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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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emotionally-damaged-carrot · 2 years

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Requests are open.

I write for:

Peter parker (all 3 of em)

Moon knight ( prolly just steven and marc)

Adrian chase

Ikaris

Druig

Nick nelson and charlie spring (i guess, no smut tho)

Charles Leclerc

Daniel Ricciardo

Carlos Sainz

Max Verstappen

Lando Norris

Mick Schumacher

George Russell

Oscar Piastri

Logan Sargeant

Arthur Leclerc

Pierre Gasly

Alex Albon

Might take some time to write it tho, considering im not metally stable yet, and havent been for 3 years now, so please be patient.

(I am very specific with who I write for, for some reason.)

List will expand soon, as I watch more shows and stuff. I'm not sure about the fandoms, just request a character and I will try to write for them. Hope you enjoy my stuff :D

One more thing, I do not really feel comfortable with writing for trans people, sorry. I am exclusive to cis!male reader. (And prolly gender neutral reader in the future.)

(Usually only write for m!reader but i might try gender neutral)

(I write for bottom reader only.)

(I don't really feel comfy writing for top or dom reader.)

#x male reader #vigilante x male reader #adrian chase x male reader #ikaris x male reader #x reader #adrian chase x y/n #druig x male reader #eternals x male reader #ikaris x m!reader #vigilante x y/n #moon knight x male reader #steven grant x male reader #marc spector x male reader #x m! reader

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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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projectionistwrites · 11 months

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moonboys and a reader who maladaptive daydreams?

hi, nonnie! thank you for this request, you must’ve seen my blog description haha. this is my first fic request which is very exciting! my inbox is always open so if you’d like to request something, i’d appreciate it. :) anyway, i hope you like it!

IMPLODING THE MIRAGE

Moon Knight x afab!reader (primarily Marc Spector) (10.6k+)

You’ve been escaping into yourself more and more often, and the boys are starting to notice. How are you supposed to explain to them that you don’t want to live in the moment, when the version of your life inside your head is so much better than reality on the outside?

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+, mdni) WARNINGS: maladaptive daydreaming, insecure reader & negative perceptions of self, depictions of injury & violence, kidnapping, miscommunication, SMUT (inappropriate fantasizing, unprotected p in v sex, cum eating, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics if you squint)

imploding the mirage — the killers

i had to do it, i had no other choice you’ve got to listen to the inside voice a bullet train will get you there fast but it won’t guarantee a long last sometimes it takes a little bit of courage and doubt to push your boundaries out beyond your imagining

He was the moon, and she was the stars.

It was serendipitous, how the couple had come to fall in love throughout the course of their divine adventures alongside each other—two servants to a pair of primordial Egyptian deities, serving as Avatars to protect those who could not protect themselves. She’d met him at a meeting of the Ennead, when he’d been called upon to answer for his actions against a human named Arthur Harrow, who was accused of attempting to raise Ammit from eternal isolation.

The trial hadn’t gone well, and certainly hadn’t worked in his favor, but her goddess protector had a soft spot for Khonshu, the God of the Moon—after all, he was the reason she had been given five extra days with which to bear her five children.

So her Avatar was secretly assigned to keep watch over the Moon Knight, to aid in his fight to keep Ammit contained and offer her services should he need them.

He was resistant at first, but Khonshu insisted that having Nut as an ally could only serve to benefit them in their journey—after all, she was the sky, and without her, the Moon could not rise.

Marc Spector and his alters didn't anticipate becoming so infatuated with the soft curve of her Avatar’s smile or the cosmos she seemed to hold within her eyes. But as time passed, they grew closer, and when she saved him again and again, the navy blue of her armor shimmering with glowing silver emblems of stars, he felt as if his soul was tethered to her. It seemed to be fate, as clear as a constellation, that their lives were somehow intertwined and their happenstance meeting was actually the result of some unseen gravitational pull, guiding them through the darkness until they found solace in one another.

He heard her sandal-clad feet softly hit the solid ground, her body drifting down from the sky to land beside him after her short flight in the air. He turned to look at her—the flowing robes of her ceremonial armor billowed in the evening breeze, her hair pulled back intricately with thin glittering bands of silver, adorned with five-pointed stars that captured the moonlight in her curls. She was ethereal, heavenly, celestial, and when she turned and smiled at him, he swore the planets aligned in some brief moment of rapture.

“Where to next, Moon Boy?”

She teased lightly, her nose crinkling with amusement. His hands twitched at his sides, unable to control the movement of his arm as it reached for her hand.

He heard Khonshu chuckle deeply from somewhere behind him, condescending and slightly mocking. Still, he always spoke kinder about the woman beside him than any other being on this Earth.

“I should’ve known you would become enamored with the little star. Nut always finds a way to reunite the beings of the night sky.”

Marc ignored him—he was too enthralled by the way her breath hitched in her throat at the feeling of his fingers brushing her own, the hood and mask of his armor receding to reveal the tenderness of his gaze. He turned to face her, his other gloved hand reaching to cradle the side of her jaw. He watched as her gaze flickered down to his lips, and he smiled.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

He leaned forward to capture her lips with his own, swallowing her contented sigh as she melted into his touch—

“Jesus Christ!”

You nearly toppled forward when Marc abruptly yanked his arm away from you, his face contorted into a look of pain. You blinked once, then twice, eyes clearing to focus in on the blood staining your hands and the curved needle that was pinched tightly between your forefinger and thumb.

“The fuck was that? Are you even paying attention to what you’re doing?”

Marc hissed at you, cradling his injured forearm to his chest, gritting his teeth as your eyes widened in realization.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, Marc, I zoned out, here, just let me see—”

“Forget it, I’ll just do it myself.”

He snatched the suture from your hand and laid his arm back on the marbled countertop of your bathroom sink, giving you a clear view of the mistake you’d made—you’d laid the stitch nearly a full inch from where the edge of the gaping incision had started, sinking it into completely uninjured, healthy skin.

“Marc, stop, I’ll do it.”

You stopped him before he could hurt himself even more—he never had the patience to treat his wounds properly, but for ones that were this deep, it was smarter to close them by hand than wait several hours for his magical suit to heal it on its own.

He grunted in protest, but nonetheless allowed you to retrieve the needle from his hold and lean over his arm, tongue pinched between your teeth in concentration.

You were much more careful, this time, deliberate with each pull of the thread beneath his skin, finishing sewing shut the injury quickly. When you’d finally finished, you leaned forward to bite the end of the stitch and tear it away with your teeth. You reached for a piece of gauze, pouring a generous amount of saline solution onto the cloth in order to blot the excess blood from his skin.

You could feel his eyes on you the whole time, burning into your skull as if he was trying to read your mind. You sulked.

“I said I was sorry, Marc, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Your words were soft, and he could hear the guilt that was churning in your stomach. He didn’t flinch when you began dabbing at the drying blood around the wound.

“S’fine. But—what happened? It’s like—you just tapped out for a second, there. Did you even hear what I was saying to you?”

You frowned.

“No, I’m sorry. I just—got lost in thought.”

“Hell of a time for that to happen.”

He chuckled in an attempt to lighten the mood, but you didn’t laugh. Your eyes were still fixed on the skin of his arm, even though you’d successfully wiped away most of the remaining blood.

“I was just saying that—that I appreciate that you’re willing to do this for me.”

Your eyes darted to his face, surprised at the vulnerability he was displaying by expressing his gratitude.

“I mean—I never figured that when I’d stumbled onto your balcony all those months ago, beaten to all hell, that I’d meet someone who was willing to patch me up over and over again. Well—at least, before you stabbed me with a needle.”

Your eyes fell again, cheeks reddening at his jab. But he just laughed warmly, lifting his arm to rest his hand on your shoulder. Your bristled beneath his fingers, although his touch was nothing more than a friendly expression of appreciation.

“I’m just teasing you. But either way—just wanted to say thanks. Steven told me that I don’t say it enough, so...”

Now you laughed. It was more of a scoff, really, accompanied by the roll of your eyes as you reached for the knobs on the faucet, rinsing the blood from your fingers.

“Of course Steven made you.”

A lopsided grin found its way onto his face, and when you looked at him again, there was a twinkle in his eye. Your breath stuttered in your throat as you gazed at him—ebony curls spilling messily against his forehead, his lips quirked upwards at the corners, the fondness that was lingering beneath his brown irises. Was it possible? Could he really care about you the way you cared for him?

You turned away, standing and exiting the bathroom quickly before you could make a fool of yourself, face heating up at your own naïveté. Of course he didn’t feel that way about you. You were just—you. Only in the sanctuary of your imagination would he ever look at you and see anything beyond just a nurse playmate, or even maybe a friend.

You heard his heavy footsteps follow you back into your flat, where you wandered into the kitchen and retrieved a couple glasses.

“Do you mind if I—”

“Spare bed’s already made, I washed the sheets since last time you bled all over them and didn’t even tell me.”

You turned on the tap to fill the two cups with water. You were certain Marc hadn’t remembered to drink anything since his most recent escapade as a masked vigilante, and being around him always tended to make your mouth run dry.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You slid the glass of water across the countertop towards him, leaning back against the kitchen island to sip at your own. You watched him above the rim of your glass—the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he took a large swig of the cool liquid, the way a stray droplet of water dribbled down his chin when he pulled the glass back, the way his hand came to wipe it away, the plush of his bottom lip supple beneath the swipe of his fingers.

She fell back against the mattress, breath temporarily stolen from her lungs as she felt the heat of his lips hungrily mouthing at any exposed skin it could reach—her jawline, her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts. A soft whine fell from her mouth and Marc swiftly lifted himself back to her face to swallow the sound, tongue sinking into her mouth to taste her.

Her fingers clawed at the fabric of his t-shirt, twisting and yanking him impossibly closer, legs lifting to wrap around his waist to press the heat of her core against the growing tent in his pants. A low groan escaped his chest as he rutted against her, pulling back to take stock of the hazy fog of lust that clouded her eyes and the O-shape of her lips as she let out a shaky exhale.

“Fuck, Marc.”

She whispered, arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, fingers digging into his shoulderblades.

“Want you—need you so bad.”

“You’re doing it again.”

You blinked once, then twice, finding Marc's dark gaze staring straight at you as his voice pulled you back to reality. Your brows lifted in horror when you realized you’d shamelessly been ogling at him, too engrossed in your thoughts to notice how long you’d been standing there.

“Shit, I—sorry.”

You rubbed at your eyes with your fingers, hoping that maybe if you pressed hard enough, the image of Marc’s body hovering above you would erase itself from your mind. It didn’t work.

You heard the clank of his now-empty glass as he set it down on the granite countertop, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

You should be used to the rush of heat to your face by now—just being in Marc’s company caused you to blush uncontrollably, but still, the discomfort of your ruddy cheeks made your pulse quicken. Your gaze flickered down to your feet, eyes meeting the stupid fucking bunny slippers that you wore to accompany your fleece pajama bottoms. Fucking embarrassing.

“It’s nothing, Marc.”

You whispered quietly in response, although nausea was beginning to settle in the pit of your stomach. You were out of control—this man was driving you insane.

He studied you for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but when you didn’t look back up at him, he just sighed.

“Okay. I’ll just—leave you alone, then. Goodnight.”

There were tears pricking the back of your eyes. You wanted to ask him to stay, to come share your bed instead of the one in your guest room, to kiss his stupidly handsome face.

“Towels are folded in the bathroom for you, and there’s clothes in the wardrobe if you want to change.”

You said instead, turning to refill your glass of water in the sink behind you. If he heard you, he didn’t respond—you listened to his footsteps disappear down the hall before the door to the guest bedroom creaked shut with a quiet click. Your shoulders immediately slumped forward, eyes squeezed shut tightly in an effort to combat the desperate urge to break down.

Her eyes were full of detestation as she glared down at him, nostrils flared with rage. He wanted to shrink beneath her disapproval.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

The woman started, and in spite of her towering figure looking down at him, he couldn’t help but gawk at the way the moonlight framed her, her silhouette outlined by the subtle glow of the night sky behind her. She offered him a hand and he took it, allowing her to yank him to his feet without an ounce of gentleness.

“You’re lucky I was here, Lockley, or things would’ve ended differently.”

She hissed, dusting herself off as if to showcase the strenuous effort she had put into saving his ass. He scowled behind his mask, the blood from the wound on his forearm beginning to soak through the bandages of his suit, tingeing the cream-colored fabric a dark crimson.

“I don’t need your help, estrellita. I was handling it.”

She scoffed as he turned on his heel to stomp away, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

“Yeah, sure looked like you were handling it—why didn’t you call me? Nut had to drag me out of bed so you didn’t get yourself killed. Didn’t the old bird tell you we were together on this?”

He scowled, eyes narrowed in contempt.

“Yeah, he did, and I said no. We are not partners. We’re hardly even friends.”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, the way her face fell and her brows creased causing a pang of guilt to stab through his already-sore chest. He sighed.

“Estrellita, I didn’t mean—”

“Why do you push me away?”

She interrupted, and Jake was taken aback by the question.

“What do you mean?”

“You need me, Jake. We need each other. I’m just—I just want to help you, why won’t you let me help you?”

He didn’t respond, just stared at her as her eyes flooded with tears. At his silence, she shook her head, turning away to stare up into the star-filled sky.

“We’re supposed to be a team, Moon Knight. The stars and the moon—you can’t have one without the other.”

He could see the reflection of the crescent-shaped moon in her glassy eyes, the soft glow painting her face with silvery beams of light.

You’d left the balcony door wide open—your routine was fairly habitual, now. A mug of warm tea was cradled in your fingers as you curled up in the wicker chair, eyes flitting across the scattered stars that were visible from your tiny apartment complex.

You watched him sit down beside you in your periphery, the movement to your left pulling you from your reverie. He reached for the glass of bourbon you'd set out on the table in front of him.

You sat in silence for awhile, finding comfort in the man’s quiet presence. You liked that about Jake—you never felt like you had to fill the air with meaningless conversation. He was perfectly content to just enjoy your company, the same as you enjoyed his.

You heard the ice in his glass clink against the side as he took a sip.

“Are you going to tell them?”

Neither of you looked at each other when he spoke—the question was spoken out into the world, not really directed towards you, although you knew what he meant.

Jake was too fucking perceptive for his own good. Even when he was silent, he was always there, watching, listening, observing—even if the other alters were oblivious to the yearning that was thinly veiled within your eyes, he certainly wasn’t. You sighed.

“No.”

He hummed in acknowledgement, but something about his lack of verbal response bothered you, itching at the back of your brain. You turned to scowl at him.

“What?”

Jake hardly spared you a glance, barely quirking a brow at your emotionally-charged reaction as he shook his head.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

You glared, fingers anxiously tapping at the rim of your mug. The contours of Jake’s face were sharp in the dim light of the moon, features accentuated by the shadows. He finally turned to look at you.

“You know what I think, nena. You’re only hurting yourself. And your constant...daydreaming. It’s not as subtle as it once was. You—You should talk to them. Or me.”

The last bit of his proposal caught you off guard. His eyes had already drifted elsewhere when he said it, staring into his half-empty glass of liquor, but your brows lifted in surprise.

“I—you?”

He glowered playfully.

“Don’t sound so surprised, nena. I always listen to you.”

That was true. Some of your fondest memories with Jake were of late nights spent out on your balcony, getting drunk on cheap wine and sharing stories.

“Yeah, you’re good at listening, but not so much the talking part.”

Jake shrugged, although he nodded in understanding. He was all too aware of his own weaknesses.

You took a sip of your chamomile tea, letting its warmth combat the chill of the evening air.

“Why won’t you tell me?”

You asked quietly, and even without elaborating, Jake knew what you were referring to. He sighed, tossing back the last of his bourbon before setting it on the small table between you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“I’ve told you before. It’s not my place. I know what they think, but not what they feel.”

You huffed quietly, although deep down, you knew he was right. It wasn’t his place to share how Marc or Steven felt about you. You sort of admired the way he was so strict in his moral obligations—especially considering the lengths you were willing to go in order to change his mind.

Jake stiffened when he felt your hand rest on his bicep, fingers wrapping around it and squeezing lightly.

“But what about how you feel?”

His jaw rippled, and you felt the muscle beneath your fingers tense at your coy words. You could feel the restraint within him as he sat up abruptly, pulling away so his arm fell from your grasp. He still didn’t look at you.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, nena. Not until you talk to Marc. He—you were his first. I’m not going jeopardize your relationship with him until he knows the truth.”

Anger flared within you.

“I’m not his. I don’t belong to anyone. My choices are my own.”

Jake flinched, eyes softening as they flickered over to you.

“You’re right, I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it like that. I just—you have to understand. He—I can’t go behind his back like this. Yo no sería capaz de vivir conmigo mismo.”

“But you can’t even tell me if he feels the same way?”

You asked, and he could hear the pain in your voice as your tone wavered slightly. You’d had this conversation many times before, but things had been escalating recently—perhaps because it was getting increasingly difficult for you to be content in the reality you lived in.

Jake’s eyes were full of sympathy as he regarded you.

“No, nena. I’m sorry.”

You turned away.

“But you need to tell him. And Steven, too. They deserve to know. And so do you.”

You heard his weight shift as he stood to head back to bed, having spent too much time keeping the body awake—he didn’t want his alters to grow suspicious at the exhaustion when they woke in the morning.

“What if he breaks my heart?”

He paused in the threshold on the doorway, glancing back at you when he heard the thickness in your throat as your eyes welled with tears.

“What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”

Jake pursed his lips, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he pondered his response. Finally, he released a long sigh.

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, nena. He’d be crazy not to.”

The smell of cinnamon wafted down the hallway as Steven rose from his slumber. There was a gentle melody floating in the air as he pulled himself from the bed, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his bare feet padding along the tiled floor towards the source of the noise.

She was singing quietly to herself, back towards him as she chopped the fresh strawberries into fourths. He couldn’t help but smile at the domesticity of it all—the woman he loved, that he fought beside, making breakfast for them to share. His heart felt whole.

He sidled up behind her, arms wrapping around her waist and his body pressing flush against her back. He placed a kiss to the exposed skin of her neck, her hair pulled up in a sloppy updo.

“G’mornin’, darling.”

He hummed sleepily, and he felt her chest rumble with an airy giggle as she leaned into his touch.

“Hi, handsome. Sleep okay?”

He reached over her shoulder to steal a strawberry from the cutting board, taking a bite of the succulent fruit before offering the other half to her by pressing it to her lips. She smiled and happily accepted his offering.

“Would’ve slept even better if I’d woken up to your face beside me.”

She threw her head back, leaning against his chest as she laughed brightly—his favorite sound.

“Oh, boohoo. Sorry for getting up early to make you breakfast.”

She teased, and Steven pressed his face into her hair, the smell of her coconut shampoo enticing him. His arms reached to rest on the countertop to either side of her, successfully caging her in. He heard her breath hitch as the movement of the knife in her hand stalled, his body pressing up more firmly against her—enough so that she could feel the hardness of his manhood against the flesh of her ass.

“The strawberries are sweet, darling, but I’d rather have something even sweeter for breakfast this mornin’, yeah?”

“G’mornin’, darling.”

The knife fumbled in your grasp and the blade slipped across your fingers, slicing a divot in the tender flesh between your thumb and forefinger.

“Steven! Shit!”

You immediately dropped the knife and rushed towards the sink, rinsing your wound under the cold water to inspect the damage and dilute the blood.

“Oh, Gods, m’so sorry, love—are you alright?”

You could feel his body creeping up behind you, an arm reaching around to grab yours in an attempt to investigate the source of your discomfort. The warmth of his presence against your back startled you, a fierce blush rising to your cheeks as you reached for a towel and sidestepped, trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“It’s—I’m fine. It’s just a tiny cut, it’s no big deal.”

You brushed it off, although your palm was beginning to throb. You pulled the washcloth away from the afflicted area, finding it soaked with a generous amount of your blood.

“Looks like it hurts. Can I—may I help you with it?”

There was trepidation in his big brown eyes, obviously put off by the hastiness with which you’d pulled away from him. You surrendered yourself, offering a sigh and a slow nod.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

You found yourself in a similar position to the previous night, although this time, the roles were reversed—and your wound was from an unfortunate kitchen incident, not a scuffle with a group of evil antique smugglers.

Steven’s bottom lip was pulled between his teeth as he secured a piece of gauze on the injury with medical tape, winding it around your palm so it fit snugly against the area. His hands were nimble and his touch was painfully gentle, the pads of his fingers just barely skimming over your skin in an effort to prevent you from more discomfort. A chill crept up your spine at the close proximity.

He looked rather satisfied with himself when he’d finished, shoving the medical supplies back into the bin beneath your sink that you had specially packed for him.

“There we are—good as new.”

He smiled cheerily at you, and it was so contagious that you couldn’t help but grin back at him. Your mind briefly darted back to your conversation with Jake the night before; then the unholy thoughts you’d been having this morning when Steven had snuck up on you. Gods, you really were getting out of control...

Steven led you from the bathroom and you returned to your post, rinsing the knife and the sliced strawberries to ensure they weren’t contaminated. You stepped over to the stove to check the steel-cut oatmeal that had been simmering—Steven’s favorite. You gave it a few good stirs before deciding that it was finished, filling up two bowls with generous servings and sprinkling the top with strawberries, brown sugar, and a pinch of cinnamon. Steven was already seated at you breakfast bar when you turned to offer him his meal.

“Bon apétit.”

You flourished playfully, passing the bowl in front of him as you seated yourself on the stool across the way. His eyes crinkled with appreciation when he smiled.

“Oh, it smells bloody lovely. Thank you, darling.”

He always called you that, you rationalized. It was nothing more than a term of endearment—a friendly pet name.

You ate in silence for awhile, save for the sound of silverware clinking against porcelain and the birds chirping from your open window. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him as he slipped a strawberry past his lips, something reminiscent of a moan escaping him as he savored the flavor of the fruit. Your face flushed bright red.

“Yes, darling—just like that, please.”

He was whimpering beneath her, pupils blown wide as he gazed up at her from where she straddled him, sliding her naked and exposed core over his boxer-clad erection.

“You wanna be inside me, Steven?”

She cooed, leaning forward to kiss along his stubbled jawline, and he moaned wantonly, hips rutting up against her.

“Gods, yes, love, please, I can’t—”

“S’there somethin’ on my face?”

Panic flooded you at the bewildered expression on Steven’s face, his hand coming up to wipe at his mouth in case you'd been gawking at some remnants of food on the corners of his lips.

You shook your head, eyes wide and cheeks already turning pink.

“I—No, no, there’s not, I—sorry. I was just—just thinking.”

He gave you a brief scrutinizing look before shrugging and diving back into the remainder of his oatmeal.

“What were you thinkin’ about?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Oh, it’s—nothing, really. Sometimes I just—space out, I guess.”

You offered sheepishly, toying with the last few bites of your food with your spoon—your appetite was suddenly gone.

“You seem to do that a lot, yeah? S’everything alright?”

“Yes.”

You answered him a bit too quickly, hastily jumping to end the conversation before it even began. His brows furrowed, watching as you quickly grabbed both bowls to busy yourself with cleaning up.

He wasn’t quite satisfied with your answer—in fact, it only served to startle him more. He watched you carefully as you began to viciously scrub at the blue porcelain bowls with a sponge.

“Are you...sure? I’m just—you’re worryin’ me a bit, yeah? And with last night, with Marc—if somethin’s the matter, you know you can always talk to us, ‘lright?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to take in a slow, careful breath in an effort to soothe your frazzled nerves.

“Yeah, I know, Steven—thank you. But—but everything’s just fine, really.”

She’s lying.

Steven was surprised to hear Jake’s voice echo from the back of the headspace—it wasn’t often that he offered internal commentary to any conversations outside of when he was fronting.

And how do you know that?

Marc quipped back in his mind—Steven hated when they argued in the headspace, especially when he was the one in control of the body. His brain felt too full and it was easy for him to get overstimulated.

What—you think she’s telling the truth, jefe?

Marc didn’t respond, and Steven was silently grateful that their quarrel had ended quickly. Still, he knew his alters were correct—you definitely weren’t ‘just fine.’

But the last thing he wanted to do was push you away, especially since it already felt like you were putting up a wall between you, keeping him at arm’s length.

He let out a long sigh, standing up from the bar to get ready to depart for his shift at the museum.

“Well, thank you for brekky, love, and for—everything else.”

You startled when you turned, finding him standing directly behind you, pulling you into his warm embrace without any due warning. God, why was he so fucking sweet? Guilt gnawed away are your insides—Jake was right. He really did deserve to know the truth, why you were spending more time living in your fantasyland than grounded in reality—but surely it’d scare him off. Marc, too.

Perhaps it was just better to keep imagining what it would be like to be loved by them—at least without being outright rejected, there would always be that small sliver of hope gleaming in the back of your mind, that tiny semblance of ‘what if’ that you let linger.

You melted into his arms, face pressed into his shoulder.

“Anytime, Steven, really. It’s my pleasure.”

There was always a smile on her face when they departed—even if their time away from each other was difficult, she knew she could look forward to the next time they'd see each other. The way his big brown eyes would light up with elation when he saw her, like an overexcited puppy reuniting with its owner.

The grin remained on her face, still, after he’d kissed her goodbye and they parted ways. She hummed softly to herself as she journeyed down the hallway to remake the bed and tidy up the room.

He never did remember to tuck in the blankets. She laughed quietly to herself and she entered the room, filled with the distinctive cypress scent of him. She reached to fluff the pillows—

Oh. That shouldn’t be there, should it?

Your fingers wrapped around the small white trinket, strung along on a leather braided band. You lifted it up to your face to inspect it more closely—it was an pendant carved from ivory, shaped like a cross with a loop at the top. An ankh—the key of life—you recalled, as Steven had once taught you. There was a certain texture that ran along the sides, and only when you brought the object right up to your nose were you able to see that there was a teeny tiny pattern etched into the surface. Hieroglyphics.

Shit, you realized. This looked like something that would be in the museum Steven worked at—although it looked a bit too high quality to be sold in the gift shop. Nonetheless, you realized that it must’ve slipped from his pocket while he was getting dressed. What if it was important?

You wandered back to the kitchen and tried calling his cell, once, then twice, without receiving an answer. He was probably already being berated by Donna—oh, well. The museum was on your way to work anyhow, just one bus stop before the café that you worked at. You could swing by and give it to him before your shift.

You glanced down at your phone to shoot him a quick text.

hey, you forgot something here i’ll drop it off for you in a bit x

It was only when you were strolling down the street with the pendant strung around your neck that a thrill of excitement ran up your spine.

What if this was from his latest mission?

It wasn’t something you’d considered before, but now that you thought about it, it seemed like the likeliest explanation. The boys didn’t tell you much about their escapades as the masked lunar vigilante, save for the vague explanations about the injuries they asked you to patch up—but you knew enough to be two-and-two together. This must be the ancient artifact he had been sent to retrieve on Khonshu’s behalf the previous night.

You suppressed a smile by sucking your bottom lip between your teeth, filled with giddiness. You were actually helping.

“Where is it?”

A venomous voice seethed, peering down at the crumpled form of the man at his feet. Marc was hunched over, arms chained behind his back, blood from his abdomen beginning to soak through the white fabric of his suit. His mouth tasted like copper, teeth coated in the sticky red substance as a gruff hand came to harshly grip his jaw, forcing his eyes upward. He sneered.

“I told you. I don’t know.”

Another punch collided with his face, this time connecting with the bridge of his nose and sending him careening backwards, landing against the concrete with a grunt.

“You’re full of shit. We know it was you at the burial site, Spector. We have eyewitnesses. You’re the only person in the world who could have possibly taken it.”

To the man's utter surprise, Marc Spector began to laugh. It was a wet sound, his mask receding so he could spit out a wad of crimson-tinted bile as he chuckled wolfishly, his lips curling up into a snarl. The perpetrator felt fear shoot through him at the look on his face.

“You’re wrong, actually. See, I was there.”

He clarified, eyes glinting dangerously. His attacker stumbled backwards as a harsh silver light blinded him briefly, and when his vision cleared, the Moon Knight had risen to his feet, freed from his shackles.

“I just wasn’t alone.”

The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he slowly turned around, met face to face with intense glare of a woman, her eyes still glowing with residual power. She tilted her head at him condescendingly, before lifting her right hand—the white ankh charm was dangling from her fingertips as she smiled coyly up at him.

“Looking for this?”

She cooed, smirking innocently, and before the man could even blink, she had pounced, wrestling him to the floor and pressing his face down against the cold flooring, cheek smushed against the pavement. She straddled his back, using her weight to hold him still while her fingers made a curling motion in the air—a rope of pure silvery light materialized with the sweep of her hand, binding the man’s hands behind his back with tendrils of starlight.

Her partner was dealing with the other two lackeys, one already laid out on the ground and the other lifted in the air by his neck, one of Marc’s gloved hands raising him up with his fingers pressing beneath his jaw.

When he stopped resisting, Marc let his body collapse to the floor in a heap before he turned back to face the woman, whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths. Even after a fight, she somehow appeared graceful and collected—she reached upward and pulled a stray hair from her eyes, tucking it back into it’s place beneath her star-laden headdress. Their eyes met briefly.

“Thanks.”

Marc swallowed, his head bowed low in embarrassment. He waited for the jab to come—‘I told you so.’ He deserved it, really. It was stupid to come in alone.

Instead, he was startled when she approached him softly, her eyes glittering as she lifted her hand to gently brush over his cheekbone, her smile gentle and kind.

“I’ll always have your back. You know that, right?”

He looked away, ridden with guilt and remorse, but she urged his eyes back to her with the nudge of her fingers.

“Marc. I mean it.”

He felt tears stinging the back of his eyes as he sniffed, trying to play off his emotions with fabricated nonchalance.

“Yeah, I know.”

She nodded once, withdrawing her hand from his face before lifting the ancient artifact up to his face, waving it for emphasis.

“We should probably get this to the old bird, then, huh?”

Her head snapped to the side at the gust of wind that abruptly passed them, her eyes trailing up the heavenly form of the aforementioned deity, the slope of his ivory beak towering above her. She swallowed—she’d never actually seen him before, only heard of him in passing from his Avatar. Khonshu.

Time seemed to freeze, briefly, as her breath slowly made its way back to her lungs. The skeletal bird tilted his domineering skull downward, staring her down with intensity.

“Wake up, little star.”

Her brows furrowed, her jaw dropping to reply, but he interrupted.

“You are not a part of this. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

Her head started to swim, the image in front of her turning hazy as her vision began to blur. She blinked profusely. This isn’t a part of the script, this isn’t supposed to happen—

“Wake up!”

With a jolt, you were pulled from your daydream—just in time for a hand to slip over your mouth to muffle your scream before everything went dark.

When your eyes blinked open, heavy with exhaustion, you were staring up at the white ceiling of your bedroom. You made a move to sit up, but the movement caused a throbbing pain to bloom in the back of your skull, forcing you back down against the pillows as a groan of discomfort fell from your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to regain your bearings, when a set of heavy footsteps grabbed your attention from the hallway.

He faltered in the doorway when he made eye contact with you, his dark brows furrowed heavily with concern, dark purple bags settled beneath his lower lashes. When his initial shock wore off, his jaw set as he approached you slowly, a glass of tap water clutched in his left hand. He perched carefully on the edge of the bed, mindful not the nudge you.

“Marc?”

You croaked, your throat hoarse and dry, and he wordlessly reached forward, propping you further up onto the pillows before lifting the glass to your lips.

“Drink.”

He said sternly, pressing the rim to your mouth, and you obliged blindly, letting him tip the contents of the cup back into your mouth as you took slow, tentative sips. When he was satisfied with your water intake, he pulled the glass away and set it on the bedside table, the movement punctuated by a heavy sigh. Your eyes followed him carefully, brows knit together in confusion.

“I—what happened?”

You asked slowly, sitting yourself upward just a bit more. The pain in your head was lessening, although their was still a dull ache lingering at the back of your neck. You could see his jaw ripple again as he clenched his teeth, his body facing the door and his eyes focused on the wall across from him. You studied his profile carefully before he ran a tired hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes with his fingers.

“What do you remember?”

He prompted, and you hesitated, thinking back on the last thing you recalled. You remembered leaving for work, and finding the little white pendant you were planning on returning—and you remember getting lost in another fantasy before a hand clamped around your mouth and—

“Was I kidnapped?”

You asked incredulously, eyes blowing wide with realization as you recalled the sensation of a strong grasp around your face and neck before your fell unconscious. You watched his lip twitch with frustration.

“No. Well—yes. But you, I mean—what the fuck were you thinking?”

He finally turned to look at you, and when he did, you immediately wanted to shrink away and evaporate. His eyes were fiery, burning red hot with fury, the disapproving expression on his face striking something deep in your chest.

“What do you mean?”

You asked quietly, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes, and Marc stood up, running a hand through his unruly curls as he took in a deep breath, obviously attempting to maintain some semblance of composure.

“You almost got yourself killed—bringing that charm with you, parading it around like a trophy.”

“I didn’t know, Marc, I just—”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t let you get wrapped up in all of this—fuck, if I hadn’t been there...”

His back was towards you, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, his body heaving with heavy panting breaths. You felt small, like a child being reprimanded. You felt your eyes flood with tears.

“I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, don’t.”

His voice was firm and harsh as he snapped over his shoulder at you, glaring.

“You can’t help. You’re not a part of this.”

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, desperation clawing inside of you as you threw back the blankets, swinging your legs off the side of the mattress so you could approach him.

“But maybe I can, Marc, if you’d just give me a chance, if you’d let me—”

“Stop!”

He whipped around to face you, voice louder than you'd ever heard it before. He was yelling, towering over you as he snarled, fuming.

“Just stop. If you keep this up, you’re gonna get yourself and a lot of other people hurt. You’re not a fucking Avatar—”

“You don’t think I know that?”

Marc flinched when you matched his intensity, the tears falling down your cheeks a stark contrast from the sheer anger that dominated your expression.

“You don’t think I realize that? Or think about it every goddamn night when I have to sit here, alone, wondering if you’re gonna show up, or if you’re somewhere dead and I can’t do anything but wait.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, attempting to swallow your tears down as you broke down in front of the man, your internal conflict reaching a boiling point and spewing out of you without warning.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve wished I could be out there with you, doing something, helping, anything—how often I imagine what it would be like if I wasn’t fucking useless, if I was actually a part of—”

“What did you just say?”

Your eyes snapped open, and your anger faltered when you saw the look of pure horror on Marc’s face, his skin looking several shades paler than it had before. Your mind was reeling, trying to look back on what you said, what your mistake had been, but he quickly clarified for you.

“Did you just—are you saying you wish you were an Avatar?”

His body was rigid, his expression suddenly stony and impenetrable as he looked down at you, offering a barely perceptible shake of his head as he grimaced.

“How could you—how could you possibly want that? Why would you ever—”

You could see his eyes turn glassy as he turned away, his chest beginning to heave again as he ran both of his hands through his hair anxiously, his gaze suddenly appearing frenzied. His words were laced with something adjacent to betrayal.

“You have no idea what—what I wouldn’t give to go back to my life before all of this, to—to not carry this weight, to not—I fucking kill people, do you not understand that? I’m a monster, because my life is fucking controlled by a monster, and you wish you were like me? You wanna suffer like this?”

“At least we’d be suffering together.”

It was barely more than a whisper, your addition, but Marc caught it. You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore—you turned and sat back on the bed, folding your hands in your lap and staring down at your fingers as your heart finally poured out of your chest.

“I don’t know what else I could do, Marc. I don’t know any other way to get you to actually see me.”

“See you?”

He asked incredulously, face marred with confusion, and your lip quivered as you looked anywhere but at him, awaiting his rejection as you spoke.

“I just—all I’ve ever wanted was to be able to help you. To—for you to trust me, for you to—to care about me, and—and the only scenario I can actually imagine you wanting me is if I’m not myself, I’m a version of myself that’s actually strong and capable and—”

You stifled a sob, your face scrunching up as your arms wrapped around yourself in a protective stance, huddling inward as you cried.

“—I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I just—I want to be more than I am because—because I want to matter to you, Marc, but I know that won’t happen because I’m just—I’m just me.”

Marc fell silent. Your heart was hammering in your chest as you squeezed your bleary eyes shut, forcing yourself to take slow, deliberate inhales despite your desire to hyperventilate. You felt like the room was closing in on you, the walls shrinking and shrinking and you wished the space would swallow you whole.

“What have I done to ever make you think you don’t matter to me?”

His voice was soft and quiet, and when you blinked your tear-filled eyes open, he was staring at you, a look of genuine hurt on his chiseled features. You stuttered.

“I—what?”

“I—”

You watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed thickly.

“Why would you ever think that I don’t care about you? That you have to—to be someone else for that to happen?”

He sounded broken, his big brown eyes wide and imploring, and the sight made your chest feel tight. You pressed the butts of your palms into your eyes.

“I don’t know, Marc. You’re—you’re a fuckin’ superpowered badass who was chosen by an ancient Egyptian god to beat up monsters and go on these epic missions, and—and how can I even compete with that? I don’t even understand why you waste your time with me.”

“Why do you keep saying things like that?”

You startled when he took a few hulking steps towards you, his brows creasing in a look of frustration.

“If you’re so convinced that I’m some superior being to you—which I’m not—then rationalize that, for me. Why would I keep coming back if I didn’t care about you?”

Confusion flashed across your face as you contemplated his question.

“Because—because I patch you up when you get hurt, and I—and I take care of you. You only come here when you need something—”

“But that’s not true.”

He insisted, sounding exasperated with your obstinance.

“I have a magic suit of armor that heals me, I don’t even need you to stitch me back together—”

“But you told me—”

“Well, I lied.”

He snapped, his arms crossing over his chest, and you felt a foreign feeling flutter in the pit of your stomach as his hands came up to rub at his jaw—a nervous habit.

“It was an excuse, and honestly, not even a very convincing one. An excuse to see you.”

Your head was starting to pound again, a dull ache blooming behind your eyes as your mind continued to reel. It didn’t make any sense.

“But you—you never needed an excuse. I would’ve dropped everything for you, Marc—for all three of you.”

“I know.”

He nodded sadly, his face pained as he flinched at your words.

“And that’s what’s so bad about all of this. I shouldn’t have—you shouldn’t feel that way about me. I’m—it’s dangerous. I’ve been trying so hard to push you away because if something happens to you, if you get hurt—that’s on me. And I don’t know what I’d do with myself if—”

“I’m a big girl, Marc.”

You defended, and he seemed impressed with the conviction of your tone.

“You’ve never been anything but honest about the kind of life you live, the kind of things you do—if that scared me, you wouldn’t be standing here right now. I made that choice for myself.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, his lips parting to scold you or deny your claims, but there was resolve in his eyes. You watched as he slowly walked towards the bed, slumping into a seated position beside you, utterly defeated.

“I know.”

It was difficult for you to focus with the proximity of your bodies. He’d left a generous gap between the two of you, but his legs were spread wide as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and your legs were almost touching. It was unbearable.

“I always thought you were taking advantage of me.”

You spoke smally, a bit ashamed and hesitant to admit the truth, and you saw Marc’s shoulders tense before he hung his head low, a deep sigh coming from his chest.

“Yeah. Jake told me that you might be feeling that way.”

Your eyes darted to his face, taken completely by surprise.

“He—he did?”

Marc chuckled ruefully, scoffing a bit at his alter.

“And I never fuckin’ listened. Told me I needed to come clean—be honest about how I feel, or else I’ll just keep hurting you more—”

“I didn’t realize he’d actually tried to talk to you about it.”

Marc’s brows furrowed.

“Wait, are you—did you tell him that?”

You blushed, feeling somewhat guilty as you nodded. You weren’t proud of the fact that you’d been talking about Marc and Steven behind their backs to their other alter.

“Why did—why didn’t you just talk to me?”

Marc leaned towards you, trying to catch your gaze with his, but you quickly looked forward again, eyes focusing in on your shaky hands.

“I didn’t know if—I never had to question things with Jake. He’s never been shy about how he feels about me.”

“Jake’s never been shy about anything in his entire goddamn life.”

You actually giggled at that, Marc’s tone sour and somewhat envious, but a soft smile easily curled on his lips at the sound of your laughter. When your amusement faded slightly, your breath caught in your throat when you felt a warm hand fall atop your knee, thumb rubbing over the flesh gently. You stared at the place where his skin met yours, heat flushing your cheeks.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. If I would’ve known sooner—if he’d have told me—”

You shook your head quickly, dismissing his apology.

“No, don’t. I made him promise me he wouldn’t tell you. And—and the reason I didn’t say anything is, well—he would never tell me if you felt the same, so I didn’t—I just kind of assumed you didn’t.”

“I don’t understand why you think so little of yourself.”

His fingers gripped your knee a bit more firmly, the heat of his hand traveling upwards despite your attempts to stop it.

“You really think—thought the only way I’d want you is if you were an Avatar?”

You laughed wetly, swiping the last of your tears from beneath your eyes as you shook your head abashedly.

“When you say it out loud, it sounds so fucking stupid.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid.”

He corrected, and you froze when you felt his hand lift from your knee to reach towards your face, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear so he could see you more clearly. His fingers slipped beneath your jaw and gently coaxed your head to face him. You forgot how to breathe.

“It’s just not true.”

“Baby, I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Avatar or not.”

She let out a quiet gasp at his confession, face lighting up with delight as he surged forward and captured her lips with his own, whimpering against her mouth as his arms encircled her body. He guided her back towards the bed, laying her out beneath him, looking absolutely heavenly, truly ravishing, and the sight made him ravenous as he worshipped her, starting by dragging his tongue—

“Hey. Where’d you go?”

It was only a brief moment of wistfulness, your daydream, but Marc saw the way your eyes misted and filled with a faraway look. He let his fingers dance across the softness of your neck before reaching to cradle your jaw in his hand, fingers threading into the hair behind your left ear.

You blinked away your reverie, trying to ground yourself in the present regardless of how desperately you wanted to fantasize about how much you craved him, how much you just wished he wanted you—

“Sorry.”

You uttered, voice barely above a whisper, and you blinked up at him through your wet lashes, doe-eyed. Your shame quickly melted away into something entirely different when you saw the ghost of a smile flicker over his lips.

“What were you thinking about?”

Your breathing stuttered, and you opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off quickly, the timbre of his voice low and gravelly.

“You can tell me, sweetheart. Whatever it was, whatever you want—I’ll give it to you.”

It all became too much too quickly—the swirling heat of desire coiling lowly in your abdomen, the warmth of his exhales across your face, the roughness of his hands against the soft skin of your cheek, the almost taunting gleam in his dark eyes. His promise emboldened you, and without much thought, you surged forward and captured his lips in your own, whimpering against his mouth as your arms encircled his body.

He was quick to meet your pace, his free arm twisting to wrap around your lower back so he could pull you into his lap, one of your hands sinking into his brown curls and the other digging into his right shoulder. You heard him groan into your lips and you took the opportunity to sink your tongue into his mouth, deepening the kiss as you pressed your body flush against him, desperately seeking as much closeness as possible.

When his lips left yours and began to trail down your jaw and throat, you were pulled out of your stupor.

“Wait—wait.”

You whispered, fingers tugging at his curls so you could see his face. His brows furrowed in concern as he looked at you with worried eyes, his lips dewy and kiss-swollen.

“What’s wrong?”

He asked carefully, his voice gruff but still attentive, and you lifted both hands to cradle his face, thumbs sweeping over his cheekbones as you drank in his features, studying his face carefully.

“I just—”

You let out a shaky exhale, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his.

“I need to know that this is real. That you’re—that this is all real.”

He pulled away from you slightly, grinning somewhat wolfishly at you.

“This is real, baby—does it feel real?”

You nodded eagerly, your lips still tingling from the severity of his kisses, and he pulled you in for another one, his touch deliciously bruising.

When he pulled away again, you felt his fingers trace down your arm before he grabbed your hand in his. Your brows furrowed in confusion as he guided your grasp between your bodies, but your hips jolted when he pressed your hand into the hardness of his bulge in his jeans. You whimpered at the feeling, fingers curling around his length to squeeze him. His lashes fluttered.

“Yeah, baby—you feel what you do to me? That’s fuckin’ real.”

You felt yourself grow increasingly desperate at his words, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt and yanking it over his head with abandon. He seemed in tune with your own neediness because pretty soon, clothes were being ripped off and haphazardly tossed around the room, lips meeting newly-exposed skin at every opportunity.

You were laid out beneath him, his body slotted between your parted legs as he hovered over you, pumping his cock languidly as he gazed down at you with hooded eyes.

“I’ve pictured this, too, you know.”

You felt a small smile find your face.

“Really?”

He bit his lip, the pace of his hand jerking his length speeding up just slightly.

“Oh, fuck yeah, baby. You’re even more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

His sweet compliment was a stark contrast to the depravity of the current situation, but you could hear the sincerity in his words. You smiled up at him, reaching forward to take his cock in your grasp and line him up with your awaiting entrance.

“And you’re even bigger than I ever imagined.”

You purred, watching his eyes flash with pride as he leaned forward to brush the tip of his cock through your sopping folds, causing you to mewl unsurepetitiously.

“Please, Marc, shit—I can’t wait anymore, please.”

He grinned wickedly down at you, and before you could even take a breath, he was plunging into you with force, his cock sheathing itself fully within the softness of your cunt.

He choked above you, his arm slamming down on the mattress beside your head for support, his fist curling into the sheets.

“Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”

He breathed out, his expression almost pained with just how perfectly your walls were squeezing him.

The sudden intrusion was a startling sensation, but the burn of the stretch was quickly evolving into an addictive sting of pleasure.

“Oh, God, yes—move, Marc, please.”

You begged, brows furrowed deeply, and Marc quickly obliged, starting a rapid pace as he hammered into you, his hips snapping forward with jarring strength. The sound of slapping skin echoed within the room and only served to add to your arousal, the noises leaving your lips sinful and completely involuntary.

“Fuck yeah, baby—is this what you wanted? This what you’ve been daydreaming about, huh? My cock filling you up?”

You moaned wantonly, back arching at Marc’s words. His curls were falling across his forehead, dampened with sweat, and you reached up to grip his shoulders for support, fingernails digging into the carved muscle.

“Yes, fuck, yes—so good, Marc, so fucking good—”

He reached down and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, forcing his cock even deeper inside of you, the new angle earning a sharp cry. Your walls were fluttering around him.

“Yeah, you wanna cum, baby? You wanna cum on my cock?” He hand reached between your bodies to thumb at your clit, and the added stimulation sent you suddenly toppling over the edge into your orgasm, your eyes rolling back into your head as you let out a long, drawn-out moan.

“Yeah, attagirl—fuck yeah.”

Your walls were clamping down on him, pulsing rhythmically over the ridges of his cock, and he felt his release rapidly approaching.

“You want my cum, baby?”

You nodded frantically at him, eyes wild with desperation, and Marc groaned as his pace began to stutter.

“Where, baby? Where do you want it?”

You fingers sank further into the flesh of his shoulders.

“Mouth—want you to cum in my mouth.”

Your request alone was enough to send him hurtling over the edge.

“Oh, shit, gonna cum—”

He pulled out of you quickly, hand reaching down to fervidly fist at his cock as he crawled forward to straddle your stomach on his knees—you eagerly leaned forward just in time as his balls drew up tight, his cum shooting straight across your awaiting tongue as you opened your mouth wide for him.

“Oh, baby—fuuuuckkk—”

His hips thrusted into his fist with each pump of cum that escaped him, some shooting above your lip and dribbling down your chin. He grunted harshly as he tapped the tip of his cock over your tongue, coating the head in his release that had pooled within your mouth. You quickly closed your lips around him and suckled the tip into your mouth, swallowing all of his seed as you swirled your tongue around his length.

He let out a low groan before he finally reached forward to tug you off of him, collapsing onto the mattress beside you heavily.

You both caught your breath for a few moments, coming back down to Earth after your intense climaxes.

It was Marc who broke the silence first, a deep chuckle coming from his chest.

“If this is what you’re constantly daydreaming about, then fuck—you gotta tell me. I will make every goddamned one come true.”

Your laughter matched his own as he reached over to wrap an arm around you, pulling you towards the warmth of his body comfortingly. Your smile quickly faded as the heat of the moment made way for reality.

“Was this—I mean, this wasn’t just—just a one-time thing... right?”

Marc pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering along your hairline.

“No, baby. Besides—Jake and Steven haven’t even gotten their turns with you.”

His attempt at a joke fell flat.

“That’s not what I mean.”

You said quietly, and Marc sighed, letting his head rest atop yours as he held you close.

“Sorry. I know what you meant, but still, the answer’s no. Kinda hoping this is an all-the-time thing.”

Now, you laughed, and he swore it was his favorite sound in the entire world.

You had a brief conversation with Steven about your mutual feelings, later—although he was a stuttering mess, his smile was wide and eyes were bright with elation when he finally kissed you. He fell asleep holding you close to him, and you listened to his breathing slow as you began to doze off beside him.

Just when you were about to fall asleep, his arms around you squeezed tighter.

“Told you so.”

Jake’s voice taunted jokingly, and you lifted a fist to punch his shoulder at his teasing. He chuckled, and you tilted your head so you could see his face—he looked relaxed, truly at ease, and you practically melted into his touch.

“Yeah, I guess you did.”

You admitted defeat, and Jake gave you a cheeky lopsided grin before he leaned down and gave you a soft, chaste kiss that left you breathless.

You rested your head back against his chest, but he interrupted your peace yet again.

“Can I ask you somethin, nena?”

You nodded.

“You told Marc you imagined being an Avatar. ’m just curious—what kind of things do you think about?”

You felt your face flush with embarrassment, still feeling silly and insecure about admitting to your daydreaming habits, but Jake gently encouraged you enough until you relented, explaining how you’d always had an infatuation with the deity Nut and liked the poeticism of the pairing of the moon and the stars.

“And you called me estrellita.”

You informed shyly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, but you could hear the way his breath caught in his throat, his muscles tensing just slightly.

“Estrellita?”

He questioned, and you lifted your head to look at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, it—it means ‘little star.’”

You explained, and he shook his head.

“I know that, but I—hmm.”

His lips pursed, and you nudged him, his confusion worrying you.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before staring back up at the ceiling, his expression contemplative

“No, it’s nothing. It’s just—today, when Khonshu came to tell us that you were in trouble, he—he called you that. Little star.”

You bolted upright, the color quickly draining from your face.

“He fucking what?”

Jake shrugged uneasily, but you felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest, recalling the bizarre intrusion Khonshu had made in your fantasy today, interrupting your own train of thought. Was that—actually him?

Little did you know, Khonshu had been eavesdropping on your daily mental escapes for some time, entertained by both your active imagination and the elaborate stories you seemed to conjure up on a whim. As a matter of fact, both he and Nut found great amusement in your investment in the life of the Egyptian deities, and should something happen to the Goddess of the Sky’s current Avatar—she knew exactly where to find her next candidate.

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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 Part 3 (Moon Knight x Female Eternal!Reader)

Author's Note: Here is part 3 for you. 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. The story idea by @jupitersmoon167 (the original post I saw is here!)

Y/N = your name. Y/N/N = Your Nickname. Reader pronouns She/Her. Story is 3rd person POV. Italics are the reflected alter talking.

Tag Requests are Open just message me.

Tagged: @rosaren2498, @yuugenmomo

Primary Pairing: Steven Grant x Eternal!Reader, Marc Spector x Eternal!Reader, Khonshu x Ma'at!Reader (It'll make sense eventually)

Content Warning: Mental Illness

Word Count: 1k+

WIP Series Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Part 3: The Alter

Since the outing to the pub with Y/N’s friends, Steven had easily been accepted into the small group of pals. She had been right, he got along great with them. Which led to the pair spending more and more time together. Sprite would tease Y/N that they were practically a couple in all but name. Sersi would shush Sprite and tell her to be nice.

One night, Y/N says goodnight to the security team as she heads to meet Steven by the lobby doors. She smiles at him when she sees him, but she raises an eyebrow when she sees how nervous he looks.

“Are you alright?” She asks when she finally reaches him.

“Me? Yeah, I’m great,” Steven says.

She narrows her gaze at him. She can tell he’s lying by the beat of his heart. It wasn’t a malicious lie, so she didn’t push. “Okay.” She nods. “So I have to run home and feed Bas, then we can go to Dinner?” She wraps her arm around his hoping to calm whatever has him so on edge.

“Do not chicken out,” Marc said in the door's reflection. “The longer you drag this out the weirder it will be.”

“Yes,” he nods. “What about the dog?”

“Sprite took him out, she figured he needed some fun because I’m so very boring,” Y/N grins.

“You’re not boring,” Steven states.

“To Sprite everyone is, the dog is the only one that rivals her energy. The cat hates it.” She chuckles.

Sersi and Sprite are still out when she enters their home. She picks up Bas from where the cat had been brushing against Steven’s feet. “I’ll just be a minute,” Y/N says as she disappears into the kitchen.

“Do it now, so we don’t have to do it in public,” Marc says from the reflection on the coffee table.

“Are you crazy? That will ruin the evening,” Steven says in a harsh whisper at Marc’s image.

“We are crazy, look at us! You prefer to make a scene?” Marc counters.

“Fine, fine,” Steven relents. “We can do it now. Try not to scare her.”

“You sure you’re alright?” Y/N asks as she walks back into the living room. She’d heard his voice but he didn’t have his phone out.

“Yes, we’re fine,” Steven says.

“We? You got a mouse in your pocket?” She jokes.

“Not exactly,” Steven lets out a nervous laugh, “can we?” He gestures to the couch.

She narrows her gaze at him, to study his body language and focuses on his heartbeat. An old habit from the day of handing down judgments. No human can lie to her. They just can’t. It’s how the feather knows the truth. Arishem had seen to it. She shakes herself, takes a seat on the couch and waited for him to start talking.

“There is something I need to tell you,” Steven starts.

“You can tell me anything, you know that it wont leave this room,” she assures him.

“I’m me, but I’m also not me,” Steven says.

“Okay?” She looks at him in confusion. “What does that mean? Are you going to tell me you have a wife and kids somewhere and like a double life?” It’s a joke but she doesn’t miss the way his heart rate spikes.

“Ex-wife, no kids, and even that is not entirely-” He starts. She holds up her hand and takes a centering breath.

“Hold on, are you or aren’t you Steven Grant?” She asks, really honing in using her powers.

“I am.”

He seems honest. So she nods.

“And I’m not, let me explain.”

“The weird thing is you’re not lying. I can tell you aren’t. So please yes, explain.”

"Have you ever heard of dissociative identity disorder?" he anxiously asks.

"Like...like multiple personalities?" She asks for clarification. She didn't know what she was expecting but that was absolutely not it. Humans still managed to surprise her after 7,000 years.

"Yes, exactly that," Steven seems to relax slightly. "I really like you, and your friends are great but we didn't think it was fair to go much farther and not tell you."

"So when you say we, you mean you and another you," she says gesturing at him. "Both in there, in you." It wasn't the craziest thing she had heard. She knew literal gods that took over minds and bodies. She had felt fractured and broken minds and hearts be judged through the ages. She had felt their pain in a way. Part of her missed having Druig and Phastos there to help her understand these things. The human heart was easy for her to understand, the rest of it was harder.

"Yes, that is what we mean." He smiles at the fact she was clearly trying to understand. They appreciated the effort.

"Okay," she nods.

"You don't have to be afraid," Steven assures her.

"Way to not be ominous," Marc says but his tone becomes less sarcastic as he adds, “Doing just great, man.”

"I'm not.” She could feel how genuine he was trying to be. He was trying to show her who he really was, or rather how they are. She chuckled to herself. “Have I met him? Them?"

"Marc? No."

"Marc, just the one?"

"Yes." She hears his heart rate change.

"That's a lie isn't it," she sighed, he had been doing so well. "I won't think any less of you. Just don't lie to me."

"How does she-" Marc starts but Steven ignores him.

"There is but he only ever comes out in absolute life or death and we know nothing about him."

"Okay, that sounds terrifying but okay."

"How are you so calm?" Steven asks her.

"Because you have not met the rest of my family. Pretty sure one of them is a klepto, and another is in a cult." She knew that was an understatement, Makkari was easily bored due to her speed and loved collecting things. She’s just had several millenia worth of precious things. And Druig ran a cult, but that was a detail for another time. "Don’t get me wrong, I still love them. They are my family, but Sersi and Sprite are the more normal ones. Phastos too, but he lives in the states."

"Wow okay, so you aren't scared? Or angry?"

"No, can I meet him?" Her curiosity starting to get the better of her. She loved that she could still be so surprised, especially by Steven, and well Marc too she supposes.

"Fine," Steven agrees. She watches as his whole being seems to shift. Her powers pick up on how his body language, his mind, and his heart feel different.

"And you're Marc?" She asks, only somewhat skeptical.

"That's me, and I know it's weird but-"

"Okay, nice to meet you, Marc. We are going to have a chat about that wife thing but," She stands up and straightens her jacket. "But I'm going to need a drink and we have dinner plans in like 10 minutes? Don't care which one of you it is, but I lost half my lunch break to a kid nearly destroying a priceless vase, so we can talk about that over food, yes?"

Marc glances down at his reflection and Steven is clearly in shock. Marc shrugs. "Dinner works for me."

"Do you really have an American accent?" She asks as they head out the door.

"Well I am American, so yeah."

"Of course you are," she chuckles.

"You're really not freaked out by this?" He asks as she locks the door.

"Trust me, Marc, you are far from the strangest person I have ever encountered. Fractured psyche aside, just wait until you meet Kingo. He is something. And he will ask you more questions than Sprite and talk your ear off. But he is busy in Bollywood and I haven't seen him in ages." Another understatement but she wasn't even sure if she would see Kingo in Marc and Steven's lifetime. Not outside of one of his films at least. No need to overload him, them. Still weird to think about, but she'd adjust and balance as always. It was her nature.

"Huh," was all Marc replied.

"You were expecting a different reaction?" She asks as they exit the building and start down the street.

"Honestly? Yeah. Layla didn't believe me, and she had already met and thoroughly confused Steven."

"Let me guess, your wife?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Smooth," Steven says from a window.

"So about that…" she starts to ask.

"Drinks first, I am going to need lots of drinks," Marc admits.

"You and I both, pal. You and I both." She laughs, looping his arm through his as she does with Steven.

The wind kicked up as they walked. Y/N could have sworn she saw a familiar silhouette crouched on a roof across the street but it was gone when she looked back. She squeezed Marc's arm tighter. If they noticed the figure or her actions, neither Marc nor Steven mention it.

#moon knight x reader #marc spector x eternals!reader #marc spector x y/n #marc spector x female!reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x female!reader #steven grant x reader #Eternals!Reader #Female!Reader #Moon Knight Eternals crossover #To Cry for the Moon fic

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xbellaxcarolinax · 8 months

Note

Hi babessss congratulations again I’m here to request Marc Fuck-Me-Hair Spector + “do you want my fingers” 😫😫

I will literally devour this however you decide to write it 😈🩷

Treehouse

Dbf!Marc Spector x f!reader

Word Count: 988

Warnings: Language, smut, fingering (female receiving), hidden relationship, reader obvs younger than Marc but of age, Marc's teasing.

Hey bestie, gonna give dbf Marc a try, okay? Sorry if it’s shit! Hope you like it <3

MDNI

...

Marc knew precisely where to find you.

His eyes gleamed when he’d disrupted your hiding spot: the old treehouse in your backyard that he'd helped your father build an eternity ago. It was weathered and old, rotting from years of rain and snow, but it was yours.

And sometimes, on summer nights when the heat was tolerable and you were a needy, wet mess underneath him, it was Marc’s too.

Heat pooled between your legs when Marc crowded you up against the wall, snatching the book you'd been reading from your hands and tossing it carelessly to the side.

"Everyone’s lookin’ for you, sweetheart.” He muttered over your lips before giving you a proper kiss, the kind that had your knees weak and your hands flying to tangle in his hair.

"Yeah?" You whimpered, feeling his hands ghost over the hem of your skirt, his calloused fingers digging under the soft fabric and carefully skimming over your slit through your panties. "Dad sent you to find me, didn't he?"

“Mhm." Marc hummed, nibbling on your ear, "You’re missing your own party, baby.”

You really didn’t want a birthday party this year, but your dad had insisted, saying it was your last year of truly being his little girl. But he said that every year.

You sighed when Marc slipped past the barrier of your silky underwear, gently teasing your soaked slit.

"I-I don't wanna go." You complained, gently throwing your head back as Marc explored your wetness, the sweet sounds of your slick pussy loud in the quietness of the treehouse.

"Your dad went through all this trouble to throw you a party, and you’re not gonna go?” Marc tutted, the tip of his finger circling over your sensitive bud. “Bad girl.”

You moaned, tugging desperately at his dark curls. He knew what he was doing—knew that his words alone could make you putty in his hands.

“M-Marc,” you pleaded, your voice wavering as he continued to play with your clit, “p-please.” He chuckled, keeping you firmly pressed into the wall, the wood warm for the blazing sun. He placed his brow against yours, relishing in your little pants and mewls.

"Do you want my fingers?" It was a question that promised trouble. He knew exactly what you wanted.

You nodded, worrying your lip, “Yes, fuck—”

“You gonna behave and go to the party?” He pressed the tip of his middle finger into your hole, quickly dipping in before circling your entrance.

“Yesyesyesyes, I’ll do whatever you want just—” He cut you off by capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss as he plunged two fingers into your sopping cunt without warning.

It was blinding. The way Marc's thick fingers expertly stuffed your tight cunt was always so fucking blinding.

You whimpered into his mouth, and he proudly swallowed all of your moans, licking into your mouth as if to devour you. Your eyes fluttered, your hands flying down to grip his toned biceps—muscles earned from his time in the Marines rippling under your touch.

"Shhh, baby," Marc cooed, shifting to press his mouth against your ear as he moved his fingers skillfully in and out of your tight channel, "I’ll give you what you want but you have to stay quiet f’me, mm? Can you do that?”

“Mmmm, y-yeah.”

You could hear his own breathing quicken, feel how his other hand had a firm grip on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin whenever you squeezed the fingers he had deep inside your sopping cunt.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, pressing his erection against your thigh, “dripping all over my hand, baby.” He closed his eyes for a moment savoring your tiny mewls as he worked his skillful fingers inside. They were nothing compared to his cock, but they always reached deep enough, and right now, they were brushing against something that had you seeing stars.

“M-Marc, I’m close.” Marc hummed his approval, stuffing you good till your eyes rolled back, a loud moan ripping past your lips.

You gushed all over his hand but he didn’t let up, continuing to plunge his soaked fingers into your tightening channel, pressing hot kisses over your shoulder and neck.

“That’s it,” he praised, “you came so good, hm?” You tried to hold back your cries as your body flopped against his. Gently, he pulled his fingers out to examine them. They were pruned up and thickly coated in your slick. He smirked before tapping them against your pouty lips.

“You know what to do.” He said, his eyes lidded as he continued to press his clothed cock against you for some relief. You obediently open your mouth, your tongue darting out to lick his fingers clean before taking them completely in your mouth with a moan.

“Fuck,” Marc groaned, biting his lip, “you’re dad’s gonna fucking kill me if he finds out.”

“Then don’t let him find out.” You pant, still coming down from your high as you slurped at his fingers, making sure to lick up every drop of your tangy essence.

Marc grunted, pulling his fingers from your mouth to press a quick kiss to your lips.

“Marc!” You could hear your dad call from a distance, “Did you find her yet? I’m about to start grilling!” You both looked out the makeshift window, watching your dad turn on the grill before heading back into the house.

Marc sighed, gently giving your pussy a light slap before adjusting your skirt.

“Let’s get outta here before he starts suspecting.” He tried to step away from you but you stopped him, gripping his wrist. You fluttered your lashes for him.

“Will I see you later?” You asked, ignoring the wetness between your legs. “I wanna take care of you.”

Marc chuckled, taking your hand and kissing the inside of your wrist.

“Yeah, baby, I told your dad I was staying over. Keep your door unlocked for me.”

#marc spector #marc spector smut #marc spector x reader #marc spector fanfiction #dbf marc spector #marc spector x you #moon knight #moon knight fanficiton #caro's 2k #mona 👑

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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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foxilayde · 7 months

Text

Where’s My Goddamn Money? [Marc Spector x Fem!Vampire!Reader]

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Blood drinking, lack of consent, groping, nudity, suggestive language. Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Summary: Marc Spector wants his wallet back.

A/N: I wrote this fic a long time ago, but removed it in a fit of angst shortly after posting. I’ve been thinking about Ula recently because of spooky season and wanted to share her with y’all. I hope you love her as much as I do!

“I know you’re here Dracula, you big fucking nerd. Where’s my Goddamn money?!”

Hurried steps and the swish of a crescent-shaped cape accompany the echoing voice of Marc Spector as he descends the slate steps of your abandoned-chapel-turned-temporary-home. Seems ironic to live in the belly of a place so full of crosses, but it reassuringly houses a small family catacomb, and it just might be the last place anyone would think to look for a vampire… unless they knew who they were looking for. And would you look at that, Spector figured it out.

“Took you long enough, Spector.” You sip your wine, curled up on the velvet divan, the ceiling drips steadily above you, and you couldn’t look more like a fucking vampire if you tried. You look like a boudoir photoshoot they’d sell at an alternative gift shop, and if you were able to appear in photographs, you’d consider posing in a calendar for real. Eternal life has it’s disadvantages certainly, but it is easy on the eyes.

“Where’s my fucking money, Ula? I know it was you.”

He stalks closer to you now with a slow intensity. It’s funny; for how rushed he seemed to be making his way down the steps, he appears to have lost some of his impatience upon reaching his destination. The sight of you totally naked in the candlelight on the blood red velvet fainting couch has the desired stunning effect on poor Marc Spector. His steps grow slower, edging closer to you, but scanning his surroundings now with creeping mistrust. Smart boy.

You pick at a button on the sofa and purse your lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Marc.” You smile wickedly at him, taking another sip from your glass.

Marc’s mask dissolves and he flips back his hood to reveal an unamused angular face, inky curls hanging handsomely over his brow. What a tasty looking treat. And so thoughtful. To bring himself all this way.

“My fucking wallet, Ula. Black. Leather. Full of cash. Ring any bells?”

You put an affronted hand on your bare chest, making sure to caress a nipple with your ring finger while you give him a cartoonishly innocent doe-eyed look “Why, whatever could you mean, mister Spector? Are you accusing me of being a thief?”

“You this lonely, huh? You have to take things of mine to lure me down here. You’re obviously not expecting… company.” He shakes his head and gestures to your curled nude form.

“I’m deeply offended, Marc. I assure you, I did not take your wallet.” You set the wine glass down on the lacquered table, next to the flickering candelabra. “Tell you what” You stalk toward him, very slowly as not to frighten him, “You can even search me if it’ll make you feel better.”

Marc gulps and takes one step backwards for every advancing footfall you trod across the damp stone floor. His back eventually reaches a column and he pauses wide eyed allowing you to slowly and carefully close the distance between your bodies.

You thought an avatar might be a little harder to hypnotize, but he was no more of a challenge than any other man. His eyes are effortlessly tractioned by your own and his jaw loosens in wonder as you step between his legs.

He puts up no fight when you grab his hands and place them on your waist. Oh darkness, his hands are warm, warm and sweet like his candied brown eyes. And fuck, the way his panicked heartbeat vibrates through his hot fingers and into the flesh of your ass? The radiance is akin to the memory of sunlight… you can smell he sun on his golden warm skin. Everything in you screams with a bat-shriek to bite into him now, to suck the sweet life out of his sun-kissed neck, with its thick ropes of tense muscle, fatigued from carrying that pretty head around.

He won’t fight now, not while you’re looking at him like this, but you can’t hold his gaze forever… or perhaps you could. You’d wager your hypnotic gaze could theoretically keep him here for as long as his biology could remain stasis without rest and water— but there’s no chance your patience and lust could wait that long. Not while the throbbing vein in his neck, so thick, so appetizing, is inches from your face. You’ve improved upon your restraint in the last few hundred years, but it’s yet to be perfected. And why wait? You don’t want the stupid bird to come looking for him, do you?

Your eyes are heavy on his own when you purr, “search me, Spector.” He nods like a zombie and his hands are rough on your body, zeroing in on the fleshiest part of you— your bare ass, he squeezes and pulls your cheeks apart and his lip curls like a dog when he growls softly. Whether the vocalizations are a demonstration of pleasure or defiance, you don’t care.

“Ooohh,” Your eyes tighten in mirth and you nearly lose the gaze before you widen them again.

“Good boy, Spector.”

You bite your lip, letting your pearly fangs hook on your bottom lip. He’s delightfully obedient to the gaze. You let your long nails scrape along his scalp, scratching him affectionately before you take a handful of his unruly curls in your grasp.

“Such a good boy that I’m going to let you in on a little secret, okay?”

Marc gives no indication that he understood and he continues to stare dumbly into your eyes and pinch and squeeze the softness of your backside in his warm, wide palms.

You huff impatiently and use the reign of his thick strands to nod his head in agreement for him. You smile with satisfaction. “I did take your fucking wallet, Marc.”

Again, no reaction from him, thoroughly caught in the haze and muck of your sticky spell.

“I took it to lure your cute little butt down here so we could have some fun.”

Still silence, hardly a trace of recognition on his dazed face.

You trace a long fingernail down the side of his cheek, poking up the corner of his mouth into a half-smirk. “Gods, I love a man who knows when to shut the fuck up.” You laugh, scraping your nails gently down his neck and down his suit, to the crescent emblemed breast plate. You nearly, very nearly, break the gaze to look at the plate while you tease your fingertips across it. But your gaze is steady.

“But that’s not the secret, Spector. You knew I took it. The secret is this, and I’ll drain you if you ever tell anyone, but the secret—” You pitch your voice down to a breathy whisper, “You know how mortals have to invite a vampire into their home before we are allowed to enter?”

No response, no matter.

“Well, the opposite holds true for mortals entering a vampire home.”

Again, not a flicker of recognition from him, his thumbs are rubbing needy circles at your backside and the closer you step into him, the more pronounced you can feel the pulsing heat between his legs. Fuck, maybe you should drink from him there. It’s been a long time since you feasted on a femoral artery of a man.

“You see, Spector, once you enter a vampire’s lair, you can’t leave without express verbal permission.” You lick your fangs to punctuate your point. “Like a mouse in a glue trap, I could keep you here as long as it pleases me,” you laugh.

You think you see a subtle widening of his eyes, but it could have been a trick of the candle light.

“Oh don’t be scared, Marc. I’m not going to kill you. Not even going to change you. Just going to take a few good mouthfuls of you, and then I’ll let you go.” Your mouth waters at the visual you’ve painted for yourself. Mouthfuls of his thick pulsing blood, straight from the femoral artery. Christ, you need to feed.

“Does that sound good to you, Marc?” His nostrils flare a bit and you grin. “Oh look at you, baby. You’re excited, I can tell.” You place your palm at the inside of his knee and drag it up, up, up, till it’s resting over the booming ventricle at the center of his thick, warm body, it’s playing a quickening beat and you can feel your fangs grow at the temptation of it.

“Eyes on me, baby.” It’s harder to talk the more your throat fills with the analgesic fluid and your fangs thicken and extend. Your tongue gets hard to control in your attempt to swallow the flood of venom that pools in your mouth. You drop to your knees, never breaking eye contact while you kiss his inner thigh. Your lips are right above the searing pulse point he smells like heaven itself. You rip off his stupid loincloth with impatience. Nuzzling your face into his thighs as best you can while still holding his eyes with your own.

Your bare knees sting slightly on the cold wet floor, You grip onto his thighs, nails biting into the grey linen wrapped coverings while you affectionately nip at his clothed inner leg, never breaking the gaze. In your mad craving, you hardly register as a string of venom drips to the floor from your mouth in a debauched display. You admit you can’t remember the last time you went on your knees like this for a warm suck, but Spector looks delicious from this angle, leant back against the cold stone column, legs obediently spread for you. His hands, unable now to “search” and grope you, are balled into fists at his sides.

Your fangs are at full extension and they grow itchy and painful, if you had any patience left you’d have asked Marc to vanish this part of his suit, but he’s likely capable of fuck-all since the gaze kicked in, so you sink your teeth right through the gauze of his leg coverings, hitting that sweet throbbing vein that’s been calling out to you, begging for relief, begging you to slow its rapid pace down.

Your eyes close in relief and ecstasy, and it’s no matter that they do, the damage is done. You don’t have to hold the gaze any longer, your prey is paralyzed. Though, you think briefly you might enjoy it more if he were able to struggle, to vainly wriggle his thick thighs against your predatory hold. He would be so much fun to play with! To wrestle him down, to fight for your meal— for each suck to drag him further and further away from his own strength… but mortals are so fragile, if it weren’t for the gaze, many would perish from a heart attack before you could get to the meal. Only the most unrefined of your kind ever resort to such discourteous practices when feeding.

He tastes so thick and sweet, and so very very warm, much warmer than a neck bite. The heat of his thighs on either side of your head adds to the burning delicacy, the muscles are more tender down here as well… as much as you had fantasized about the ropey texture of his neck under your lips, this holds its own delights. Sure, you can’t taste the sun, salt, and stubble of his neck— but the flesh down here is soft like butter-seared fois gras. Blood syrupy and warm like hot mead. You don’t want to drink too much, but you don’t want to drink too little either. It’s unlikely Marc Spector will be fooled twice and pay you another visit, so you must savor and make this last as long his blood will hold.

When his heartbeat eventually slows to a resting rate, you make an irate little sound against his blood soaked thigh and force your teeth to pull back into your mouth. Fuck, its so painful to do when your lust isn’t slaked, much easier to just drain him… but a promise is a promise.

You nip your finger and squeeze a few drops of your own blood till it pearls on your skin and you swipe the healing blood onto his puncture wounds, effectively sealing him up. It does nothing for the staining though, and the dark red continent is prominent against the light grey of his suit. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and smile, rising up to your feet. You step in between his legs and snake your arms around his trim waist, planting a bloody kiss on his dazed mouth. He kisses you back faintly, like one might groggily mouth a kiss in their sleep.

“Mmmm, darling, you tasted even better than I dreamed you would.” You wipe of the stain of blood you transferred to his lips with your thumb and you pout at him.

“Baby is tired, isn’t he?”

Marc blinks slowly at you in response, eyes rolling back in delirium, and he heavily collapses into your embrace. Luckily your senses are heightened from having just fed, so you’re able to support his weight with ease and bring him to rest on the divan. You prop him up comfortably. Poor baby is helplessly unconscious… Perhaps you took a tad too much from him? You climb on top of him, still naked, and straddle his limp form to press your ear to his chest.

Still beating. Strong enough.

You sigh with relief. If he was dying you’d have to change him and then you’d have that fucking bird on your ass for turning his avatar. Nearly 600 years old and you still can’t control your lust to a conscionable level. Just imagine, Spector as a vampire! You laugh at the idea and slap his sleeping chest as if he were the one who came up with the thought. “Ha!” He would make a miserable vampire, he’d never have fun with it. No imagination. He’d be the type to be wracked with guilt at every kill. Sad silly boy. A regular Louie du Pointe du Lac, feeding on cats in shame and writing disconsolate letters to no one with his own blood tears. What a mess he would be!

You prop yourself up in a cobra pose on him, forearms and elbows on his breastplate, laying on him fully, the tops of your feet pointed atop his shins. You shake your head at his handsome face and smooth the curls from his brow. For the first time in a long time you have a whim to sleep for a moment… but you can’t, you haven’t slept in nearly 600 years, so you prop your chin on your fist and stare at the pretty avatar while he sleeps, drinking in his slumber with your eyes, savoring the slow rise and fall of his chest.

You reach under the decorative pillow and pull out a black leather wallet. You grin as you tuck it safely in his belt and you kiss his warm cheek before whispering in his ear, “I grant you permission to leave when you wake, Marc Spector.” You rest your head in the crook of his neck, lips teasing his weak pulse point. You sigh when you close your eyes and pretend that you can dream.

END

[If you enjoyed, please consider a reblog! 😘]

#Marc Spector #Marc Spector x Reader #Marc Spector x You #Moon Knight #Oscar Isaac forgive me #Kinktober

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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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