this one here.” He gestured to a large, rather old-looking building, indistinguishable from the others surrounding it. Inside was a bit dingy, but it wasn’t far off from the apartment Dalton lived in. It was sort of industrial, with exposed supports and lots of tarnished brassy colors that looked like they could use some dusting and a bit of oil.

Steven appeared to be getting more and more nervous as you rode the lift, which was sketchy in its own rite. While it rattled and whirred, he glanced at you, “Sorry it’s not much to look at.”

“Steven, you don’t need to apologize for your apartment building.” You squeezed his hand.

“Well, I’m apologizing for my apartment too, I suppose, aren’t I? I’d have tidied up, but I wasn’t expecting to have you visit so soon-”

“It’s not too late for me to go home,” you suggested. “I don’t know if I want to see your place if it isn’t clean.”

He froze, a long second preceding a nervous smile, “You’re teasing me again.”

You grinned, “You’re catching on.” You stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, “Your apartment isn’t going to scare me away, so stop worrying.”

Steven cursed the way your lips on his cheek made him want to kiss you again; he was getting a bit greedy about that. And despite your insistence that he not worry, he almost dropped his keys before he could unlock the door, fumbling at getting the key in the lock.

Throwing the door open, he gestured for you to go ahead of him, still nervous to see your reaction. You stepped inside, eyes wide with curiosity. It appeared to be all one room, although a sprawling one. You caught a glimpse of a bed on the far end of the room, obscured by some of the many bookshelves. The kitchen was to your right, the counters and kitchen table one of the clear spaces. The door to the bathroom stood ajar to your left. Directly ahead was a large fish tank, with two goldfish drifting around inside.

The floors were wood, the furniture appeared to be very worn or maybe second hand, but cozy. The defining feature was the books stacked up on about eighty-five percent of the room’s surfaces. The air was thick with the scent of old books and Steven, which was a dangerous cocktail for someone who’d had two glasses of wine with dinner.

“As I said, it’s a bit of a mess,” Steven explained as he closed the door. “I’ve been working on getting organized and cleaning up a bit, but it’s-”

“It’s lovely, Steven.” You smiled at him and moved over to a stack of books on an end table, perusing the titles on the spines. “I wasn’t sure what to expect from the rest of the building, but this is quite nice. The wood floors, the big windows, the open floor plan- it’s all kind of elegant, I think. And I love all of the books, although I feel a bit bad for the ones not on shelves- I’d hate to knock them down.”

“That’s what’s been taking so long is getting cleaned up, actually,” he moved up behind you, plucking a book from a pile. “I’ve got to sort through them all and decide which ones to keep and which to donate, which takes me a while, to be honest because I’m quite attached to them. But as it is, I can’t really get the ones on the bottom of the piles, so it’s-”

“An ineffective system,” you finished for him, making him blush. “You know, I can be pretty organized. I wouldn’t mind helping you get cleaned up, if you ever need an extra hand.”

He gave a weak chuckle, “Can’t have you cleaning up my mess for me, can I?”

“Why’s that?” You moved in close, gazing up at him, “I want to treat you the way you deserve too, remember? I really don’t mind.”

Steven was having a hard time thinking. You were in his apartment and you were so close to him; he hadn’t imagined he would end up in this situation today, or maybe ever. So when you batted your eyelashes at him, he crumpled, “Right- sure, that would be nice.”

You smiled, glancing back at the stack of books, “So, are all of these books about Egypt?”

“Most of them,” he smiled sheepishly. “There’s some others sprinkled in; Greek and Norse mythology mostly.” You flitted off to examine some of the shelves and Steven took a steadying breath.

“I’m more of a fiction reader myself, but mythology was one of my favorites topics in school. So I guess it’s no wonder I liked your tour so much.”

“What are you interested in then?” He suddenly felt like you knew so much about him and he hadn’t asked you nearly enough about yourself.

“Nerd stuff, mostly. Fantasy, sci-fi, adventure- that kind of thing. Some romance too, but don’t tell anyone.” At that, you glanced over your shoulder to smile at him, like you were confiding a secret.

“Your secret is safe with me.” And at the mention of romance, he remembered why he’d brought you back here in the first place. “Speaking of-” he headed for the kitchen, taking an arrangement of lovely, red flowers and a box of chocolates from the counter before he shuffled up to you, looking a bit sheepish, “This might’ve been more effective if I hadn’t been such a coward about it.”

“Steven, you didn’t have to get me anything. And honestly, I think it was pretty effective this way. I mean, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Well, yes, but that wasn’t part of the plan, you know,” he admitted.

You cupped his chin, “Don’t put so much pressure on yourself. You’re doing wonderfully. This is, with no contest, the best date I’ve ever been on.” Steven flushed under your touch, but you weren’t finished, “In fact, I would really like to kiss you again, if that’s alright.”

He nodded, though the way his eyes lit up was all the confirmation you needed. You tugged his chin down to meet his lips with yours, the flower paper crinkling between you. You kept it light, breaking away after a few seconds to murmur, “Are you remembering to breathe?”

He chuckled, “Yes, so far. But I think you only need to worry if I start turning blue.”

Your lips quirked up in a slight smile, “What should I do then?" Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?” He grinned, battling the laugh before his forehead touched yours as he pulled his head down, like he was trying to hide it. Your smile grew, “Is that what does it for you? Cheesy jokes?”

Steven grinned guiltily, “Sorry if that’s a dealbreaker.” He set the gifts on the table, clasping his hands behind his back, “Have I ruined the mood then?”

“I think your laugh is very cute, actually.”

His gaze flicked to your lips, “That’s good news then because I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, love.”

You picked up on his tone, playing along, “What is it?”

“I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.”

You were already tipping your chin up, your lips seeking his while your arms snaked around his neck. Steven wrapped his arms around your waist, slowly and deliberately, the heat of your skin warming his palms. His hands wanted to stray, but he wasn’t about to grope you on your first date- or second date- whatever it was.

But then his grip tightened just a little bit, making a soft moan slip out from between your lips. Steven’s eyes snapped open, his lips parting from yours in a hurry, “Are you alright? Have I hurt you?”

Heat flooded your already warm face, “No- definitely not.” You broke eye contact, “I liked it.” It had been a while since you’d been touched like that; longer still since it was by someone you wanted to touch you.

“Oh,” Steven breathed a sigh of relief. Then he registered your body language, “Oh. Oh, I get it.” Now it was his turn to blush; he hadn’t imagined he’d have that kind of an effect on you. “I’ll be sure to make a note of that.”

You offered a shy half-smile. You knew you shouldn’t be embarrassed- certainly not with Steven, but you’d forgotten how vulnerable it could be to get this close to someone. You were at least sure that Steven didn’t realize the power he had over you, not yet anyway.

“I suppose I should probably get home; don’t want to keep you too late,” you offered. You had monopolized quite a bit of Steven’s day now that you thought about it; this date was only supposed to be lunch.

So you were a little surprised when he managed to look disappointed, glancing out the windows at the dark sky, “You aren’t keeping me- well, a bit- but in a good way, you know. You can keep me as long as you like.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Yeah?”

He chuckled, looking surprisingly unflustered, “Not what I meant to say, but I do stand by that.”

You moved just a bit closer, “As long as I like?”

He smiled, eyes going soft. There was a long pause, he seemed to be gathering courage until he spoke,

“Douze fois l'heure a frappé l'air. Et près de toi je suis encore assise; Et, loin de pressentir le moment du sommeil. Je croyais voir encore un rayon de soleil.”

His eyes never left yours while he recited the poem; when he finished, you realized you had forgotten to breathe.

You spoke softly, “What does that mean?”

He took one of your hands in his again, brushing his thumb over your skin, “It means that I’ve spent a great deal of time with you today and I know the day is ending, but it doesn’t quite feel that way.”

“What does it feel like then?” You hoped your voice didn’t sound hoarse; it made you unexpectedly emotional to have French poetry recited to you. There had to be people more deserving of something so special, but here you were with Steven and somehow he felt that way about you.

“It feels like we’re just starting. And even when today ends, I hope my time with you doesn’t end with it.”

“Steven-” But words didn’t seem to capture what you wanted to say and you didn’t have any French poetry handy, so you hugged him again, burying your face in the crook of his neck to hide the way your eyes were glossing over.

And by now, Steven no longer felt strange holding someone in his arms. It was beginning to feel like you belonged there.

Neither of you said anything for a long several seconds. When you finally broke the silence, your voice was thick, “Steven, I really quite adore you, I hope you realize that.” You chuckled into his shoulder, “Sorry I don’t have any poems memorized.”

He gripped your shoulders, leaning back so he could see your face, “Are you crying?” Worry etched itself into his expression, his lips pulling down into a frown.

You blinked, trying to keep the tears back, “No.”

“Have I said something wrong?” he asked, gaze locked on yours.

“No,” you shook your head, the motion making your eyes spill over. You hastily reached for your face, but Steven gently caught your wrist, eyes pleading with you to confide in him. “You’ve said everything right, actually."

"Then what's the matter?” He wanted to wipe your face dry himself, but he was worried you’d push him away; it was unlike you to be withholding.

You wrestled with your answer and Steven caught a glimpse of an expression he knew well. He’d seen it many times on his own face, even when he wasn’t the one feeling it; self-doubt.

Steven cupped your face, brushing the stray tears away with his thumbs, “Love, you deserve the whole world. I’d wager some absolute twit did something stupid to make you believe otherwise?”

Steven watched the faint flicker of pain cross your expression at whatever memory had been conjured up, “Whoever he was, he was a right prat for letting you go.” His expression darkened in a way you hadn’t seen before, “He best hope I never cross his path if he made you feel this way.”

You would never have expected Steven to be the type to make threats, but as he said it, you believed him. Steven acted like a softy- and he was, mostly. But he was also full of passion, far beyond just enthusiasm for Egypt.

“Steven?”

“Yes, darling?” The shadow in his eyes dissipated and the soft Steven you knew was back, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

“Kiss me again?”

He leaned in slightly, pausing, “You’ll talk to me about this someday, yeah?”

You nodded, blinking at the tears still clinging to your lashes, “Yes.”

Then his lips were on yours; still a bit hesitant, but already improving. You knew you were maybe going a bit fast for him, your lips frantic on his, but you couldn’t get enough. There might never be enough of this sweet, wonderful man to satiate your need for him.

You slid your hands up his chest until they skimmed over his collarbones, brushing up the sides of his neck. Dragging your nails over the back of his neck, you nipped his lower lip, surprised when Steven moaned, a sharp sound he quickly tried to tamp down, but it was too late.

You broke your lips from his, pressing your forehead to his, “Sorry.”

Steven was a bit short of breath, but he shook his head, “Don’t be.”

You offered him a small smile, “Makes me feel a bit better, to be honest.”

“Happy to help any way that I can,” he half-joked.

“You have.”

He dropped his hands to hold yours, “Can I confess something?”

You smiled, hoping to lighten things up again, “Like a murder?”

“Less dramatic and more embarrassing, I’m afraid.” Steven was just glad to see your smile; he didn’t ever want to see you cry again.

“Spill the tea,” you chuckled.

He gave his head a half shake, “Why would I spill tea?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, “It’s just slang; it just means to tell me the gossip. The better the gossip, the hotter the tea.”

“Bit silly, isn’t it? Why would anyone purposely spill hot tea?”

You bit your lip to stifle the smile at Steven’s indignation, “Sorry to upset your British sensitivities.”

“It’s dangerous, if you think about it-”

“Steven?” He paused his dissection of the expression, “You were confessing to murder, I believe.”

He gave an embarrassed smile, “Right.” Cheeks going rosy, he added, “Although if my girlfriend is going to intentionally spill tea-”

You blurted it out before you could think better of it, “Am I your girlfriend?”

“Oh-” His expression fell, “-bugger. I was going to do something special to ask you, but I’ve kept thinking about it today and I suppose I got a bit excited. And that’s if you even wanted to be-”

“I do want to be,” you offered, trying to head off the insecurity he was working himself up to. “But, I will politely decline your request to be your girlfriend today.” You hoped he understood what you were trying to do.

“You will?” You’d never heard someone so excited to be turned down before.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his tone, “I will. We’re just sort of seeing each other, isn’t that right?”

He nodded seriously, “Very casual.”

“No big deal.”

“Not even a deal, really. Sort of an agreement.”

“An understanding,” you offered with a stoic nod.

“Precisely.”

You stared at each other for a moment before you burst out into laughter. You were tearing up again, but this time your sides were starting to hurt from laughing so much. The sound of Steven’s laughter made your chest feel warm, that long forgotten feeling of butterflies suddenly returning.

As your laughter faded, you couldn’t rid yourself of the smile on your face. Now that you thought about it, you couldn’t remember a day when you’d smiled this much.

“So, what was that confession?” you finally asked, once you were both relatively composed.

Steven’s already pink cheeks darkened at the reminder, “Yes- that. I, ah- I don’t think I want you to leave.” He rushed to follow up, “I mean, it’s late. I’d feel awful if I didn’t make sure you got home safely and I’m sure your feet could use a bit of a break-”

“Are you inviting me to stay?” You definitely weren’t expecting that.

He flinched, almost like he’d hoped the words would fade before you heard them, “Only if you want to, of course. You would take my bed, obviously, I can take the sofa-”

“Steven, I’m not taking your bed,” you gave him an exasperated look.

“I can’t let you take the sofa.” The disdain in his tone was enough for you to bury that idea.

“Then stay with me. In your bed.”

“I can’t- that would be- I just-” he had so many protests, he couldn’t seem to land on which one to use first.

“Steven, I’m not suggesting we have sex, just to be clear.”

The red tinge was creeping down his neck now, “Well, that’s a relief at least, but still-”

Normally you would be offended if someone looked so relieved not to sleep with you, but you knew Steven’s heart was in the right place. You rubbed his arm reassuringly, conceding, “I can take a cab home.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Steven explained, looking pained. “You’re entirely gorgeous and I-”

"Steven, it’s alright. We’ve had a great day, or at least I have, and I really don’t want to push you into doing something you don’t want to, but I also don’t want to put you out.” You lifted your shoulders in an easy shrug, “I should’ve left already, actually, but it turns out I’m awful at saying goodbye to you.”

“Because she wants to stay,” Marc offered from his reflection in the window. “Don’t let her leave, Steven.”

“I can’t exactly force her to stay, can I?”

“You wouldn’t have to if you’d stop being-”

“Would you mind walking me out then?” You unknowingly interrupted Marc, grabbing Steven’s hand and giving it a soft tug toward the front door.

Steven didn’t move, the internal battle transparently raging behind his eyes. You felt a bit bad; you were being kind of difficult. But you knew you wouldn’t get any sleep knowing Steven was in the next room over when he could be with you.

You released his hand, pulling your phone out instead, “Actually, I’m going to call the cab now, I’ll be right back.” Steven watched you move off into the living room, feeling a bit frustrated.

“Are you really just gonna let her go?”

“I can’t do it, Marc. I can’t share a bed with her.”

"Fine."

"Cab will be about ten minutes or so," you reported, coming back over. Seeing Steven still looking stressed, you put your hand on his shoulder, "Steven, it's really alright."

Guilt washed over his face, “I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings because I really do want to- I want to be close to you that way- quite badly, actually, but I’m a bit nervous-”

You stopped him before he could spiral too much, offering a reassuring smile, “My feelings are just fine. I understand.”

“You do?”

“I do. I don’t want to rush things between us; we can go at whatever pace you’re comfortable with.” He visibly relaxed at that, shoulders slackening as he lowered his hands from their holding place at his ribcage. “That said, I can admit that I’m very excited to get close like that.”

You stepped closer, sliding your hands around his waist, “I’ll be looking forward to sleeping in and cuddling up in bed and holding each other and stealing little kisses and-”

“Is it too late to change my answer?” he gave a weak chuckle, hoping you wouldn’t be able to hear how dry his throat had gone.

You stole a quick kiss, his lips chasing yours a bit as you moved back, “Next time.”

His hands found your hips, “Next time could be right now, couldn’t it?”

You tilted your head, “I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“We’ve been on two dates today, haven’t we? What’s one more?”

You laughed, “Alright, I respect that you’ve used my logic against me, but I already called the cab. I’ll see you again soon.”

“How about tomorrow evening?” He knew he sounded clingy, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind. “I’m off at seven.”

And you knew you should probably take some time to cool off; you were feeling a bit infatuated right now. But you nodded, “I’d like that.”

“I could make you dinner,” he offered.

You raised an eyebrow, “I thought you said you didn’t like to cook.”

“I don't mind it, but I’m probably a bit rusty,” he admitted.

“I could help you.”

He chuckled, “As much as I want to refuse, that’s probably for the best.”

"Meet you here at eight then?"

Beaming, he nodded, "It's a date."

You returned his smile, but before you could reply, there was a ping from your phone, "Looks like my ride is here."

"I'll walk you down then. Oh, and don't forget your things." He hastily grabbed the flowers and chocolates from the table, keeping them clutched in one hand while the other went to the small of your back. He seemed to just want to have a hand on you the whole way out of his apartment, holding your hand in the elevator too. The only time he broke contact was when he rushed ahead to get the front door, following you out to the curb where your taxi was waiting.

He opened the car door and gently put your gifts on the backseat, asking the driver for a quick moment. He buried his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels, “Suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then, yeah?”

You nodded, surprised by the sudden bit of awkwardness between the two of you; things had come so easily up until now, “Tomorrow.” You realized you were still wearing his jacket and you moved to take it off, “Here, I should give this back-”

“No- you might need it on the way home. You can keep it,” he quickly unburied his hands to still yours.

“Steven, you’ve worn this almost every time I’ve seen you. I don’t want to take your favorite jacket.”

He shrugged his shoulders, “Looks better on you anyway, don’t it? Besides, makes sense my favorite jacket and my favorite-” He seemed to catch himself, his face going pink even under the faint light of the streetlamps.

You didn’t tease him; you were feeling a bit flushed as well. Not wanting to keep the cabbie waiting, you leaned in, kissing Steven’s cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Right, tomorrow. Let me know once you’ve gotten home then?”

You smiled, “I will.” You climbed into the cab, “Good night, Steven.”

He offered a wry smile, “Good night, dearest.” He somewhat reluctantly closed the door, remaining on the curb until the car pulled away. He was sad to see you go, almost wishing he’d listened to Marc, but he couldn’t help a smile as you turned back, waving out the cab’s rear window.

Marc’s voice echoing in his head surprised him, “You are so screwed.”

Steven watched the cab round a corner, finally disappearing, his voice a bit dreamy, “Yeah, I suppose I am, aren’t I?”

True to your word, you sent Steven a text when you arrived safely at home. You did have to endure a bit of teasing from Dalton when you asked for a vase for your flowers, but they looked nice on your bedside table. And they made you think of Steven, though not so much as the jacket, which you were embarrassingly tempted to sleep in. You stubbornly put the jacket on a hanger, mounting it on the closet door instead of inside.

You couldn’t believe you’d almost slept over on the first date- thank god Dalton didn’t know that part. The bit of distance between the two of you didn’t make your head much clearer either; you still wished Steven had just agreed- then you’d probably be cuddled up with him right now. But then he wouldn’t be the Steven you liked so much- your Steven, as you were coming to think of him.

Every reason you’d come here seemed to fade into the background in comparison to the way you’d felt today. None of those things seemed to matter. They were all just background, the build-up to the part of your life that could be starting right now. You knew you were lovestruck, that much was obvious. But aside from that, this felt like something.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand while you brushed your teeth and your heart leapt. You’d sent a simple, “Made it home safe. Thank you for today.”

Steven had replied, “Glad to hear it. I should be thanking you- sorry it had to end.”

You smiled, “You’d best not be beating yourself up. This was the right call. It was perfect.” You finished brushing your teeth and climbed into bed, phone still in your hand.

Steven hesitated before sending his next reply, “Still, think I’ll be up missing you tonight.”

“Don’t lose too much sleep- can’t have the museum’s newest tour guide showing up late, can we?” You sent a quick follow up, “Feel free to think about me tomorrow though.” You set your phone on the bedside table, gaze flicking up to Steven’s jacket. Was this really all the willpower you were capable of?

When Steven’s reply came through, you were just climbing back into bed, his jacket wrapped around you. “You say that like I’ve got a choice.” Well, at least it seemed like you were both equally as spineless when it came to the other.

“Do your best to get some sleep, for me.” You bit your lip, considering before snapping a quick picture of yourself. You wondered if he’d notice the collar of his jacket poking out from under the blanket.

“Oh my days, she’s wearin’ my jacket to bed.” Steven was dumbstruck, staring at the photo you’d sent to him.

“Nicely done,” Marc nodded approvingly.

Steven gave a dreamy sigh, “Would you look at her? She’s so stunning.” He couldn’t help but add again, “And wearing my clothes.”

Marc wanted to point out that you could be here, right now, if Steven hadn’t chickened out. But that would also mean that Marc would've had to remain in the background. He wouldn’t admit it to Steven, but today had been difficult. It had been a while since Marc had to be so quiet in the back of Steven’s mind.

If Steven noticed Marc’s long silence, he didn’t draw attention to it. “Is it alright if I make this the background on our phone?”

Marc wouldn’t miss the photo of the fish tank that currently graced their phone screen, but he felt strange about using a phone with your face on it. You weren’t his, you were Steven’s. It felt like an invasion of privacy- like he was trespassing in your relationship.

“Marc? That alright with you?”

“It’s fine- sorry,” he offered hastily.

Satisfied, Steven confirmed his changes, grinning as he returned to his home screen to find your face there. Marc thought he was off the hook, but Steven looked for Marc’s face in the fish tank, “You alright then? Sorry it was such a long day, but I’ll make it up to you- and tomorrow night too-”

“I’m fine, Steven,” Marc reassured him. “I’m happy for you.”

Steven paused, “You could be happy for you too.” He rushed to say the rest, “I think if we told her the truth, she would-”

“No. No, no, no,” Marc shook his head. “That is not happening.”

Steven’s face fell, “It’s got to eventually, don’t it? We don’t want to repeat the same mistakes.” Steven didn’t have to specify which mistakes; he meant Layla.

“Eventually nothing. We can cross whatever bridges when we come to them.” He didn’t want to ruin Steven’s good day, but he was not ready for this conversation.

“I don’t want to build a relationship on a lie, Marc. And I think she’d love you too.”

“Love me too? You don’t even know if she loves you yet- it’s been one day, Steven.”

“Well I know that,” Steven huffed. “But don’t you feel it?”

Marc unhappily played along, “Feel what?”

“That bit of…rightness in your chest,” Steven fumbled for the right words. “Like she fits perfectly, right here.” He clasped his hand into a fist over his heart, holding it in place with the other.

“Steven, she’s your girlfriend. I don’t feel anything.”

“Well, she’s not my girlfriend yet- I’m going to ask her proper.”

“Well if you never text her back, she might say no.”

“Bloody hell, you’re right- I’ve forgotten to reply- I hope she hasn’t already fallen asleep, although she does need the rest-”

Marc stopped listening, grateful to have Steven distracted, at least for now. But he kind of missed the way things were before- just him and Steven. Everything was changing again and just once, he’d halfway hoped they could stay the same for a while. But you were here now and it was clear there was no going back.

Phone still in your hand, the faint buzz of Steven’s reply wasn’t enough to wake you. You would see his “Good night, love. Sleep well and see you tomorrow,” in the morning.

#steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant fluff #moon knight fluff #steven grant fic #moon knight fic #phases of the moon series

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p-taryn-dactyl · 2 years

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hey everyone!

[Update: i have an Agatha request that ill be posting sometime this weekend, Just Another Name will ACTUALLY be posted by or before next Friday, and CIAFOM ch5 will be posted sometime in the next two weeks! also another Bucky fic will be out soon and so will practically all of my current requests <3 if anyone cares]

But that’s not really what i wanted to talk about lol

I was recently lying on my floor listening to music, as one does, and i heard the song Love in the Dark by Adele and I got ✨inspiration✨. So I have a fic series planned but I have one problem and it’s idk who the character is gonna be. If you have any character I’ve written for before you think would fit the song plz request them, or if there’s a character I haven’t written for but you want to see then also plz send them in!!!! I love y’all and I’m sorry I haven’t been writing a lot recently <3 <3 <3

Btw the song lyrics are under the cut if you haven’t heard it and don’t want to listen to it :)

Take your eyes off of me so I can leave I'm far too ashamed to do it with you watching me This is never ending, we have been here before But I can't stay this time 'cause I don't love you anymore

Please, stay where you are Don't come any closer Don't try to change my mind I'm being cruel to be kind

I can't love you in the dark It feels like we're oceans apart There is so much space between us Baby, we're already defeated Ah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah Everything changed me

You have given me something that I can't live without You mustn't underestimate that when you are in doubt But I don't want to carry on like everything is fine The longer we ignore it, all the more that we will fight

Please, don't fall apart I can't face your breaking heart I'm trying to be brave Stop asking me to stay

I can't love you in the dark It feels like we're oceans apart There is so much space between us Baby, we're already defeated Ah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah Everything changed me

We're not the only ones, I don't regret a thing Every word I've said, you know I'll always mean It is the world to me that you are in my life But I want to live and not just survive

That's why I can't love you in the dark It feels like we're oceans apart There is so much space between us Baby, we're already defeated 'Cause, ah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah-yeah Everything changed me

And I-I-I-I-I don't think you can save me

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ivystoryweaver · 11 months

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With You part 10

<-prev next-> || Fic Masterlist || My Masterlist

Summary: Married, back in London, Jake comes crashing back into your life

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Steven Grant x reader, Jake Lockley x reader. Gender neutral reader. No use of Y/N. Reader is married to the system.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings/notables: A n g s t, complicated relationship stuff, cursing. Alcoholism, violence, injury, blood. Lmk if I missed a warning. inaccurate DID, based on the show. Not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY, on "With You"...

Leaning down, he brushed his lips over your cheek in a tender kiss... the softness of you electrifying him utterly.

"I'll never let him near you," he vowed, his fingers reaching up to trace his lips where your skin had touched. "And I'll never let him take Marc away from you."

“Read to me, husband," you purred into Steven's ear, curling close to his side.

His eyes cut over to you and he grinned, reaching to lace his fingers with yours. You sighed, your heart overflowing as your fingertip traced over the gold band he now wore.

"Long flight, darling. You sure you don't want to rest a bit?" He suggested, gazing at you adoringly.

"Maybe I will if you read to me," you teased, pulling your intertwined fingers to your mouth, your lips grazing his ring.

You may have been on an airplane, but it still felt like your own little world.

After a few chapters about ancient Egypt, and a long nap, you awakened to your husband watching an 80's action film on the screen on the back of the chair in front of him.

Marc.

Latching on to his arm, your fingers found his again, just to toy with his wedding band.

"Hey, baby," he softly greeted, kissing your temple. "Steven bore you to death reading about the pyramids?"

"Absolutely not," you playfully defended, "I just find the sound of his voice soothing."

"You know what's soothing?" He pointed to his screen with a grin. "RoboCop."

You groaned. "How much longer till we land?"

"We're not even halfway," Marc replied, glancing at his watch.

"Maybe RoboCop will put me back to sleep."

Your honeymoon was magical.

All your hard work, saving and planning paid off, and you and your husband had the time of your lives. Sun-drenched days, passion-filled nights, nothing but relaxation in paradise. Playing games with Marc, reading with Steven, delicious food (and a delicious husband).

It was just the refreshing reset you needed to kick off married life.

Truthfully, you wondered about Jake - you missed him, and the tiniest part of you hoped nothing would interfere with your little bubble of temporary heaven.

Everything seemed fine - you made it back to London refreshed and ready to proudly sport your wedding band everywhere you went. You didn't care if it seemed a little old fashioned. You were proud and thrilled to have a wonderful, dreamy husband.

Steven transitioned into summer session classes at uni while you contemplated advancing your nursing career. Marc seemed steady, albeit a little quiet. Not brooding quiet - more like...observationally quiet.

The two of you had discussed what he might like to do. After all, he had spent years as a man of action. But he insisted he was content in his current role, making sure Steven got the education and credentials he deserved.

Still...something about him seemed a little off. There was no evidence of him drinking, and, even in his darkest times, drinking was never something he hid from you. It was a bit difficult to hide anyway, but he never even attempted to. So you didn't suspect alcohol as the culprit.

After insisting he was fine for a few weeks, he finally admitted how hard he had been trying to communicate with Jake. You were a little surprised at first, but only at first. After all, Marc had never enjoyed the feeling of not having control - whether over himself, his life, or just in general.

By now, an eternity had passed since you last saw or spoke to Jake. When Marc admitted that he had spoken to Jake quite a few times since your wedding, you had to bite your tongue to keep from asking, 'Did he ask about me?'

You already knew the answer. Jake was not interested in all things you. Besides, this wasn't about you anyway - it was about Marc as a system. Instead, you asked Marc why he didn't say something sooner to you about speaking to Jake.

"I didn't want to upset you," was his explanation. Fair enough.

Instead of starting an interrogation with questions like, 'Does he still work for Khonshu?' and the like, you kept your focus on your husband and asked, "Is that why you've been so quiet?"

Chewing on his lip, he waited a minute before replying, "Maybe. Just trying to figure some stuff out."

The look on your face clued him in to the fact that he was being vague at best. So he knelt down in front you as you sat in Steven's reading chair, took your hands and said, "I'll tell you more soon. I'm working really hard to figure out how we can all be happy - how we can all coexist and really be safe, and free of Khonshu for good."

Oh.

If Marc was working on something Khonshu-related, then his contemplativeness tracked. He was so earnest in trying to confess this little piece to you, that you decided to believe him and not prod too much right now. Just for now.

The very next night, you came home from work a little late - a night quite reminiscent of the one when you had found Marc drinking - to find your flat dark and mysteriously quiet.

Calling your husband's names, you headed to the bedroom to get changed when you heard a thump and a groan from inside the bathroom. Panic shot through your body as you bolted through the door, shoving it open to find...Marc? slumped over the closed toilet, shirtless, clutching his side and groaning in pain.

"Baby - what happened?" You gasped, kneeling down and switching into triage mode. That's when you saw blood pooling around his hand, oozing through his fingers.

What the hell...

"Shit, you're bleeding," you cried, stating the obvious while jerking the nearest towel off the rack to press to his side.

He grunted, reluctantly dragging his crimson-coated fingers away, hissing as you pressed the cloth into his side to staunch the bleeding.

Tears burned your eyes at the sight of your wounded husband, but only for a second, as your medical training kicked in. You noticed right away that his knuckles were bloodied, as if he'd punched a wall. His lip was split, his eyebrow was cut and there were even a few angry scrapes across his cheek.

"Hold this here for me, baby, I need to get the first aid kit," you sniffed, pulling his hand back over the towel covering his bleeding side. Most of what you needed was in the bathroom with you, so as soon as you were ready, you sat down and reached for his fingers.

"Here, let me see," you instructed. You gasped at the deep, angry gash in his flesh. "Okay...okay, I need to stitch this up, honey, it's deep." Pausing for a moment, you realized it was a horrible idea to tend to your husband, especially with tears stinging your eyes.

"Actually, here," you pushed the cloth back over his wound, making him groan in agony. "Come on. We need to get to A&E - "

"No," he firmly protested. "You do it."

You shook your head. "Marc, listen, I really should-"

"No," he repeated, his eyes finding yours. "Too many questions. No police."

Shaking your head in frustration, you grabbed your first aid kit, which was really a small medical bag, containing enough supplies to be useful in an emergency.

You would do anything for Marc, but right now, you were confused and growing more worried by the moment. "What were you even doing? How did you get hurt?" You huffed, gathering the supplies to mend his wound.

He didn't answer, and that pissed you right off.

Pausing just for a moment, you glared at him, before gathering some clean towels. Without a word, you hurried to the kitchen to set the kettle to boil, just in case you needed to sterilize anything the old fashioned way.

When you returned to your husband, you had calmed down a little.

Pulling the bloody towel away from his side once more, you started to clean the angry gash, attempting to get ready to close the wound.

A few minutes later, you instructed Marc to move to the bed. You certainly weren't going to stitch him up on the bathroom floor.

Pausing for a moment, you granted him a reluctantly sympathetic smile, brushing his sweaty curls away from his forehead.

"This is going to hurt. I don't have anything to give you - anything to numb the pain," you carefully explained. "Are you sure you don't want to go to A&E?"

He nodded once, but still wouldn't speak to you.

"How did you get hurt, Marc? I thought you still had...healing armor or whatever. From Khonshu." And why was he acting so weird?

The instant you had the thought that Marc really didn't seem himself was the moment you knew.

Staring into his eyes challengingly, you whispered his name. "Marc?"

Swallowing hard, he drew a trembling breath. "Not Marc."

All the blood drained from your face. You blinked rapidly, completely blindsided and so confused.

"Jake?"

Averting his gaze, he gave you another nod.

Despite all your medical training, you froze. Lips trembling, you reached up to his face, carefully minding his scrapes and cuts as your fingers traced his jaw. It had been so, so long...

"You're hurt," you whispered, as if it were new information. In a way, it was. Because a moment ago, in your mind, Marc was the one hurt. That was bad enough, but now, after weeks on end of hearing nothing...

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes drifting closed at your touch. "Please help me."

Releasing his jaw, you covered his hand with yours, squeezing gently before nodding.

"This will hurt, Jake," you reminded him, as if he wasn't there a minute ago to hear your warning.

"'S okay. I deserve it." Closing his eyes, he laid his head down and waited for the pain.

You were going to fucking kill someone. Either Jake, for asking you to stitch him up rather than go to A&E while you were reeling, having not seen him for so long. Or Khonshu for honestly being a giant pile of dicks. Maybe even Marc. You weren't sure why you were mad at Marc, but you had a feeling he was involved in this steaming pile of shit somehow. The only one who might get a pass was Steven, unless he was in on this Khonshu bullshit too.

Jake could feel your anger. It was rolling off of you, electrifying the whole bedroom. But your hands remained steady, tender and professional, dancing over his wounded flesh. The dichotomy of your righteous anger and your healing mercy made him burn for you.

Each stab with your needle felt like a consequence for how he'd failed you. Failed Marc.

It was silent torture, but finally you finished, cleaning and bandaging the wound. You had thought he might pass out from exhaustion or pain, but he simply stared at the ceiling and said nothing.

Not one fucking word of explanation, or even a cry of pain.

With a sigh, you left the room to wash up and get rid of some of the bloody dressings and instruments. The sutures were not your best work - after all, you didn't stitch people up on a daily basis. But it would have to do.

Feeling exhausted in every way, you readied yourself to tend to the rest of Jake's injuries, bracing yourself for stone cold silence. It fucking hurt, but he was more than clear on the matter of not communicating with you.

Returning to Jake's beside, you said nothing. You simply lifted his hand into your own, carefully cleaning his bloody knuckles. You thought about making a joke along the lines of 'I should see the other guy, right?' but ultimately decided against it. It seemed pointless to even try.

Grabbing a couple extra pillows from your side of the bed, you handed them to Jake, who had been watching you warily.

"I need you to prop up so I can take a look at the cuts on your lip and over your eye," you explained.

He obeyed, shifting the pillows into position before protesting. "You've done enough, cariño, you don't have to - "

"Like hell I don't," you snapped. "My husband's body is hurt..." you exhaled shakily, squeezing your eyes shut for a second. "You're hurt, Jake. I'm doing this."

At first, he wouldn't look at you. You tended to the cut over his eye first - it was the worst one. "You'll need a bandage here...and it might even leave a scar through your eyebrow."

"I'm sorry," he repeated his apology from earlier. He didn't know what else to say.

"For what exactly?" You questioned, cleaning the scrapes along his cheek. You were close to him now, fingers brushing, eyes flickering, gazes locking. His breath ghosted over your hand.

"For everything," he offered, his own hand stretching out to grasp your elbow.

You jerked away. "That's really fucking specific, Jake. Thanks."

"Mi vida -" he started.

"Don't!" You bit out, glaring at him, your chest heaving. "Don't call me that. Just...just tell me how you got hurt. Tell me why you're not healing. Is Khonshu gone?"

Jake shook his head. "No. But our armor is."

"Why?" you gasped. "How can you...do your job if he doesn't protect you? I thought that was all part of the avatar package."

Jake didn't exactly feel comfortable with this line of questioning but he honestly didn't know what to do anymore.

"I think..." he started, clearing his throat. "I think it's...punishment."

Every negative and intense emotion coursing through your body narrowed to one. Terror.

"What?" You cried, placing your hands on his bare chest. "Khonshu did this to you?"

"No. He did this to Marc."

If there was anything Jake hated, it was causing you pain. He had made a sort of strange peace about staying out of your daily life, to protect you and Marc. He viewed returning your unopened letters as a mercy - as a way to let you off the hook.

But as you lay your head down on his chest, grasping his hand desperately, your warm tears flowing onto his bare skin, he knew he had utterly failed and completely misunderstood what you needed. After endless weeks of silence, it took one choked sob and desperate plea from you for him to break.

"Why would he hurt Marc?" You pleaded, clinging to Jake like a child would to a parent after a bad dream. "Please...please tell me what he did to my husband."

Jake smoothed his hand over your shoulder, rubbing your arm in a small attempt to comfort you, electrified by the nearness of you.

"I...um," releasing a shuddering breath, he decided you deserved to know. "Marc has been...talking to me. And Khonshu."

Jake went on to explain how Marc had been staying up late, attempting to maintain control of the body. How he had even gone out at night and summoned the suit -several times, in fact.

"Why?" You sniffled, leaning into Jake's embrace.

"I think he's trying to negotiate our freedom," Jake explained. "But...I don't want him to."

"Because it's your job," you spat, accusingly.

"No, mi amor," he gently corrected you. "Because the first night he put on the suit, he completely panicked, and almost bought some liquor."

You cried harder. What the hell was going on with them?

"He didn't drink," Jake clarified. "I was able to take the body after he started walking home. And the reason I don't want him doing all this is because I can't protect him if I'm not Moon Knight. If I'm not in control. If Marc is out there, and gets hurt, Khonshu doesn't care. He doesn't care if Marc drinks - in fact, he probably prefers it that way."

Easing his arms around you, Jake hissed at the stretch he felt in his stitched injury.

"Khonshu doesn't want me distracted," Jake explained. "By Marc or by you. He wants someone completely devoted to being his fist - to watching over the travelers of the night."

"That's bullshit," you argued, though most of your ire had given way to a form of despair. "If he was protecting people, he wouldn't have done this to Marc. He wouldn't have hurt him."

You and Jake lay on your bed, completely wrapped up in one another. He had tried to stay away for your sake, but if you needed this from him, he would gladly give it.

"He didn't hurt Marc directly," Jake went on. "He just..." blowing out a sigh, he mustered the courage to tell you. "He told Marc he was a worthless weakling and that he would pay for interfering. So..." Jake couldn't go on for a moment.

"What?" you whimpered, nuzzling your face into his neck as if you could hide from the horrible ancient deity.

"Khonshu waited until Marc was in the middle of a fight - he was trying to save a woman from...it was three men. Assholes..." His jaw clenched in fury. "Khonshu decided then to take away his armor. So...they beat the hell out of Marc and...they stabbed him. Cut him with a piece of glass. That's when I took the body." Too fucking late, as it turned out.

You broke down. You couldn't take it anymore. When would your husband ever be free of this torment?

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Jake said mournfully. "I tried so hard to protect him. To protect you from exactly a moment like this. I'm so sorry, mi vida."

He held you for a while, soothingly rubbing your back, thrilled and bewildered by the chance to hold you like this. To be able to give you some measure of comfort. To bear the injury Marc had sustained.

"Why do you call me that?" You softly questioned after your sobs had quieted. "Mi vida? Mi amor? I'm not."

Ouch. Jake's heart splintered.

But you went on to explain. "I've respected your choices, Jake, and your life on your own. But why do you call me those things if you don't even want to know me?"

"I told you - I do know you," he reminded you, his voice filled with conviction. "I think about you every day."

Propping up on one elbow, you peered down at him. "Then why won't you let me know you? Why did you return my letters?"

"To protect you," he insisted, wincing as you rolled your eyes. "From Khonshu. From everything. It was my fault Marc was drinking again. All of this pain, everything was because I wasn't doing enough - "

"Then let us help you, Jake," you pleaded. "Let's figure this out together."

"Marc tried and look what happened!" Jake fired back, flinching away from you. "He got hurt. He could have gotten us killed!"

Trying to sit up, Jake hissed in pain, his skin burning as your hands fussed over him, trying to help him.

"What happened tonight is exactly what I've been trying to prevent. No one is listening to me!"

"Because you don't fucking say anything!" You cried, climbing off the bed, scrambling around to stand in front of him. "All you do is play the martyr - lay down every piece of your existence on this sacrificial altar to a spiteful god! You don't talk to anyone, you don't know anyone, you don't do anything here but sleep!"

Tears streaked down your face as your lip trembled. "No one can listen to you because you've made yourself a ghost! You can't hear a ghost, Jake. You can't see or know a ghost. You can't love a ghost..."

Wiping your cheeks with the back of your hand, you whispered woefully. "But I love you anyway. I'm here and I'll listen to you. You just don't say anything. And I know it's because of me. I know you can't stand to be around me - I guess you despise me - but you could at least try harder with Marc and Steven - "

"What did you say?" Jake breathed, his voice cold. With tremendous effort, he pushed himself off the bed and stood before you, eyes wet with fresh tears. "You think I despise you? How can you..." He trailed off, raking his fingers through his curls. "You really have no idea, do you?"

Shaking your head mutely, you stared up at him, so sweetly broken.

"You're right," he finally said, his head dropping in shame.

With a small whimper, you started to sniffle again, thinking you were right about how he couldn't stand to be around you.

"I haven't said anything to you. I've tried so fucking hard not to."

"Why?" you whispered. "What did I do wrong?"

He completely melted, reaching out for you. "Nothing, mi alma. Not one thing, ever."

Still confused, you shook your head mournfully. "Then why don't you..."

Murmuring your name, he brushed tender fingers over your cheek. "I was trying to keep you out of this - to keep you safe - to set you free - but I can see now - I only made everything worse."

Touching his forehead to yours, he wrapped one arm around your waist. "De verdad lo siento, mi amor. Por favor perdóname. Te amo."

He normally only spoke English with you, simply because that's what you spoke with Marc and Steven. But in his overflow of emotion, that's what came out.

"I'm sorry, I..."

"I understand," you whispered, your eyes wide, with a sliver of hope. "But you can say it again."

Tracing your lips with his thumb, he tried to show you everything inside his heart. He didn't deserve you, but he couldn't live without you anymore.

"I'm so sorry," he translated, brushing his lips over yours. "My love... please forgive me." Rubbing his nose against yours tenderly, he breathed against your mouth. "I love you."

next->

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