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amywritesthings · 2 years

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A FIRST FOR BREATHING

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader (+ Marc Spector x Reader)

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: (Spoilers) At the end of Episode 5, Steven wakes up.

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings

A/N: Marvel owes me compensation for my emotional state this morning, so here’s a little hurt & comfort smut to hopefully make you feel better. (Because I did it so I felt a little better lbr.)

Also dedicating this to the Moon Knight besties @prolix-yuy & @iamskyereads , ilu both.

( Read on AO3 )

It’s as if he’s taking his first gulp of air.

With an anguished gasp, Steven Grant jolts from his mattress in a cold sweat. Sometimes it’s always like this: seconds that feel like minutes, minutes that feel like hours, to get his bearings of where he’s been. Tingles at the tips of his fingers are a good sign. It means his body’s working — their body, the body that was once torn apart — and his second instinct is to stare.

In the dark, in the mirror, until he sees a familiar silhouette.

Except it isn’t his, not really. Not entirely.

The sheets beside him move, and in the gentle hue from the London street lights peering through the bedroom window he can see the relief in Marc’s face when you wrap a hand around Steven’s bare bicep.

“Steven?”

Concern. You’re not meant to be concerned, not about him. And if Steven wasn’t so frightful at the idea of Marc’s eyes disappearing from view, then maybe he would have turned faster.

“Are you alright?” he asks, but not to you.

Swallowing thick to calm the tremble in his throat, Steven waits for Marc to say something, anything, between the reflection keeping them separate.

(There was a space where the alters were tangible. Is that how close they’ll ever get, when Death is a mere few feet away?)

“Answer her, Steven,” Marc answers instead, jaw tense.

Always so closed off. Always so worried about everyone else.

“Is Marc okay?” you murmur, cautious in your approach to be the middleman of the equation. Approaching the two can often feel like trying not to spook a wild animal — while one will respond, the other is prone to run.

When you stare into the mirror, it’s only Steven’s wide eyes and wild curls matted to his forehead. He looks like he’s seen ghosts. The worry festers in the bottom of your stomach.

“Tell her we’re okay,” Marc urges, gaze focused on you behind Steven as if he can tell you himself without the buffer of another person.

“I— yeah, think so,” Steven finally answers for the both of them, blinking to glance at you through the reflection.

“What about you?”

It’s eerie, how you and Marc seem to echo the same concern in different octaves. The question is spoken at the same time, further confusing reality from his own mind.

Steven squeezes his eyes shut, making a noise of discomfort. “Oh, god, dunno what the hell happened. Felt like I— like we got separated and it all went black and I couldn’t feel a bloody thing…”

“Separated?”

You shift on the mattress to sit in front of Steven, but he’s already meeting you in the middle. With desperation, he turns from the mirror to quickly pull your face into his large hands. He inhales sharply, as if the mixture of your lingering perfume and the ability to expand his lungs will be enough to bring him solace.

Right on the precipice of what it means to be alive and dead.

“You’re real,” he whispers in the space between you, but it doesn’t sound certain. Steven sounds like he’s one crackle away from a plea, too afraid to hope, and you rise to your knees to hold his face in your hands.

Forehead to forehead, you nod so he feels it.

Then you realize the tremble in Steven’s hands, so you let go of his face to settle your hands over his, fingers curling around his palms. With the utmost care, you pull his left hand to lay along your chest, and Steven’s shoulders slack at the sensation of a beating heart.

“Wasn’t sure if I was ever gonna see you again,” Steven admits, eyes still closed with purpose. You stare, dragging a thumb along the back of his hand. “Neither of us knew.”

Marc protests somewhere behind his shoulder, but Steven ignores the warning signs. He isn’t willing to shut you out, not in the way Marc wants to keep everything in perfect alignment. That isn’t the way this continues to stay good, for both their sakes.

Steven is raw and honest and soft. Has to be.

(Was designed to be.)

“You’re here. See?” You wait until thick eyelashes flutter to turn your head to his right hand, kissing the center of his palm. “Right here. This is real. You’re here.”

Steven relaxes further, hesitant in his movement, before going for it. You can’t remember a time where he’d simply gone in for a kiss — that’s Marc’s style, the urgency of feeling anything beyond his own torment. While frantic, the press of his lips to yours is careful, giving you ample time to leave if you don’t want this.

But you want this. You want them.

You meet him with the same energy, crawling into his lap for ease. He makes a strained sort of whimper, the kind that says he’ll never get tired or used to the closeness of you. Your tongue gently slips along his lower lip and he makes the same noise, dropping his hand from your heart to clutch at your side.

Steven always forgets how strong he is, sharing a body with a system that can bring grown adults to their knees. You don’t mind the pain so long as you feel him — but Marc must have said something about it with the way Steven’s grip eases to a soothing glide up and down your side.

“What do you want?” you ask, pulling away just enough to check in and stare at his face. Steven’s pupils are blown, lost in the sight and feel of you, before he remembers he can speak.

“...to feel alive, I think,” he finally admits, eyes dropping to the base of your neck. “For us both.”

“Marc?” You ask, but it’s not to Steven. Not directly.

Steven nods adamantly. “Says it’s fine. Says you look, um, you look lovely like this.”

The awkward stammer only brings a growing smile to your face. “He didn’t say it like that, did he?”

“Gods, no, but don’t ask me to repeat,” he quickly corrects, breathless in his laugh.

His hand falls lower, trailing along your bare thigh to inch the night gown further to your hips.

(He works better when he doesn’t call out his actions.)

“I’d never.” A promise you’ve made a thousand times. Your breath hitches when Steven’s timid fingers disappear along your inner thigh, head tilting back to relish. Steven places a small kiss to the base of your throat before returning with an open-mouthed kiss, peppering along your neck with growing confidence.

It’s muscle memory by this point. Marc points the way, and Steven obliges. The circular roll of rough-padded fingertips causes you to moan to the ceiling, encouraging Steven to continue. He rubs at your clit languidly, as if mesmerized by the way you respond to it.

You drop a hand to the center of his chest, relieved to feel the pounding of his heart beneath muscle and bone.

Steven is quiet, too busy marveling at his own body being able to make yours feel good. Marc would have had a hand in your hair by now, mumbling obscenities and praise. And with the way his hand speeds up, you imagine this is a combination of them both, a cocon, to get you there.

When the familiar waves begin to rise from your toes to the tingles in your head, you quickly drop your hands to make way with Steven’s sweatpants. He makes a noise of protest, as if this was meant to be about you, but you shake your head without another word and kiss him.

He kicks the sweatpants to the edge of the bed at his feet, mindful of the strap keeping his ankle in place, before you rise and line yourself up over his rock-hard length.

All it takes is a “please” to sink down onto him, inch by inch, until you bottom out in his lap and you’re back to being forehead to forehead.

Steven makes a strangled sound in his throat, mumbling several oh gods under his breath until he nods frantically to urge you on. You grin, lifting your hips to ride him with a slowness only built for Steven. His strong arm loops around your back, allowing you to set the pace while he clings for dear life.

He is alive.

They are alive.

And he feels it, deep in his chest. The rumble of Marc, the way you look in the mirror grinding on their cock. It’s almost too much, but Steven refuses — refuses — to look away.

This is what it means to be breathing, to have a life, and he will cherish this.

(God, do they cherish you.)

Steven rarely lasts, overwhelmed by the sensation and the noises you make, so he works overtime on your clit to get you there. He keeps the rhythm locked when your hips stutter, inner walls clenching around him, and he tries to speak — something you don’t recall him ever doing before.

“That’s right, dove. Love how you look like this. So lovely, all — ours, you’re ours.”

The surprise praise makes you crash like a tidal wave, orgasm ripping through your body and subsequently setting up the dominos to knock him over the edge. Steven presses you hard to his mouth, cutting off the loud groan bubbling in the middle of his throat as he bucks once, twice, into you, only to go slack.

He struggles to stay like this, but tenses to keep you both in place.

His heart still beats wildly in his chest.

Steven pulls away to nod at nothing in particular, perhaps at something Marc said, before sighing like breathing is wondrous.

“We’re alright,” he says, and you open your eyes when he prompts you with a gentle touch to the bottom of your chin. “More than alright, now.”

#steven grant x reader #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight spoilers #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector x reader #marc spector #episode 5 spoilers #moon knight 1x05 #fanfiction #one shot fanfic

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