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starks-hero · 10 months

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Oh, Little Horned One of the Old Oak Tree

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader

Summary: Becoming the avatar of an ancient Celtic god came with some unforeseen side affects; side affects which you are yet to tell Steven about.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: language, slight body horror if you squint, Steven is a ridiculously supportive boyfriend in the face of fuckery and we love him for it

a/n: giving the reader a supportive god/avatar relationship because it's what they deserve

It's not that you hadn't tried to clean the blood, you'd done your best. But it stained the tips of your fingers and left the porcelain tiles of the bathroom a dark red.

You weren't entirely sure where it had all come from, but the damp, matted hair surrounding where the antlers had sprouted from your head served as a good indicator.

It shouldn't be happening, not yet. You had at least another fortnight till the next eclipse, (if your notes were anything to go by.) But you knew the moment your muscles began to ache and your bones began to creak that it was indeed happening, and it wasn't going to stop regardless of how upset it made you.

You'd tried to call Jake. Then Marc. But you didn't want to risk Steven answering the phone.

The bathroom was the closest refuge you could find and as it would seem it was far from the most ideal of places. You'd torn down the shower curtain in your haste to hide and all but shattered the delicate tiles beneath your feet.

The mirror had also fallen victim to your havoc, an almost artistically applaudable webbed crack spreading out from the centre of the glass where your elbow had made contact. A handful of rouge shards littered the floor and made quick work of slicing open your palm.

You glared at the offending piece of glass before picking it out of your hand and throwing it across the room with enough force that it was embedded in the opposite wall like a well-aimed dart.

You could still make out your reflection through the broken glass pane. Antlers sprouting from the crown of your head, winding off in all different directions. There was a pale glow to your eyes and ruins and ancient symbols wrapped around your arms and the expanse of your chest. And if your abundance of new features hadn't already qualified you for your own Magic: The Gathering card, you'd also doubled in height.

This would be a fucking delight to explain.

You took a moment to thank the gods for Stevens's late shift at the museum before steadying yourself with a deep breath.

You'd felt every bit of it; the stretching, twisting and growing of entirely new bones. And if the persistent pain in your chest and spine was anything to go by you figured it was far from over.

You could hear the deep, resonant voice of your deity, distant and far off, like rushing water over rock. His words were gruff and shaped by his accent as he apologized profusely; and as ego-boosting as it was having an eldritch being admit defeat and practically beg for your forgiveness, you found yourself in too much pain to truly enjoy the moment.

“Cernunnos,” you cursed the god's name.

Your legs were still crammed uncomfortably against your chest and the bathroom door whilst your antlers continued to do a glorious job of scrapping the paint job off the ceiling.

Another wave of pain hit, burning through your veins and seizing hold of your lungs. You coughed and spluttered, each attempt at a breath snagging in your throat like leaves catching on dead branches. The horrid sensation of shifting bones hit your chest and you doubled over with a hiss.

“Please make it stop.”

“I'm sorry, fia beag,” (little deer) the god said, his reflection appearing in the mirror shards. His antlers filled out the frame, putting your own to shame and his eyes, (despite, like the rest of his body, being those of a stag, which as far as species go aren't the most emotionally expressive–) were almost apologetic. “I've tried my best, I asked Manannan to reverse the tides to change the lunar phase and buy us time but it's too late.”

It was heartwarming really; how Cernnunos cared so much, enough to ask a fellow god to inconvenience the entire ocean all in the name of saving your love life. You were glad to have him, even if he was the reason you were going through pain worse than fucking childbirth.

“I'm sorry.” The god's ears flattened against his head and you wondered if you'd said the last part aloud.

“What's the point of all this again?” You'd shifted before but it was never irregular and never this bad.

“A thousand years ago my worshipers adored when my avatar arrived at Imbolc in this form!” Cernnunos sounded excited.

“So it was to show off?”

“To make the people feel seen and protected,” he countered.

“And it's something I have to go through because–?”

The god was quiet for a moment. “Old habits die hard?”

Cernnunos had off-handedly mentioned (downright bragged) about the pact he'd made with the moon sometime before the construction of Newgrange. That his avatar would be gifted with a godly form the night of each lunar eclipse. You weren't well versed in ancient deals between eldritch beings but apparently, it's not the kind of agreement you can back out of a millennia down the line.

And apparently, another moon-related god had initiated an eclipse two weeks ahead of schedule. (your money was on Khonshu over Artemis.)

“It will be alright, little one,” Cernnunos promised. It was soothing having him near, but he tended to have that effect. With him, you were like a fawn, comforted by the knowledge that it was protected by its elder. “Besides, it's not as though this night could get much worse for us.”

Almost comedically, the struggle of key in lock sounded and then the front door opened.

You and the god stared at each other, quite literally, like deers in headlights.

“Love? I'm home–”

Steven's voice sent your flight, fight, freeze response to full throttle and you beckoned for Cernnunos to leave as quietly and frantically as you could. The god seemed reluctant, but another chorus of a British accent from the other side of the door and he relented.

The glass rippled like water on a lake and then he was gone.

You could hear Steven moving around the flat, carrying out his usual routine of removing his name tag, unbuttoning his over shirt and tossing his bag on the couch.

You held your breath when the floorboards of the bedroom creaked and silently prayed he'd just call it a night in favour of finding you hiding in the bathroom looking like something straight from Pans Labyrinth. When he called out for you again you sent your head back against the wall with enough force to crack the tiles.

“Love, you alright?” There was three gentle raps on the door. “Darling?”

“I'm fine,” the words were unsteady. And had your voice gotten deeper?

There was a beat of silence outside the door then, “You don't sound fine.”

“I'm just not feeling great,” you managed. Just go, Steven. Please just go.

“Oh, darling, are you sick? Here let me–” The terrifying sight of the door handle turning caused your heart to almost hammer out of your chest. You rushed to press your foot against it and watched in horror as the timber split right down the middle. The door was barely clinging to the hinges.

You could hear Steven's shock on the other side of the door, a string of curses followed suit. “Y/N–”

“Just leave it, Steven!” you bit out. You hadn't meant for the words to sound so animalistic, so angry. But the only thing currently preventing your life from crumbling was a splintering door and your refusal to move your foot. You were allowed to be rash, you thought.

“Alright, you're scaring me now–”

The universe really wasn't letting up with its ironies today.

The wooden door panels creaked and splintered as Steven tried to open it from the outside. You kept your foot firmly pressed to the middle, but as the hinges began to groan you felt the sturdiness give way. It felt like you had your foot against a wet piece of tissue paper; you were going to tear right through it.

With one more shove from Steven's side, you were forced to surrender.

The door swung open with truly theatrical measure and Steven stumbled in behind it. Instinctually, you pushed yourself against the back wall, forgetting your new height and putting your head through the ceiling as you did.

Chaos is too kind of a word for what followed.

The sound that left Steven fell somewhere between a startled shout and a scream of genuine terror. You reached out and Steven fired back, his feet tying themselves in knots and sending him to the floor.

You struggled to pull your head out of the crater you'd left in the roof. A fine layer of debris and dust covered you and somewhat important-looking wires were strung across your antlers like poorly hung Christmas lights.

Almost on cue, the bathroom light flickered twice and came away from the ceiling, ending up in several pieces on the floor.

The dark apparently did nothing in making you look less menacing as Steven continued to voice his fears. And loudly at that. He hadn't moved, still frozen to the spot just outside the door.

“Steven, please–” you crawled forward at a snail's pace, each movement purposely slow.

He watched you with frantic eyes, his heart hammering like a rabbit against his chest. You'd never seen him so scared.

As he clambered to his feet, you dared to inch closer, but it was the opinion of the shattered tiles beneath your feet that you weren't moving nearly fast enough. You slipped on the porcelain shards and were all but thrown in Steven's direction.

Your rack broke your fall by all but embedding the tips of each spike in the wall surrounding the door frame. You'd put your head through so much wood and plaster in the past few minutes you were beginning to sympathize with mounted deer heads.

Steven was staring now, expression boarding on mild fear and absolute confusion. Then, his eyes flicked to the broken mirror behind you, and then his reflection in the window to his right.

Marc and Jake had taken their sweet time.

Steven looked between you, the mirror and the window and then back at you. Then it visibly clicked.

“Oh, oh my gods, Y/N you, you're-” he swallowed. “-what's happening?”

“It's my time of the month.” The joke went down like a led balloon. Steven swayed on his feet.

“Steven, are you alright?”

“Yeah, sort of. No, not really.”

You craned your neck as far as your current predicament would allow for. “Are you going to pass out?”

“Maybe.”

“Okay,” you said the word beneath your breath. He hadn't run which, all things considered, meant this was going fairly well. Even from the awkward angle you were stuck in you could feel his eyes on you, shifting from one monstrous feature to the next, lingering on the markings and the fucking antlers and the–

“Love, you have blood– you're bleeding.” And just like that, a flip switched in Steven's mind at the sight of you wounded. This man was a true enigma and a wonderful one at that. “Here–”

He approached and then almost immediately hesitated, bouncing back on his heel the moment you shifted.

You weren't exactly a threatening sight, shoulders wedged in the door frame, covered in dust and splintered wood and head practically pinned to the wall. You looked like a drunk stag that had lost a fight to a tree.

Steven shook himself and stepped close enough that your laboured breaths ruffled his curls. He was doing an admirable job of hiding the fact that he was shaking.

“Alright, bloody hell um–” He regarded the situation and then nodded. “I'll push, you pull.”

Steven braced his hands against your shoulders and you grabbed hold of the door frame. It's not that you needed the extra help; out of all the things you'd conquered whilst serving as an avatar freeing yourself from a plaster wall ranked fairly low on that list.

But Steven was touching you in this form, his palms pressed to your broadened shoulders and you weren't about to jinx it.

The wall cracked and fissured as you freed yourself, several deep punctures left where your antlers had been. You twisted and manoeuvred your way out of the bathroom until you could straighten up to your full height.

Thank god Steven lived on the top floor. Higher ceilings.

“Okay, woah–” Steven took several steps back as you stood. You towered over him, antlers bleeding into darkened shadows against the ceiling. Okay, now 'intimidating' might be a more fitting word.

You lowered yourself to your knees in an attempt to seem less frightening. Now that you were eye to eye, Steven could see the worry in your expression as you regarded him softly.

“It's alright. I'm adjusting,” he said, voice still trembling. “Just need a quick adjustment period...”

You gave him time and let him lead.

And that's how you ended up in the kitchen, legs crossed as you sat on the floor whilst Steven sat on the counter in front of you. He held a wet flannel in his hand, droplets of water creeping down his arm.

A dry cloth sat folded on the counter beside him, as well as a box of plasters with 'good job!' written across each one.

It was as if his rationality was being overridden by his need to care for you as well as his overall steveness.

Steven dabbed the crown of your head gently, his hands shaking as he did. There was still a dull ache where the antlers had sprouted. Steven rung out the flannel over the sink and the sight of the blood running through his fingers and over his knuckles made you feel ill. His hands were always so soft, they weren't meant to be stained with blood.

You blinked as a small trail of blood seeped from your head and trailed down between your brows. Steven diligently stopped the flow with the cloth and cleaned you up. Your nose twitched at the dampness of the cloth and Steven smiled.

The first smile you'd seen all night.

His actions slowed, hand stilling as he watched you. Beneath the pale glow of your eyes there was something so familiar. He smiled again.

“Hiya love,” the words were so soft they made you feel warm.

“Hi.”

You raised your arms, the markings and symbols on your skin catching in the dim light. Your hands circled Steven's wrists gently. He pulled back and for a terrifying moment you thought he'd gone completely; deciding that he'd had enough, that you were too much like this and he was drawing the boundary line here.

Instead, he dropped the blood-stained flannel in the sink basin and held his hand back against yours, palms pressed together. It was an adorable comparison. The tips of his fingers barely brushed the top of your palm, in fact, you were certain you could close your hand over the entirety of his own. There was a moment shared in comfortable silence then Steven asked, “Y/N, what is going on?”

The question was gentle and filled with wonder. There was still a trace of a smile on his lips. It made you feel like you could finally tell him.

“Avatar stuff. I suppose my god is a little more... flamboyant than yours.”

Steven laughed and the sound comes as a relief. “Khonshu didn't want to give me the time of day, let alone a– a bloody godly alter ego.”

A beat of silence.

“Did it hurt?”

It was heartwarming that that was his next question.

“A little,” you answered somewhat honestly. “But I'm alright now.”

He finished cleaning you up in a peaceful silence. He took the time to wash the blood from your hair as best he could and plaster your injured hand, (for the emotional boost more than anything.) It took several plasters to cover the expanse of the wound, each overlapping so the supportive catchphrase now read 'good good job good.'

He sat in front of you now, having spent the last few minutes tracing the spirals and patterns on your arm. His earlier fear had completely given way to wonder; it wasn't easy to forget that the man was a mythology nerd through and through.

A boyish laugh crept past his lips. “I wonder how Marc and Jake will react.” He looked up at you to gouge a reaction and his smile fell slightly. “Oh.”

“Steven–” you scratched the back of your neck. This was going to be a bitch to explain. “-Jake only knows because... well–” you made a vague motion with your hands that the four of you had come to recognize meant 'Jake.'

Steven nodded in understanding.

“And Marc just sort of found out by accident.”

Steven nodded again and you could visibly see the process going on behind his eyes.

“And um– why didn't any of you tell me?” His voice adopted a higher pitch at the end of the question, likely in an attempt to take the edge off.

You took a sudden interest in the floorboards. “I didn't want to– you know.”

It was quiet for a moment. Then Steven gasped.

“Oh, oh love, you didn't think... you didn't think I'd be scared did you?”

A quick exhale of amusement from you. “You seemed fairly scared.”

“I- well yeah, yeah.” He conceded. “But not of you. Never of you.” His hands found yours again, the staggering difference in size almost humorous. “I just wish you could have felt like you could have told me, that's all.”

A warmth settled in the centre of your chest and you felt the corner of your eyes dampen. Any attempt of yours to not cry was immediately foiled as he inched closer and put his arms around your neck. His knees buckled against your crossed legs and he sank against your chest.

“For what it's worth,” you smiled against the crown of his head. “I think your reaction probably ranks highest out of the three.”

“Yeah?” He asked lightly. His curls tickled the end of your nose.

“Yeah. Jake used some pretty colourful language, most of it was in Spanish. And Marc pulled a gun on me–”

“He pulled a gun on you–?!” With the exclamation, Steven shot back to look at you.

“Like I said, you take first place.”

“Well, the bar wasn't set awfully bloody high was it?” He glared at his reflection in the kettle and you smirked, closing your arms around him and caging him to your chest. There was something so soothing, so primally comforting about being able to hold him, hold all of him, like this.

You nuzzled against his chocolate curls and to anyone on the outside looking in the action would have looked downright primal. Animalistic. But it couldn't have felt more intimate.

“I could get used to this, I think.” Steven's words were barely above a breath. “You're just a big teddy bear, really. More of you to love.”

His hands slowly and deliberately retraced your shoulder, then your neck, down the expanse of your chest... “What do the patterns mean?”

“Some of the symbols stand for attributes or characteristics; strength, courage, loyalty,” you regarded your arm, from your bicep down to your wrist. “Some of them are his symbols, some he added when I agreed to be his avatar and others, I've never really taken the time to find out–”

Steven hummed, not in a dismissive sense, rather in a way that showed he'd listened to each word like the gospel.

“I've got a book on ruins and ancient symbols, only bought the thing for the hieroglyphics really but maybe we could have a look? Do some homework?” A playful nudge accompanied the last question and you caved. As if you stood much of a chance to begin with.

That's how you ended up laying on the bed, (well, mostly on the bed. Your back was against the headboard and your legs still hung over the edge. Steven straddled your middle, an open book and notepad to his right, a highlighter between his teeth and a marker in his hand. His glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and his brows furrowed as he traced his thumb over a symbol just beneath your collarbone.

You shivered despite yourself.

He'd mapped everything out, using the marker to gently draw on your skin, making connections and jotting down notes. It was like watching a scholar at work and you were honoured to be his study.

“Sorry about the bathroom,” you said rather out of the blue.

Steven glanced up at you, rebellious curls falling against his brow. His confusion melted into gentle amusement. “Don't worry about it, love. Needed redoing anyways, I reckon.”

Then, as if it were the most mundane thing in the world, he went back to his translations.

In a form that most could only phantom in the darkest corners of their imagination and with a god willing to bend the seas and skies at your will, Steven Grant somehow remained among both the most curious and most cherished things you had.

Key ➳

Cernnunos - Celtic god of wild things, fertility and animals

Manannan - (Manannan Mac Lir) Celtic god of the sea

Imbolc - the Celtic festival that marks the halfway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. It celebrates the return of life and light as it is the time when the ewes come into milk, when the first flowers appear and when the day noticeably lengthens.

Newgrange - famous 5,200 year old passage tomb in Co Meath, Ireland

‘fia beag’ - gaeilge for ‘little deer’

thank you for reading!

tag list: @bakerstreethound @yoditopascal @moonlighy @linkpk88 @spideysimpossiblegirl @noahspector @malaanii @ineedmorejakelockley @drmeowingfangirl @loonymagizoologist @othersideoftheparadise @doozywoozy @mywellspringoflife

#mary on a cross “you're beauty never ever scared me” vibes >>>#steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #moon knight imagine #steven grant imagine #steven grant x y/n #steven grant #moon knight #☘️#one day I'll stop making all my stories have irish themes #but not today

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 6 months

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Personal Time [3]

Marc Spector x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 9: Pegging

Summary: Marc (nervously) asks for a turn. Or: Steven asks for him.

A/N: So this is actually a part 3 to my series Personal Time, but you don't have to read that to read this. All you need to know is that Steven has a strap that the reader uses on him.

Warnings: anal fingering, anal sex, pegging, anal sex with a strap on, begging, Marc being a bit of a nervous sub, Marc not communicating very well, (there is one part where Marc is uncomfortable but doesn't voice it, however the reader notices), switching who is fronting due to feeling overwhelmed, typos, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 3255

As you walk into the bedroom Marc shifts uncomfortably, a little flush of panic running along his skin. He visibly jumps and tries to shove a box under the bed. But he didn’t quite get the angle right, negating the smooth slide-in he had been hoping for. He hits the box harshly with the palm of his hand. Still, it does not yield.

You stop in the doorway, just watching the scene play out for a moment before Marc looks up at you in trepidation.

There is a second where you mistake his wide eyes for Steven, as you are so used to that honesty of expression coming from him.

“I was…” Marc speaks quickly, the words blurring together and then just trails off as he tries to think of a reasonable excuse. Part of him thinks now would be a pretty good time just to tap out and let Steven or Jake front, but then his alters would see what he had been looking at and, and…

You recognise the box by his knees instantly. But can’t resist a little tease. “What you got there, Marc?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Just, erm, I was just looking for…” Why can’t he think of one fucking object? Any fucking object. “Socks?”

“Socks?”

“Yeah… socks.” He doesn’t even sound remotely believable to his own ears.

You nod, trying to hide your smile. “Socks. In a box? Under the bed? Not in the drawer?” You point to the aforementioned furniture. “Where you, Jake and Steven keep them?”

Marc’s mouth goes dry. “No… I had a pair and they, I dropped them under the bed so I was just… looking for them.”

“Socks to wear?”

“Yes.” He answers a little too quickly.

“What’s wrong with the ones on your feet?”

“They… I wanted to change them.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll help you look then.” You say, trying your best to sound serious.

Marc practically does a double take. “Help me?”

“Yeah,” you walk over and sit on the edge of the bed. “You said you’d dropped some socks? They’re not in your hands so you obviously haven’t found them yet.” You smile sickeningly sweetly. “Have you?”

The deer-caught-in-the-headlights look he gives you is almost too much to take.

You smile gently. “I know what’s in that box Marc.”

“I, er, do you?” He speaks a little too quickly. “I mean, of course, you do because…”

“Because me and Steven use it… which is why it’s clearly in Steven’s box.”

“You and Steven use it,” Marc repeats, though why he’s not sure. He is well aware of how the contents are used.

You nod.

“Does it, erm…” A light flush breaks out along the tips of his ears. He swallows, looking down at the floor before taking a deep breath and trying again. “What’s it like?”

That wasn’t the question you were expecting. “What’s it like?”

“Yeah.”

You pause for a moment, and can’t resist just teasing him a little longer. “Don’t you think you should be asking Steven that?” You raise an eyebrow at him as you lower your voice, leaning slightly closer.

Marc’s blush intensifies instantly. “I…”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Marc trip over his words quite so much in all the time you’ve known him, and you can’t help but find the situation undeniably endearing.

“He enjoys it.” You say, taking pity on him. “I do too.”

Marc swallows, an audible sound, and nods. “That’s good, I mean,” he screws up his eyes for a second. “I mean…”

“Marc Spector.” You tease and slowly slip down onto the floor next to him. Carefully you place your hands on his shoulders, giving him a second to move away if he wants to. When he doesn’t you inch forward and trail your lips over his neck. “Are you saying you want to try Steven’s little toy?”

He shudders under your embrace but gives you a little glare when he opens his eyes. “I wouldn’t call it little.”

You can’t help but laugh.

Marc doesn’t bring up the subject again for a few days, but he does tiptoe around it. Doing his very best to be subtle rather unsubtly.

Until, in the middle of dinner, when Steven bluntly blurts out: “Marc wants you to peg him.”

You almost choke on your food. Not at the suggestion, of course, just the offhand way Steven says it.

You raise your eyebrows at him and Steven smiles.

“He- bloody hell, mate,” he turns to his reflection and scowls. “Fuck off, you do. He wants you to peg him, he’s just too much of a scary cat to ask and-” Steven tuts and rolls his eyes at Marc dramatically. “You are.” Before turning back to you. “So he’d like- oi, fuck-”

Suddenly Steven’s blasé disposition dissolves into an almost frenzied panic as Marc fronts.

His eyes are a little wide, his breathing a little hard. His eyes flick to the side, obviously getting a bollocking from Steven.

“You want me to peg you?” You say calmly as if you had simply asked him to pass the pepper.

Marc takes a moment. “Erm, I, yes.”

“Okay.” You nod and carry on eating your dinner.

‘See?’ Steven says from the headspace. ‘I told you.’

Marc gives him a glare.

It was unsurprising that Marc was more reserved about the matter than Steven. He was used to doing what was asked of him, following orders, not asking for something for his own pleasure.

But you had managed to talk about it, or, to put it more correctly, gently coax out what exactly he wanted.

You kissed him softly on the bed, both of you naked except for the strap and harness. Marc had asked that you wear it from the get-go just so he could get used to it. (You gently reminded him that he could back out or stop anything he wasn’t comfortable with at any point, which just earned you a scowl and grumbled, ‘I know.’)

Slowly you trailed your hand down his chest to his stomach. You dug in a little at his side, purposefully hitting a ticklish spot.

Marc squirmed and snorted, quickly clamping his mouth shut to stop the giggles and gave you a look. You were sure his expression was meant to discourage you from trying the same thing again, but it had very much the opposite effect.

However, you gave him a sickly sweet smile, kissed his nose, and didn’t try to tickle him again.

You continued to trail your hand downwards and slowly took his length in your hand, hard and waiting for you. You pumped him up and down a few times and Marc closed his eyes, biting subtly at his bottom lip as he breathed in deeply.

Compared to Steven, Marc’s reactions to anything pleasurable were stoic, and compared to Jake, Marc looked practically dead.

You opened the lube bottle with your other hand, giving yourself a little silent moment of triumph as you flicked the cap open with your thumb on the first try. Marc opens his eyes as you let go of him and you pour a generous helping onto your hand.

“Just gonna prep you okay?”

Marc shifts and nods. He doesn’t so much as avoid your gaze but try to look around it.

“Marc, baby, we don’t have to do this if-”

“Please,” he mumbles, a little dusting of pink on his cheeks. “I want to.”

“Okay.” You kiss his cheek and he moves his legs apart, bending his legs so that his feet are flat on the mattress.

He doesn’t look at you, preferring to lay his cheek against the pillow and stare at the kitchen. You think about talking him through it, telling him to relax, and because of Steven’s (and yours and Steven’s) explorations the sensation wouldn’t be as alien to the body as it would be if this was the first time. But you get the feeling that your words would be unwelcome at the moment.

Instead, you carefully watch his face for any sign of discomfort as you press lightly at his entrance. Despite Marc’s promise to stop you if something hurt, you’re not completely sure if he would. At least, not at first.

He jumps a little at the sensation of your finger.

“You okay?”

“Hmm.” He continues to stare to the side, biting his lip ever so slightly.

You decide not to chastise him, or ask for his attention, knowing this is the way he settles into new situations.

Carefully you slide your forefinger inside and Marc jumps again, the tight ring of muscle clamping down on you. He bites his lips together tighter. You pause, barely halfway in.

“Marc-”

“Please don’t stop.” He mumbles, the flush deepening on his skin. He blinks rapidly and you do as he asks, slipping in to the last knuckle and angling to stroke his prostate.

He gasps loudly the second you touch it, his hips jerking upwards and dick twitching against his stomach.

His eyes close and he grasps at you, squeezing your free hand. You give him barely a second before you move, deep and slow as you press against the nerve in a way that Steven has told you feels wonderful.

This time he groans, deep within his chest as he bucks up against you, moving up so that he can grind back down onto your finger. Quickly you add another and press deep, stretching and curling to stroke and circle in a pattern that brings him close to madness.

“Oh shit.” He mutters, gasping and moaning.

You watch him for a moment, letting him rock and buck mindlessly as he chases the pleasure. Every muscle tense as he writhes under your touch.

“Nice?”

“Hmmm, yeah,” he breathes, his eyes still shut tight.

“Uh, uh, uh,” you let go of his hand and take hold of his jaw and chin, turning his face towards you and pressing on his plump bottom lip with the pad of your thumb.

To your surprise you don’t have to coax him any further, his eyes flutter open to look at you through his long lashes. He moans softly around your thumb, darting his tongue out and flicking over the tip before sucking it into his mouth.

He moans even louder as you add a third finger, tears of pleasure building in the corners of his eyes and he throws his head back.

You let your thumb slide out of his mouth, not wanting to hamper his ability to speak, but keep a gentle, but firm, hold on his jaw.

Sweat beads at his temples and you can’t help but get distracted by how beautiful he looks like this. Muscles tense as he bucks and squirms with every touch, embracing and chasing his own pleasure. More out of his own head than you’ve ever seen him.

His breathing hitches, as his soft, guttural whines grow louder and louder.

He bites his lip hard, threatening to break the skin with the amount of force he’s applying.

You gently massage your thumb over his bottom lip, coaxing him carefully, and he finally lets go with a sob. “That’s it, let me hear how much you like it.” You whisper and Marc groans loudly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

You press on his bundle of nerves fully, no longer teasing, pressing firmly with every stroke and touch and Marc shudders.

“Gonna cum.” He moans, rocking back with your movements.

You grin. “You can cum.”

He shakes his head rapidly, “No, I, no,” he opens his eyes, dark with lust and puts his hand on your forearm, you slow and then still your movements immediately. Despite how Marc still rocks against your fingers.

He takes a deep breath, “wanna- fuck- wanna cum on the strap, wanna feel it.” He goes to bite his lip nervously again, but you stroke him softly with your thumb as you pull your fingers out.

He whines at the loss, his hips trying to chase you even as you withdraw.

“Okay,” you soothe, “I’m just gonna lay down and-”

Marc shakes his head rapidly. “No, like this.” He blinks rapidly and then swallows, his voice surprisingly timid. “Please.”

When you’d talked about it before, you’d both planned that you would lay down on your back and Marc would straddle your thighs and take the strap. That way he would have total control over the pressure and pace and if he didn’t like something he could move away quickly. So, this sudden change took you a little by surprise.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded his head quickly, “Yes, I want you, want you to be on top. And…” he paused, his eyes frantically searching yours for something. Reassurance.

You kiss his lips softly, barely moving back a centimetre. “You want me to take care of you?”

He moaned softly and nodded. “Yes.” His voice barely audible.

You kiss him again, slow and deep, before you sit up on your knees and pour more lube over the strap.

Marc watches you with what you would have assumed was nervous interest as you spread the fluid over the length, but you notice the way his dick twitches against his stomach, leaving a shining trail of smeared precum over his skin.

You slow your movements a little, dragging it out a little longer than necessary and delight when Marc moans softly, his eyes fixed on your hand.

Languidly, as if you didn’t have Marc quickly becoming a quivering mess beneath you, you inched forward. The base of the strap in your hand as you guided in between his legs. He shifted a little, spreading wider and subconsciously giving you better access.

You push in carefully, watching his face for the smallest reactions, any hint of discomfort.

Marc swallows, sighing as the tip notches at his entrance and hesitantly puts his hands on your waist. Urging you inwards instead of pushing you away.

“Relax.” You mutter as you start to sink inside.

He wriggles under you, trying to do as you asked. The sensation is odd, unusual. But not unwelcome.

The pressure starts to feel a little uncomfortable after a few inches like he is stretched a little too wide. But he swallows again and grits his jaw.

You notice immediately and stop.

Straight away he looks up at you in surprise.

“Marc?”

“Hmm?”

You touch his face softly, stroking his cheek before leaning down and kissing him roughly. Your lips demanding and distracting. He kisses you back with equal vigour, letting out a surprised whimper when you take his cock in your hand and start to rub him from base to tip.

He groans, rocking his hips and sinking back into the sensation. His movements push the strap a little deeper with every buck. The tip just brushing against a spot that makes him see stars.

He swears into your mouth, moaning loudly and angling his hips underneath you, lifting them up a little to push the strap more firmly against that delicious part inside.

You get the hint.

You start thrusting steadily, and shallowly, not sinking the full way in. But just enough to nearly touch the part he wants you to. Your hand slows around his cock as you grind your hips.

Marc moans, breaking the kiss to nip at your neck and whimper. “Please, please, please,” his words tumble over each other as he holds you tightly, wraps his legs around your hips and squeezes, trying to urge you to go deeper, harder, to hit that pleasure that is just on the edge of his vision.

“Please, please,” you don’t think you’ve ever heard him beg this softly, or this desperately.

You push deeper and he sobs, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” his voice raises up at the end as you bottom out, not giving him a second before you slowly inch back out and then in again.

The words come pouring out of his mouth in half-formed sentences and breathless sobs as you start to fuck him in earnest, angling each thrust to hit perfectly inside.

His dick twitches again, his balls drawing up as he feels a massive wave start to build in his stomach.

“Oh fuck,” he hisses, “please,” he grabs your hips tighter, pulling you flush against him so that you can’t get any deeper. He rocks his hips against you, not letting you pull out as little huffs of air escape his lips.

“Like this?” You swirl your hips in a figure of eight and Marc practically screams.

“Yes, yes yes, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

You grind against him, the base of the strap rubbing perfectly against your clit as you pick up the pace.

He moans loudly, no longer caring about what sounds he makes, too lost in the building ecstasy to even begin to think of anything else.

A little roughly, you pull his left leg from around your waist and manoeuvre him so that the back of his thigh presses against your chest as you lean down.

Marc tenses, the new angle making him convulse in pleasure. “Oh fuck, baby, please!”

“That’s it,” you coo, feeling your own orgasm close as you keep rutting against him. “You gonna cum for me?”

“Yes!” He sobs, eyes screwed shut in bliss. “Baby, I’m gonna-” His own moan cuts himself off as the wave crests and swallows him whole. Every nerve in his body sings out in pleasure as he cums, electrifying up his spine as he shoots his load all over his stomach.

“Fuck.” You hiss as you keep rocking against him, keep hitting that same spot to draw out his pleasure as long as possible.

Marc moans, his back arching off the bed. Contant ‘I love yous’ falling from his lips.

Seeing him so lost in bliss is what finally pushes you over the edge. You cum hard, clenching your teeth together to quiet your moans only so that you don’t dampen the sound of his.

Finally, as you come back to yourself, you kiss his neck softly, running your lips over the spot just below his ear. Even though your limbs feel like jelly, you manage to keep yourself upright.

Marc holds onto you tightly, breathing hard.

You stroke his hair softly and give him a minute. However, when he stays quiet, a little knot of worry starts to twist in your chest.

“Marc?”

He blinks roughly, and it’s not Marc who looks back at you.

“Jake?”

He smiles. “Marc’s out for the count, sorry.”

The little knot quickly builds. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Jake soothes, running his hands up and down your arms and smiles. “Really good, just got a bit overwhelmed.”

Guilt cuts into your chest, but Jake continues before you get a chance to say anything.

“Hey, hey now.” He leans up and kisses your lips. “It's nothing you did, well…” he laughs. “You know what I mean. He just had a really, really good time.” He gives you a cheeky smile and you relax a little.

“He’s okay?”

“He’s better than okay.”

You smile weakly and nod.

“Seriously,” Jake cups your cheek in his hand, “he just got overwhelmed with positive emotion,” he looked at you for a second. “Makes a nice change. Really.”

Your smile strengthens a little.

“Though I have to admit, I am upset with you.” Jake pulls a face.

“What?”

He shifts his hips a little, pushing against your hips and the strap. “When is it my turn?”

____________________________________

Thank you for reading! (Using a different tag list for kinktober so I don't overwhelm anyone.)

@flightlessangelwings @steven-grants-world @lonelyisamyw-0love @eyelessfaces @angel-of-the-moons @campingwiththecharmings @minigirl87 @whatthefishh

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scarletttries · 9 months

Text

NSFW Headcanon Request: Steven Grant (Moon Knight)

Pairing: Steven Grant x F! Reader

Word Count: 1.8k (Explicit)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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