summary: marc fucks you with a soft precision that pulls multiple orgasms out of you, and though he’s meticulous, its never cold.
kink: mirror sex
pairing: fem!reader x marc spector
contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, smut, vaginal sex, pet names, creampie
AN: soft possessive marc spector supremacy!
word count: 822
kinktober masterlist | marvel masterlist
Since he and Steven decided to work together and join their lives more seamlessly, Marc’s loved mirror sex. He’s always wanted it, wanted to watch you watch yourself get off at his hands because you’re his and he’s yours. You’re theirs, now that everything’s out in the open. Before he was completely honest with you all of that, your relationship hung by a thread. He never knew when Steven would appear, taking the body as his, or popping up in reflective surfaces. But now there’s a time and place, an understanding, and Marc can finally have you the way he wants.
Its exactly where he has you now, your hands gripping tightly at the edge of the sink as you rock back into him. He’s got his hands on your hips, clutching you with an intensity that you know will leave bruises in the morning. The movement of his hips isn’t brutal, but concentrated and strong, pushing the tip of his cock against the deepest depth of your pussy. You’re breathing in time with his thrust, lungs filling as he enters you, emptying as he pulls out just to push himself just as deep as before.
Marc fucks you with a soft precision that pulls multiple orgasms out of you, and though he’s meticulous, its never cold. When your eyes meet his in the mirror you can see just how much love he holds for you.
He grins when he sees that your attention on him, it’s more of a smirk, knowing how good he’s making you feel and it makes you whimper, your teeth almost biting through your lower lip as you attempt to rock against him.
“I’ve got you, baby,” He reassures, his eyes flicking back and forth from the two of you in the mirror down to where he enters you. “Feel me.”
“Mhmm,” You nod frantically, closing your eyes as you try to savor each drop of pleasure he fucks into you.
He groans, deep and animalistic before he pulls you back by your neck, his lips at your ear, “Let me watch you fall apart, hmm? You gonna cum on my cock?”
“Yeah, I’ll cum for you,” You moan, your eyes still screwed shut.
“Open your eyes then. Now. Watch yourself,” He commands gently.
You oblige immediately, opening your eyes and watching as his hand returns to your hip, pulling you back against him so he can split you open over and over.
“You’re so fucking pretty like this, you know that?” He doesn’t give you a chance to answer, immediately starting to demand, “Say it. Tell me.”
Your eyes go wide at his command, and you rush to argue, only wanting to hear him praise you, “Marc-“
He chuckles, shaking his head, his thrust slowing, “Say it or I’ll stop. You wanna cum don’t you?”
“Yes, don’t stop, baby. I’m…I’m your pretty girl. I am. Your pretty girl, just don’t stop, please Marc,” You babble breathlessly and when you have the strength to look up at him again he’s grinning.
Marc closes the gap between you again, pulling you body flush against his and angling your chin back to look at him. His touch is firm but not too rough, he always takes care when handling you.
“That’s right, you’re my pretty baby. Look at you taking my cock so well. Do you see?” His head nods towards the mirror, pushing your head so you have to look with him.
“I see,” You mewl, so close to the edge that you can barely think anymore.
“Say it for me, let me hear you praise yourself,” His thrusts start to change, growing faster and harder but he doesn’t sacrifice depth and you cry out at the steady build of pleasure in your lower belly.
“I take your cock so well. Because I’m made for you, because I’m yours.”
“Fuck, yes, baby. And I’m yours, you’ve got all of me. Both of us,” His words are so much sweeter than the way he’s drilling into you right, you heart squeezing in your chest.
“Love you, Marc,” You breathe, one of your hands falling to rub your clit, desperate for release.
“You too, sweet girl, cum for me.” He groans, his hips stuttering as he cum inside you, heat spreading throughout your entire body.
His words coupled with the warmth of his come is your undoing and you collapse against the sink, trembling in his hands as you ride out your high. He murmurs soft praises, rubs his hands up and down your back until you go still, nothing but the gentle rise and fall of breath.
He bends over slightly, dipping his lips to run over your back, “Baby?”
“Hmm?” Is all you can manage.
“Steven says he wants a turn,” Marc says teasingly and you laugh.
“Steven can wait,” You grumble playfully before looking over your shoulder, a lazy smile on your face. “Love you. Both,” You clarify.
Marc’s smile is just as bright as your own, “Love you. Both.”
request: Hello I would like to request protective!marc Spector ?!?!?? That’s my pretty boy and I love him.
pairing: f!reader x college!marc spector, implied eventual f!reader x steven grant & f!reader x jake lockley
contents: college!au, mention of DID if you squint, trauma response to abuse, anger issues, alcohol consumption, male dominance, guy disrespecting reader’s boundaries, fighting, kinda friends to lovers, hurt comfort, fluff, kissing
AN: sorry this took me a while @romanarose, but thank you so much for requesting, i hope you like it <3
word count: 3.6k
mcu masterlist | requests are closed
A perfectly crisp autumn day. That’s how Marc would describe you. Comforting and colorful, and the muted smell of pine and cinnamon. He’ll always remember the moment he saw you for the rest of his life; it’s unique to his relationship with you— Steven and Jake have their own first impressions. There’s something he enjoys about having that memory all to himself.
When he meets you, he’s been channeling his anger into a variety of things for as long as he can remember. It’s easier to lean into the rage and self-inflicted criticism. His voice echoes harshly in his head, just like his mother’s had. Sometimes it hurts, sometimes he’s numb to it but it always tells him what he already knows. He’s unworthy of anything but the way people write him off. In turn his behavior might as well help him live up to his reputation.
He can pinpoint the moment he wants all of that to change. It’s not when he first sees you, it isn't even the first time you say something to him in class. As the weeks pass you always sit a few chairs down from him and murmur some variation of hello. He finds comfort in it, the way you smile at him and treat him like he’s anyone else.
You can’t deny that you’re drawn to Marc. There’s something about him, something soft and permeable underneath all that hardness. On the days you truly catch his gaze you feel like you can see him. You want to crack him open, bask in that warm gooey center that no one but you tries to get to. But it'll take time, you know that there's a reason he keeps people at a distance. In time, you hope you won't be on that list, that you’ll be an exception to his antisocial rule.
Mid semester, there’s a group project, and the professor has been kind enough—for Marc, cruel enough—to allow students to pick their own partners. He knows that he won’t get picked, people would rather do the project alone than work with him. While you’re kind to him, he doesn’t expect you to ask him to be your partner.
But that’s exactly what you do. You lean over the two seats between you, a gentle smile on your face when he looks over at you.
“Do you wanna pair up?”
Marc looks at you like you’ve grown two extra heads, and if you weren’t so confused with his reaction you would’ve laughed, “You wanna work with me?”
“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I?” You look at him with genuine bewilderment.
“My reputation?” He suggests, glancing around the room as other students in the lecture hall pair up with each other.
“I like to come to my own conclusions. And you and me…we’re friends.”
With each day that you work together, Marc grows happier with his decision to pair up with you. You’re a breath of fresh air, the heavy weight that’s always sat on his chest feeling lighter when he’s with you. The two of you always meet up in a cozy corner of the library, and you always have coffee and snacks— sweet chocolate, salty pretzels, and an ever changing fruity option. You wanted to be thorough the first time you brought some and he’d dug into all three so you keep bringing them. His coffee order was easy to guess, black, two sugars and none of the frills.
Halfway through the process Marc starts to overthink your gestures, feeling guilty that he’s given nothing in return and starts to bring food himself. Pizza, burgers with all the fixings on the side, tacos. And through this language of food, your feelings for him grow deeper.
He knew he never stood a chance, that the skip of his heart the moment he saw you walk into class was an indicator of how he would feel for you if you ever got close, and he was right. He was right, and it stings, the pain of knowing he’ll never have you burns deep in his gut. But you couldn’t want him, not with who he is. It’s hard for him to imagine that, even when you dismiss his statements like that.
Friendship is one thing, a relationship? Another realm entirely.
After working together on the project you sit right next to him now in class, and when you’re handed your grade of a 100% you turn to him with this sly smile on your face.
“We should celebrate our phenomenal grade.”
“Should we?” He asks skeptically but he’s grinning because your smile is infectious.
He doesn’t let himself think of it often, but he could get used to this. The sight of you smiling and happy at his side.
“Yes, absolutely, and I know just how.”
“How’s that?”
“There’s a party this weekend.”
His mouth turns down into a frown of disgust, “You lost me.”
“C’mon, we can meet up there, huddle up in a corner and make fun of people,” You lean in, wagging your eyebrows at him.
“Parties aren’t really my scene.”
“Nothing’s your scene, you’re a recluse. Please, Marc?”
You give him full on puppy dog eyes, clasping your hands together. The pout of your face is impossible to resist, and for a moment he thinks about what it would be like to press his lips to yours, kissing it away. If he’s being honest with himself, it wouldn’t have taken all of that. Even with his complaining, he planned on saying yes because he wants to spend time with you.
“There’s no other way we can celebrate?”
“If you come and you absolutely hate it, we can go to my favorite diner.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll text you the address and time. See you then?”
“See you then,” He replies, a mixture of nervousness and excitement in his chest.
Your nerves are all over the place as you get ready for the party. You want to wear something that’ll get Marc’s attention. A short skirt with tights underneath and a long sleeved shirt with just the right amount of cleavage. And while you love the way you look by the time you leave the house, once you make it to the party, you realize that you’ll draw the attention of multiple men, not just Marc.
You entertain the guy who’s slinked up to you at first, he seems nice enough, and happy enough to pursue the drinks and food with you in the kitchen. You’ve never seen him before, which isn’t uncommon at a university of your size. Jason’s a political science major and talks a good game so the two of you chat back and forth easily between sips of stale beer and pizza. It isn’t until after someone convinces a lot of folks, Jason included, to do shots that he starts to get handsy.
“You’re so hot, did I tell you that before?” Jason asks with a smile that makes your stomach turn. He’s waltzing towards you with another beer in hand.
You try to move away from him, but after just a few steps back you’re against the wall, “No, you didn’t. And maybe you should sit down, you seem a little wobbly.”
“Oh, I’m okay. Thanks for being worried about me baby,” One of his hands finds your waist, groping the skin exposed.
“Maybe you could back up,” You suggest softly, but your throat is getting a little thick, your chest tight with anxiety.
“Come on baby, let’s get to know each other a little better,” He goads, pressing his lanky body against yours.
He reeks of alcohol and is unbearably hot. You attempt to push him away with the success, “Jason, come on, have some class.”
“You teasing little bitch, you think I wanted to sit here with you and just talk?
“Take your hands off of her. Now,” Marc barks from the other side of the kitchen, startling you.
And though you’ve always enjoyed the sound of Marc’s voice it’s never sounded better than it does in this moment.
“Marc,” You breathe, relieved by the sight of him.
Jason glares at Marc and then you, “Who the fuck is this? Your little boyfriend? Listen, your girlfriend’s a slut, she was making eyes at me all night. Now when it’s time to pay up she’s confused.”
“I won’t say it again. Take your hands off of her.”
“Or what?”
Marc takes a deep breath, shrugs, and then moves with a quickness. It all happens so fast, you’re in his arms, and across the room in no time. When you look over at Jason, he doesn't seem as if he’s been hurt at all, but there’s a nervousness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“Are you okay?” He tries to ask it in a comforting manner but his voice cuts through the air like a knife.
It’s in his eyes though, his concern for you and you give him a nod, soft smile, “Yes, thank you.”
“Good, sit tight.”
He tries to step around you, and get closer to Jason but you put your hand on his chest and he flinches, something you’ve never seen before. If he weren’t so angry he would crumble under the fear that bloomed in his chest from your move. He keeps his focus on Jason, removing your hand and maneuvering you in a twirl with ease.
“Marc, don’t,” You call, whirling around to watch him charge at Jason, who takes a few steps back towards a door that leads out of the kitchen and onto the porch.
“No, this guy thinks he can get away with doing whatever the fuck he wants. Not gonna happen,” You can’t see his face but you can feel the anger radiating off his body in waves as he pushes Jason into the wall, his grip on his shirt firm.
“Marc, please,” You plead softly, voice unsteady. “Please, can you just take me home?”
His hold on Jason stays tight as he looks back at you, getting a good look at your face. All he sees is fear and his heart sinks into his stomach; the last person he’s ever wanted to frighten is you. He knows first hand what it feels like to be afraid of someone like this. He moves quickly, letting Jason go and grabbing your hand to leave all in one move.
You hadn't driven here knowing that you’d have a few drinks, but Marc’s completely sober– he’d only showed up at this party because you’d asked him to. He leads you to his car in complete silence, opening the door for you and checking to make sure you’re in before he closes it.
The anger is rippling off his skin in hot waves, and you aren’t sure if he’s just mad at Jason or if he’s mad at you. You spend most of the ride in silence, picking at an invisible piece of lint on your tights. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t turn on any music, just focuses on getting you to the address you whispered to him when he slipped into the driver’s seat. The silence starts to creep into your lungs and you feel as though you’re choking on the words stuck in your throat, so much so that you finally have to say them even if he is mad at you.
“I’m sorry I got you into all of this. You were sure you didn’t want to go and I made you.”
“I’m just glad I was there to make sure nothing happened to you. That’s what matters. Don’t worry about me,” He doesn’t spare you a glance but you can hear the sincerity in his voice.
The atmosphere in the car changes, and the rest of the drive is filled with a new, comfortable silence now that you know he’s not furious with you. He offers to walk you in once he parks in the lot of your complex, following you up the single flight of stairs to your door. You can feel his eyes on you, watching your every move and you fumble with the keys a few times before letting him in. He stands in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets, watches awkwardly as you sink into the fuzzy blue couch. He isn’t sure what to do or what to say, he doesn’t want to leave but you look overwhelmed, eyes closed as your arms circle you. He’s about to announce his departure when you sigh, and he waits for you to say whatever’s on your mind.
“Will you stay?” You ask softly, keeping your eyes downcast. When he stays silent you hurry to say, “Just for a little bit.”
It’s the last thing that he expected to come out of your mouth. He looks at you for a beat, surprised before sitting down on the couch, training his eyes on the floor, “I’ll stay as long as you want.”
You don’t move toward him, but you don’t move away and some of the tension leaves his body.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” He murmurs once he feels the silence stretches too long.
You over at him like he’s offended you, “You didn’t scare me.”
He makes a disagreeable sound in the back of his throat. “You don’t have to lie.”
“I’m not lying.”
He has to look at you then, to make sure that your eyes match your words. To his surprise, all he finds is sincerity and relief rushes through him. He can’t remember the last time anyone looked at him the way you are right now, not even when his father tried his best to comfort him through all the pain.
“I’m not afraid of you Marc, I never have been. I told you, you’re my friend. I care about you.”
He wants to say it back to you, wants to take the next step and say that he wants you as more than a friend. But given everything, he stays silent, continuing to regard you with that guarded expression on his face. He can’t let his mask slip, needing to keep the invisible wall between you intact. Being vulnerable doesn’t come easily to him anymore, not when he was violated by someone who was supposed to love him unconditionally.
When you realize he isn’t going to say anything back, you continue, “I just didn’t want you to be who they think you are. That’s what I was afraid of.”
His eyes narrow, “Who’s that?”
“Some angry guy who doesn’t care about anyone.”
He feels exposed, knowing that you know the dichotomy of his makeup. That you know him.
“Maybe that’s who I am,” He says it defensively but both of you can hear the lack of conviction. He’s pushing you away with the last of the smoke and mirrors, and there isn’t much left.
To Marc’s surprise you laugh, shaking your head at him, “You wouldn’t be here with me, apologizing for scaring me if that were true, would you?”
“No,” He breathes softly, almost sounding confused.
You train your eyes on his, as you move closer to him, your leg brushing up against his. Your voice is even softer than before, “Marc, I don’t know what happened to you, and I’m not asking you to tell me. But I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere.”
He makes no move to break the contact but his frown sets deeper into his stunning features, “What makes you think something happened to me?”
You raise your hand, just to caress his face and he flinches hard— it’s not something that either of you could brush off. Your eyes soften, tears welling up in your eyes as you lower your hand. You know the signs, understanding exactly what that means. The two of you continue to look at each other, the room quiet and still.
“You can touch me,” He murmurs, his voice low and rough.
“No, it’s okay, it’s-“ Before you can finish your sentence he takes your hand into his, presses it firmly to his cheek and closes his eyes with a shaky breath.
You’re incredibly warm, your scent so saccharine and delicate, and the comforting touch of another is something he hasn’t had in years; he instantly melts into it. With that, you begin to explore, running your fingers down the curve of his cheek, trailing the slope of his chin. You follow that all the way up to his forehead, pushing your fingers back into his curls, your eyes widening at how soft his hair is.
So enthralled in being able to touch him like this that you don’t notice how he watches you. He’s drinking in every detail, watching the way your eyes shine in the dim glow of the moonlight. He’s always found you captivating, but this might be his favorite expression on you yet, eyes full of wonder, a tender smile on your face.
“You’re so beautiful,” He doesn’t mean to say it, but he’s thinking it over and over, it pours out of him.
He says it so gently, it takes your breath away for a moment and now all you can do is look at him.
“Did I say the wrong thing?”
A sheepish smile pulls at your lips as you shake your head. “No, I just…” You take in a shuddering breath, “…can I kiss you?”
He blinks a few times, digesting your request with a furrowed brow. When his eyes refocus on you, his expression changes, his tan cheeks staining with a soft pink flush, his eyes clouding with a hunger that shoots straight to your libido. You’re getting ahead of yourself there, especially with how he reacted to just a simple caress of the cheek.
“Marc?” You prompt gently.
“Yes. Sorry, yes. Please.”
You plant yourself firmly in his lap, cupping his cheeks with a caring touch, and his hands find your waist with a firm grip that makes you want to grind against him. The kiss starts sweet, but as your tongues twist and caress each other it morphs, growing steamy. There’s an undercurrent something erotic pulsing through spirit of it. And while you both feel it, neither are ready to go that far.
You want to take your time, get into every crack and cranny of him so that you can eventually take him apart. Marc’s just scared, terrified that taking charge in anyway will fuck this up. That’s all he’s ever known, destroying everything he’s ever held dear.
“Sorry we didn’t get to go to the diner like I promised,” You murmur when you pull away and he chuckles, greedily pressing his lips against yours again.
“I don’t know, this is pretty nice too.”
That’s an understatement but he can’t seem to find the words to convey what this moment means to him.
“Yeah, it is,” You lean into him, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. You're a little nervous to ask the question on your mind. Hiding your face and breathing in his clean, minty scent gives you a confidence boost.
“Do you maybe…wanna stay? We could go in the morning and get breakfast.”
“Really?” You hear rather than see his surprise.
“Really,” You tell him, pressing your lips to the skin of his neck.
“I would love that,” He whispers into your hair timidly, and your heart squeezes for him.
You lean back to look at him, “Let’s head to bed then, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You rise up first, holding your hand out for him with a toothy grin and he takes your hand gladly, his head spinning a little from how tonight’s events have gone. Once in your bedroom, you start to strip, facing away from him and he turns away, wanting to give you your privacy. You peek over your shoulder as you slide into an oversized t-shirt, can’t help but huff a laugh at how much of a prude he’s being, standing there in his jeans and t-shirt.
“You gonna get ready for bed?” You ask gently, turning to face him.
“Are you done?”
“Yes I’m done, baby,” The term of endearment is like soothing water on his hot skin.
As soon as the words are out of your mouth he turns towards you, his eyes roaming your body before flicking cautiously over to your bed. It’s been a long time since Marc has slept in the same bed as anyone. Sometimes with his little brother, later on once he passed with his father. He’s been away from that type of vulnerability for a few years now.
“Do you want my help?” You offer, your expression patient.
“Yes,” He replies after a beat, his voice uneasy.
Slowly, you walk over to him, making sure he can see all of your movements and that you make no sudden moves. You run your hands down his chest and stomach soothingly before reaching for the hem of his t-shirt, wagging in a silent question of on or off.
“You can take it off.”
Scars. Not many, just a few here and there litter his torso, and you don’t let your eyes linger. Your touch stays tender, gentle, eager to explore. Marc’s grateful for that.
“Pants?”
“Off, please.”
You reach for his belt, unbuckling it with no hurry before unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down. And once he’s just in his boxers you grab his hand, lead him over the bed and slide under the covers. When you look up at him he hesitates for a moment, and you hold your hands out in encouragement. The soft look on your face puts his mind at ease and he slides in next to you, turning you around and tucking you into his arms with a pleasant hum.
He likes your warmth. Your comfort. He could drown in it.
You let out a sigh of contentment, snuggling further into him, “Goodnight, Marc.”
His mouth dips to kiss the skin beneath your ear, arms giving you a squeeze, “Goodnight, baby.”
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summary: jake scours the city and comes home with way too many candles.
pairing: gn!reader x jake lockley
warnings: food mention, smoking mention
word count: 1.1k
gif credit: @marvel-daily
an: originally this concept was for the candle day of @doctorsteths-fluffyfeb but my brain wasn’t ready to finish it yet. hope y’all enjoy this little piece of grumpy fluff!
moonknight masterlist | general masterlist | requests open
Jake’s pissed off, which is nothing new.
Not at you— though you’re the reason he’s been driving around town for the last two hours. So maybe he is a little pissed off at you, but it doesn’t change the fact that he loves you and that he’s gone on this wild goose chase for you.
More than anything right now, he’s pissed off at candles. A specific candle. Your absolute favorite candle. He used to love it, though he never admitted that he loved the scent as much as you do. He could bet all the money he made cabbing people around this week that the smell of this candle would send him into a frenzy right now because he can’t find it.
You’re running low, the only one you have in the flat is probably burning right now, and it’s over halfway done. Steven suggested this, driving around to find a few to stock up on because of how much you enjoy it. Jake had agreed, he loves you and the gorgeous smile that spreads across your face when you get the first whiff. Marc has been eerily quiet, Jake knows that this is because you’ll be happy either way— you always are, always telling the three of them how they’re all you need.
He can hear Marc saying ‘She doesn’t need a candle, she has us. We can give her everything she needs’. You’ve made him comfortable that way— a feat that shouldn’t be taken lightly.
Jake’s cab has been full of nothing but a string of curses, the cap that always sits on his head abandoned in the passenger seat as he runs his hand through his curls in frustration.
His phone rings and he rolls his eyes, having half the mind to throw it out the window. His expression immediately softens when he sees that it’s you calling and despite his frustration he answers affectionately, “Yes, amor?”
Jake hadn’t been who you expected— though he is a pleasant surprise.
You grin at the sound of his voice as you open the fridge, looking around, “Oh, hi, baby. Are you working tonight?”
He can hear you pattering around the kitchen through the line, “Something like that.”
As usual, he sounds frustrated. You learned early on that this is just his voice— that you’d have to find other ways to figure out what he was truly feeling. But, tonight there is no underlying softness in his tone, no sigh of relief.
“Well, I’m wondering if I need to make dinner for both of us. Are you okay?”
His eyes skate over to the clock on his dashboard If the next store has the candles he should be able to make dinner.
“I’m fine, I should be there in an hour.”
Jake is late— an entire hour late when he walks through the door, with three large big brown paper bags. He was right, that godforsaken candle is burning, a mix of its warm scent and the aromas of dinner in the air. And while he’s good at staying rigid on the outside, he can’t deny how inviting the smell is. Even after all the frustration, coming home to you and your stupid, deliciously smelling candle is his solace.
You regard him curiously when he walks through with so much cargo. What did someone pay him in that required bags like these?
“What’s all this?”
“For you,” He grumbles, setting the bags on the couch beside you before dipping to press a quick kiss to your forehead.
Jake’s scent is a nice accompaniment to the smells already swirling through the air. He adds an earthy smell, a mix of the leather of his coat and the cigarettes you’re pestering him to quit.
He disappears into the kitchen then, no doubt in search for the food you spoke of on the phone.
“For me?” You can’t keep the excitement out of your voice as you rise up on your knees, peering down into one of the bags.
A knowing grin spreads across your face and you reach into the bag, holding up one of the many candles he’s bought. Taking the lid off you inhale deeply— as if the scent of the candle hasn’t already permeated the space. But with your nose right in it, it’s stronger, sweeter and your shoulders relax even more.
“You’re such a romantic, Lockley,” You tease, placing the candle back in the bag so that you can clear a space for him to sit beside you on the couch.
“I’m limiting your burning time, these better last us until we’re dead,” He says dryly as he returns from the kitchen, bowl of food in tow.
You raise your brows in faux offense, unable to hide the smile that spreads across your face, “That means you have to limit your own burning time too.”
“I don’t light candles.”
“Yeah, alright, baby.”
“They give me headaches, I can barely tolerate the smell,” He continues, though he sounds as if he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince you.
You nod, resting your head on his shoulder with a cheeky smile, “I see. Is that why you went and bought…30 of them? Because they smell terrible?”
He shovels some rice into his mouth and points to his mouth as if to say he can’t speak with it full.
“You know I don’t care about seeing smooshed rice in your mouth.”
“I have manners,” He murmurs after he swallows.
“Okay, manner’s man, let me have this. Please,” You tack on at the end, gesturing your head to the bowl in his hands.
He looks at you skeptically but obliges. With the bowl now your hands you slide into his lap, tilting your head at him as you smile.
“What?”
“Thank you for buying an ungodly amount of our favorite candle.”
“Your favorite candle,” He corrects.
“Ours,” You repeat, leaning in to capture his mouth with yours.
He kisses you back, firm and demanding as always, his hand raising to cup your cheek. When he pulls away, his cheeks are flushed, his mouth turned up just in the corner and you know you’ve won him over.
“You’re welcome, amor.”
“Are you admitting that you love the candle?”
“You don’t quit.”
“Well?”
“Yes, I like the candle. Happy?”
“Extremely. Now open up,” You demand with a grin, holding up a spoonful for him. “Please,” You add once he cocks an eyebrow at you silently— and he obliges with a grin of his own.
an: this is my last blurb of fluffy feb! thank you @doctorstethoscope for putting together this event, it’s been so much fun and has kept me writing when my motivation is so so low— i love you sm!
fluffy feb masterlist | moonknight masterlist
“Dove, wake up,” Steven murmurs into your ear before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.
You stir, groaning softly before you roll over and shake your head. Your eyes do not open, and you clutch the fluffy comforter closer.
He chuckles, following you to the other side of the bed and wrapping you in his arms. “It’s the first snow, c’mon.”
“Too early.”
“It’s our tradition,” He places another kiss on your cheek.
“Too dark,” You groan, scooting closer to the edge, as if you can escape him.
Steven follows, a wide grin spread across his face, “We do this every winter.”
“Too cold.”
“I’ll keep you warm,” He assures, squeezing you tighter in his arms.
“Steven,” You whine, finally opening your eyes and glaring over your shoulder at him.
“The snow, it’ll wake you up,” He insists, using one of his fingers to delicately wipe the sleep from the corners of your eyes.
“You’re not giving up.”
“No, dove, I’m not. Up and attem’, yeah? I’ll make you french toast for breakfast.”
“And do that fancy latte art?”
“Mhmm,” He hums, leaning in to press a kiss to your mouth.
“Alright, alright. I’m up.”
“Dress warmly, dear, I’ll get our coats,” He hops out of bed, and that’s when you realize that he’s not in his pjs.
You narrow your eyes at him, “You’re already dressed?”
“Been up for ages, watchin’ you snore,” He teases as he crosses the flat.
“I don’t snore,” You grumble as you hop out of bed and head into the bathroom.
Steven doesn’t reply to your denial, but you hear his sweet laugh float through the door as you stumble sleepily through your morning routine. By the time you’ve made it out and are pulling jeans and a sweater out of the closet, he’s wrapped up in his coat, his unruly curls tucked into a black beanie.
“Coming, I swear,” You start to move a bit quicker when he playfully arches a brow at you.
Once you’re dressed, Steven helps you into your coat before slipping your own beanie onto your head. He guides the both of you out of the flat and down into the building’s courtyard. The cold air bites at your cheeks, and you’re immediately grateful for Steven’s warm hand in yours. The snow is falling gently, caressing the ground like a knit blanket. Dead grass and shrubs still peek through the white, though it’s supposed to snow all day and soon everything will be covered in glittery white powder.
Because it’s early, it is just the two of you, surrounded by the gray and white haze of this snowy morning. It’s quiet for once in London, none of the honking and shouting cutting through this little slice of peace that you and Steven are sharing.
He raises his face to the sky, letting the flakes dust all over his face, “You know I could smell it coming when we fell asleep last night.”
“You always say that, you can’t smell snow, Steven.”
“People say they smell rain all the time, who’s to say I can’t smell snow?”
“Me, that’s who.”
“Somethin’ tells me I could convince you otherwise,” He grins cheekily at you, before leaning in for a kiss.
His lips are cold, a little wet from the melted snow but you kiss him back eagerly, your hands rising to cup both of his cheeks. You can taste the tea he must’ve quietly brewed while you were dead to the world but there’s something else. Something unique, that you can only contribute to the morning’s precipitation.
“You taste like snow,” You whisper quietly— as if speaking any louder will break this bubble.
He bumps his nose against yours, eyes narrowed, “Oh, alright, so you can taste it but I can’t smell it?”
“Seems we’re on the same page.”
“I’ll show you what page we’re on when there’s enough snow for a fight.”
Dusk has hit when he drags you back outside, the snow up to your ankles. You bury him in snowballs, and Steven concedes: no you can’t smell snow, but one can certainly taste it.
moonknight taglist: @honeybrowne, @hotchs-bitch, @laurensprentiss, @lesbianhotch, @toracainz (bc i thought of u the whole time 🥺)
summary: jake surprises you 3 times in the span of a few minutes.
pairing: gn!reader x jake lockley (hints of marc spector/steven grant)
warnings: canon typical description of DID, coffee mention, kissing
word count: 683
an: day 6 is coffee order!!! this is my first time writing for jake so PLEASEEEE be gentle 😭. thank you the marc’s girls server for making me sufficiently obsessed with jake. andddd happy name day to my dear @missdictatorme <3333.
fluffy feb masterlist | moonknight masterlist
You’re the coffee run person in this duo– though duo is the wrong word, since Marc shares his headspace with two other men. He is generally who you work with on missions– Steven prefers to stay out of this line of work the best he can and Jake. He’s solitary, not out of choice but out of mistaken necessity. Jake will take any mission he can and go on it alone to keep you safe because he would rather you not see him as a monster.
Which is why its a surprise when you step into their shared flat and recognize him. Its not just the way he walks—they all have a different gait to their stride— but its the way he clenches his jaw, the depth and darkness of his eyes. You are even more surprised when coffee is already sat on the kitchen island.
“You already got coffee?” You ask, setting down the to go holder with the coffee you’d just gotten down.
“Yes,” He says simply.
“But, you never get us coffee– none of you do.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” He says, as if its a complete explanation.
It isn’t but you have a more pressing question.
“Did you even know what to get me?” You ask, not unkindly. But you’re pretty sure out of the 3 of them, Jake has paid you the least attention.
He tilts his head, the corner of his lips quivering slightly, “Take a sip.”
You narrow your eyes at him, but pick up the cup sat lonely in the holder. The skepticism is wiped from your face when you take the first sip– it's perfect, your coffee order to a tee, though its never tasted this good when you order it.
Your eyes go wide as you take another sip, “How did you know?”
“We share a brain.”
“Marc knows?” You ask skeptically.
“Steven says to give him some credit.”
“Well…thank you. It’s perfect.”
His lips pull up slightly in the corner as he turns back to the computer in front of him, “You’re welcome.”
Before you can think about it, you’re crossing the space and wrapping your arms around him. Jake stiffens for a moment, unsure of what’s happening– but the two other men that occupy the headspace have their own opinions and he relaxes.
“I mean it,” You say firmly, turning your head to look at him.
Jake’s eyes meet yours. He’s never been this close to you, and never allowed him to look at you so thoroughly and unapologetically. The intensity of his gaze has your breath caught in your throat, but you are unable to move away, pinned by the depth of his brown eyes.
“So do I,” He rasps, eyes tracing the delicate curve of your lashes before briefly falling to your lips.
Your brain is screaming at you, willing your mouth to form words, to ask Jake to lean in just a bit more and press his mouth to yours but you find that you can’t. He can see the plea in your eyes though, feel your heart pumping quickly in your chest from where its pressed to his back.
In his mind there is nothing but silence– something he doesn’t get often. But it is clear what it means. Steven and Marc are allowing him to make his own choice independently. They’re letting him choose you for himself. That coupled with the desperation in your eyes has him surging forward, capturing your mouth with his.
His mouth is hungry and unforgiving, and you succumb to it happily, allowing his tongue to lick into the wetness of you. He hums at the taste of you that’s muddled with the sweetest of your coffee. At the sound, your hands start to explore in a way you wanted to so many times before, running slowly across the span of his chest and up into his curls.
“Did you mean that too?” You breathe with a grin when he breaks the kiss, chest heaving.
“Yes,” His eyes are hazy, still roaming your face as if he’s in disbelief.
“So did I.”
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summary: steven gains some knowledge about how he and reader met…and some about himself.
pairing: gn!reader x steven grant, implied gn!reader x marc spector
contents: reader and steven’s first kiss, internalized self-doubt (steven), discussion of DID, fluff
an: hi, hello, this is my first moonknight fic so please be gentle! steven and marc’s interactions are based in how they’re portrayed in the show. steven is standard text and marc is italicized. gif credits are @userpoe.
word count: 1.2k
mcu masterlist
Steven doesn’t remember how he met you, but he remembers every moment he has with you after that as if his life depends on it. You’re his best friend, though he’s not sure why you put up with his confusion and disorganization. Every time he wonders he hears that voice, the one he’s come accustomed to, the one that’s almost become a comfort.
A companion in itself.
It’s always bothered Steven, the fact that he can’t remember the moment he met someone like you. It bothers him, even more, when he finally misses another moment. He wakes up in bed with you by his side, arms and legs tangled together. You’re in a pair of his sleep shorts and a t-shirt, your hair fanned out on the pillow.
He doesn’t want to disturb you but he’s in shock, and before he can think better of it, he’s rolling out of bed and running to the bathroom. His rushed movements wake you up and you call after him just as he slams the door shut.
He hears the bed creak as you rise out of bed– his bed– before he hears your voice, “Steven?”
“I’m just usin’ the loo,” He reassures you, before turning to the mirror.
Sometimes the voice he hears comes with a face. It's his face, but more stern and worn. The eyes of the face that stare back at him are always guarded, but this time they’re softer around the rims.
It’s okay, Steven. They’re okay. We can trust them.
Steven leans into the mirror, “You know them?”
How do you think you met them?
“Steven? Come out, please. We can talk, and get everything cleared up. It’s okay,” You say gently through the door.
Steven glances back at the door before looking back at his reflection, at his other self. The man staring back at him nods reassuringly. When he steps out of the bathroom you're sitting on the edge of his bed, a soft smile on your face as he pads toward you.
You let him get comfortable beside you before you speak, “Did you talk to him?”
Steven’s eyes widen though he realizes that the voice has already made it clear that you know each other, “Yes, but maybe you could catch me up? Who’s he?”
“His name’s Marc. I met him first.”
“And he’s…” He trails off, not sure of what fills in this bizarre blank.
You squint, something he’s noticed you do when you're deep in thought, “He’s you but not. He’s part of you and his own person at the same time. Does that make sense?”
“I’m not sure that it does.”
“We’ve never talked about it but you’ve always been confused about how we met right?” You take his hands into yours.
He frowns at being so easy to read but nods slowly, “Yeah, I have.”
“That’s because I knew Marc for months before you showed yourself.”
“Months?”
“I know this is a lot, but he told me everything. He told me about you. And then one day you just appeared, and you’re wonderful, Steven. Truly wonderful.”
“That’s all well and good, quite happy for the both of you, but what does any of this mean for me? For my life? For our friendship?” He asks defensively, pulling one of his hands away.
“I think that the first two questions are a conversation for you and Marc to have together. But as far as our friendship…” You break eye contact for the first time since the conversation has started, “that’s up to you. I’m just happy to be here with you.”
Steven’s eyes narrow at your choice of words. He needs to confirm his suspicions, “What is Marc to you?”
“We’re…together.”
He leans away angrily, removing his other hand from your grasp, “And so you just put up with me, waiting for him to come around?”
“No, it’s not like that, it never has been since I met you. I like you, Steven, just as much as I like Marc. You both mean so much to me.”
“I’m not quite sure I’m following.”
“What I mean is if you wanted to be with me…the way Marc is with me, I’d be happy with that. I’d prefer it actually, to have both of you,” You rest your hand on his cheek, running your thumb over his bottom lip.
Steven looks at you in utter disbelief, his cheeks staining a soft pink at your affectionate touch, “Y-you want to be? With me?”
Say yes.
You can’t help the chuckle that slips out of you, “Is that so hard to believe?”
He shrugs, raising his eyebrows, “Well, yeah, love, it is.”
“Believe it anyway,” You urge, scooting closer to him on the bed.
Say yes, idiot.
You see Steven roll his eyes and can only imagine that Marc’s just said something to him. He mumbles something under his breath before focusing his attention back on you, “You’re sure?”
Steven, just say yes already.
“I’m sure.”
“But what if,” He’s cut off by this strong surge of energy in his chest. It feels as if he’s not in control for a few seconds and then his lips are on yours, moving in a way that feels foreign and familiar all at once. Once in control again he freezes, but then your hands are knotting into the base of his curls and pulling him closer. All he can do is melt against you, kissing you back just as desperately as you kiss him.
Steven’s hands fall to your waist, gripping you gently before the two of you fall back into the bed. He can’t believe he gets to touch you like this, or that he even gets to kiss you at all. You're so soft, you smell intoxicating, and he imagines that he could kiss you like this for the rest of his life if he didn't have to share you. To his surprise, your tongue slips into his mouth, eager to explore as you kiss him deeply. He matches your energy, just as hungry for more.
You only break the kiss once your lungs are screaming for air, “Seems like you got some help there so I’ll ask, is that a yes? Independent of your control freak of an other half?” You smirk, knowing that’ll get under Marc’s skin and Steven hears the voice let out a slew of expletives.
He can’t help the smile that breaks across his face, not when you're smiling so brightly, “It's a yes, but he doesn't seem too happy about your joke.”
“He can take it up with me later.”
“Speaking of, has he taken you out on a proper date?”
The voice rings in his head again, Watch it.
You throw your head back, laughing loudly, “Yes, he’s taken me on a date. It's your turn now.”
“Ours will be just as good, maybe even better.”
“Hey, no, comparisons. I cherish you both,” You bend to run your nose along his before giving him a peck on the lips.
The voice, Marc as he’s accepting, his internal companion, says nothing but what Steven can identify is a mutual warmth and affection spreads through his chest. Steven catches a glimpse of Marc through the reflection of the fish tank, and Marc gives him yet another reassuring nod. They have you, both of them, and they each feel so lucky.
part 2: here.
if you’d like to be on my moonknight taglist let me know!
warnings: the movie grease if you hate it??? otherwise????
word count: 720
an: FF day 16 is one of my fav prompts of all time— person a washing person b’s hair. this perhaps the most self indulgent thing ive written to date and i will not apologize 😌. in case you forgot, happy black history month!
fluffy february masterlist | marvel masterlist
Marc had insisted.
You assured him time and time again that you could handle this, that you had since you’d been in high school.
Did you understand why he wanted to help? Of course.
Marc found his worth in doing, in fulfilling the needs of others by his actions instead of his words. That he was still learning, trying to do his best to be open and honest with you in your healthy relationship— the first he’d truly given himself over to in years. It’s why you eventually give in and say yes. It’s why you find him in the bathroom pouring over the labels on all your hair products.
“What are you doing?”
“You put all of this in your hair?” He gestures to the basket in front of him.
You chuckle, grinning over at him, “Yes.”
“Every time?” He asks in disbelief.
“Yes, baby.”
“Explains why it takes so fuckin’ long.”
“I told you, you don’t have to.”
“I know I don’t have to, I want to. Come here,” He sets down the bottle of shampoo in his hands and holds them out for you. “Can I today?” He asks once you’ve walked over to him and he’s pulled you into his arms.
You hesitate for a moment, “Usually that’s a weekend activity.”
“Because it takes so long, but with me in charge, we’ll knock it out. C’mon let me give it a go.”
“Alright, alright, but there’s a lot you need to know.”
The two of you sit on the edge of the tub, and you explain the whole process to him. Detangling, washing, conditioning, detangling— yes, again you have to say to him with a chuckle. You decide to go easy on him, suggesting he put your hair in two plaits to dry when he’s finished. Marc listens to you explain all of this with a honed concentration, eyebrows knit together as he takes it all in.
He shrugs, and stands to his feet, “Easy— sit, I’ll be right back.”
When Marc returns he’s in nothing but swim trunks and you raise an eyebrow at him in questioning, “Taking this very seriously, huh?”
“I take everything about you seriously,” He murmurs distractedly as he looks for the spray bottle you mentioned.
And once he finds it, he immediately goes to work.
He hums as he detangles, somehow working so much faster than you while being scores gentler with your curls than you usually are. You’re surprised when he guides you up and says you’re ready for the next step.
The water feels nice on your skin and even better on your scalp when Marc guides your hair back under the shower head. Despite the violence that has stolen most of Marc’s life, the way he washes your hair is delicate. You learn that there’s nothing like the feeling of his fingertips carefully scrubbing your scalp. He repeats the process twice as you instructed him and by the time he rinses that second time you don’t want it to end.
He moves to pick up your conditioner when you reach for his hand, peering at him with soft eyes through the steam that’s begun to fog up the entire room.
“Will you do that again? Just one more time?” You ask, fixing your lips into a pout.
He raises an eyebrow, smirking, “Thought you wanted this to be quicker?”
“One more time can’t hurt too much right? It just felt so good.”
Marc has never been one to deny you, and with the blissful look he noticed on your face as he washed your hair, he won’t start now. He nods, leaning in to press a series of soft kisses to your lips before lathering his hands up with shampoo once more. You grin, making sure to thank him.
Two hours later, Marc has you both wrapped in towels. You’re sat in front of the mirror with him standing behind you, face twisted in concentration as he starts to braid your hair.
When the two of you finally make it to the couch— takeout ordered, Grease playing on the tv— neither of you mention that it actually took longer for him to do your routine. With the tenderness in the atmosphere, the peace in both of your hearts as you snuggle close to him, neither of you care.
hello my friends! i’m taking my first stab at kinktober. i won’t be writing for all the days, but i’ll be putting out 9 smutty pieces on the respective days during the month of october based on this list here! there will be a mix of all the characters i write for so something for everyone <3
disclaimer: if you’re a minor, do not engage with anything on this masterlist. i will not hesistate to block you if you’re an ageless/underaged blog.
day 3. glove kink with din djarin
day 5. morning sex | breeding with javier peña
day 9. double penetration with santi garcia
day 11. erotic photos | masturbation with aaron hotchner
day 13. dry humping with aaron hotchner
day 20. mirror sex with marc spector
day 21 (12). hate sex with santi garcia
day 24. outdoor | tender sex with jonathan levy
day 25. sex pollen with frankie morales
if you’d like to be tagged let me know which taglist you’d like to be on- taglist options: 1) hotch, 2) oscar issac characters, 3) pedro pascal characters
